Dave couldn’t meet Janie’s stare. He couldn’t admit that he was trying to find a way, any way, to keep her in his life. To continue along this road that they were traveling. But he was in no doubt of his own feelings. He didn’t want to let her go. Couldn’t. She’d given him everything of herself in the bathroom; he’d felt it. And in return, he’d completely surrendered to her. He’d handed her his heart for the keeping, and he had no regrets.

“Are you making more drinks?” Madison asked Janie.

Janie bit her lip for a moment before shivering and stepping back. “I’m good. I have to drive later. I also have to fit the last two paintings into the show. I forgot to bring them down.”

“You can do that later. Stay tonight.” Madison tapped the shaker. “Drinks.”

“Dave, what are your plans for tomorrow?” Ethan sat down at the island. “I think we should take a drive around to make sure there isn’t a better alternative.”

“I can, yeah. I just have to work it around visiting Betty.”

Ethan glanced at Noah before lowering his gaze. Noah glanced at Janie, who was running a finger through the condensation down the side of the drink mixer. Colton shifted, breaking away to head to the fridge. Even Madison had a constipated look on her face.

“Why, what?” Dave asked, sensing the change in the room.

“Cool. What time are you doing that?” Ethan asked, like he hadn’t noticed how everyone had suddenly found somewhere else to look.

Then he knew. Just like always, when Betty had an episode, everyone got uncomfortable. They probably didn’t know what to say. He didn’t blame them.

“Noon, for an hour or two,” Dave said.

“No problem.” Ethan nodded. “We can work around that. I can fit in a screw in the morning.”

Janie rolled her eyes. “I’m going to move those paintings around a little and take off.”

“Do you need help?” Dave followed her, both wanting to stay near her and wanting to get out of the pressurized kitchen.

“Dave, I wanted to talk to you about your mom.” Janie stopped in front of all her paintings, her eyes darting between them. “It’s none of my business, but maybe…try calling her by Mom instead of her first name. That tiny difference might help her remember how important she is to you, and vice versa.” She held up her hands, still not looking at him. “I do not claim to know anything about healthy relationships with one’s parents, but…if I were your family, I’d want you to acknowledge it, that’s all I’m saying.”

“By being called darling?” He reached for her, but she’d already started forward to do some reorganization.

She smiled serenely. “Yes. I don’t know why, but it sounds really sweet when you say darling.” Her expression changed. “Or is that because you practice it on all your women?”

“The closest I get is darlin’. Did you hear the accent? Like I’m country.”

“There is nothing about you that says country.”

“That’s only because you know me. Those that don’t know me choose what I am. Oh!” He snapped his fingers. “I still need that pen name from you.”

“Sissy Longstocking? I don’t know. Make something up that sounds good. Or maybe I should be a man? Men tend to get taken more seriously.”

“How about a name that could fit for both? Like Pat.”

She laughed and moved back toward him, leaving two holes where her final paintings would go. “That sounds good. Maybe not Pat, but, like…Chris. Or…something.” She paused and reached a hand under his shirt. Her touch felt so good that it made him gasp. “Were you planning on going home tonight, or…?”

“Didn’t you say you were leaving?”

“Yes, but what are you doing?”

He stared down into her eyes, having no desire to play it cool. “I figured I’d leave when you did.”

A tiny smile tipped up her lips. “Okay. Give me a half-hour head start, would you?”

“Sure. Why?”

“A lady never reveals her secrets.” She ran her hands up his chest and looped them around his neck. Her firm pressure brought his head down, and she licked his bottom lip. “See you soon. Now head back to the kitchen.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his cock pounding.

With that, she was gone.

It was the longest half-hour of his life. The fire in her eyes and the heat in her touch told him that he’d be arriving home to a woman who wanted to express her sexuality. He couldn’t wait to revel in her body. In the intense feelings that had exploded over the last couple weeks.

“All right, I’m out.” Dave emptied his glass of water in the sink and tucked it into the dishwasher. “See you at Dick’s tomorrow.”

“Wait, before you go.” Colton put down his drink and headed out with him. “Help me grab the paintings from her room, will you? I’d ask Ethan, but if they’re still wet, he’ll dip his finger in the paint. I think he has a screw loose.”

“You know I do,” Ethan called after them.

Colton laughed. “He’s having a blast. I think he wishes he were in your place.”

Dave lost his humor. “With Janie?”

“No, with the business venture into art. He’d partner with you guys in a heartbeat.”

“Nah. He’d be a third wheel.”

“Which is why he isn’t pushing it.” Colton opened the door and leaned back with a phew. “She needs to open a window. She probably comes up with half of this stuff on a paint-fume high.”

Dave glanced at the painting on the closest easel. His breath dried up. Panic shot through his body.

“What’s up?” Colton asked, noticing.

“Is there a title on that?” Dave pointed, barely feeling his hand.

Colton moved around to the back, his eyes narrowing as he searched. “I haven’t seen a title on any of these. I don’t think she writes them on the canvases.”

Adrenaline flooded Dave. His heart thudded against his ribs.

It was probably called Finished. Or The End. Maybe Goodbye, Dave, I’m about to Ruin Your Life.

Just like with a few of her other paintings, the visceral feeling he got from this one shocked into his body. He couldn’t look away, though he desperately wanted to. This was her emotionally ending the journey. He knew it like he knew his own name. She was signing off.

Something she had said earlier blasted through his memory. I have one more thing I have to do, and then I’ll leave you alone.

Tonight was the last thing. A last screw, probably. One last night together.

She was leaving him.

He couldn’t get enough air. The pain buckled his knees.

This was forever; he could feel it. If she said goodbye tonight, she’d close off a part of herself and lock it away. Someone new would get painted on her easels. Someone else would drag out her fierce beauty. He would become a spectator.

He couldn’t become a spectator.

He loved her too much to let that happen.

“I have to go,” he said, staggering for the door.

He’d flip burgers and work three jobs if he had to, but he couldn’t let Janie walk out of his life. She was everything he’d always wanted. Sassy, adventurous, heartfelt, and dirty. She was the whole package, and she got him in a way he wasn’t used to being understood. Now that he’d known the joy of having her in his life, he would be lost without her.

In his car, he drove faster than he should’ve. Took turns like a maniac. He parked and then ran through the apartment complex, needing to get to her as fast as possible.

Flickering candlelight greeted him as he opened the door to their shared home. She sat on a small bench, facing a blank canvas. She held a board filled with paints in one hand, a brush in the other. Her hair was pulled up and stacked on top of her head in a messy halo.

She hadn’t a stitch on her body.

He didn’t care about any of that right now.

“No, Janie, please.” He closed the door and locked it behind him. “Please, no. Don’t give up on me. I can make this work. I’ll quit Big Dick tomorrow. I’ll pull out money to keep us afloat until I figure something out. Please don’t leave me.”

A crease formed between her shapely brows. Her beautiful face dropped. “What?”

“I saw the painting in your art room at Colton’s. I can’t let you leave. Please.”

“But…” The board of paints lowered. “You need to take care of your mom.”

“I will. I will take care of her. I’ll make her see reason. It’s my name on her trailer. I’ll sell it. Get her to move to this apartment complex. And I’ll figure out who’s supplying her and turn them in to the cops. Please don’t give up on me. I’ll make this work somehow. Janie, I love you. You’re it for me. You’re all I want. I’ll marry you tomorrow if you’ll let me. And boy, will this be embarrassing if you don’t feel the same way.”

A tear ran down her cheek. Unlike normally, she didn’t reach up to wipe it away. “I do feel the same. I love you too. I have since I first met you; I just didn’t know it. It took painting for me to really feel it.”

Just like that self-portrait of her had cracked everything open for him.

He smiled and rushed at her, swooping her up into his arms. The board of paints plastered his shirt sleeve before peeling off and falling to the ground. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him. He fell into it. Into her.

He turned her toward the bedroom, but she wiggled in his arms. “No. We can’t have sex yet. Then we’ll be in the bedroom all night, and I won’t get to paint you.”

“Paint me tomorrow.”

“You might be really angry with me tomorrow. No, we have to do this tonight. I have the whole thing set up. C’mon, please?”

He lowered her slowly, running his hands along her bare skin. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“Because I could make a monk punch someone. Come on, let’s play.” She ran her hands down his chest before grabbing the hem and lifting it back up. She pulled it over his head and arms, smearing some paint on him in the process. She yanked at his fly, sending a jolt of fire through his middle. Down went his boxers, freeing his erection. “Hmm. I want to suck it.”

“I would say not fair, but I’ll refrain.” He ran his fingers through her hair and worked at her ponytail, freeing it. Her dirty-blond tresses tumbled down over her shoulders.

Looking up at him with a smile, she licked his tip. He groaned, wanting to push her head forward and plunge his dick into her mouth.

“Nope.” She backed off, her smile turning wicked. “Not yet.” She rose, running a hand up his thigh and to his stomach. “How should I paint you?” She scanned the paint on his arm. A thoughtful expression stole over her face.

“Should I sit on the couch?”

She shrugged and picked up the paint board lying facedown on the carpet. “Whatever you want. That will probably stain. Crap.”

“How much was the deposit?”

“I’m not sure. Madison said to pay her back when I could, or when I move.”

“Carpet steamers can do wonders.”

“One would hope.” She went about setting up her paints again as he looked around. There weren’t many options where he could hang out while she did this. The couch was as good as any.

“Can I wipe this paint off? I don’t want to get it on the couch.” He paused before heading to the bathroom.

“Yup.” She took away her stool and cracked her neck, facing the canvas. Then her body just sorta…settled. Liquid and sensual and completely lost in whatever she was doing.

He didn’t move to the bathroom. Couldn’t. All he could do was stand there, watching the gentle sway of her hips and the practiced movement of her hand. The paintbrush moved over the canvas, leaving a line of color in its wake, smooth and sure. Confidence radiated from her, but also a sweet form of vulnerability that flooded him with the desire to protect her at all costs.

His hands glided over her hips before he knew he’d moved. His hard length prodded her.

She angled her head back as her brush moved, a smile gracing her lips. He kissed up her neck and sucked in her fevered skin. “I love you, Janie. You are a goddess. Even more so when you paint.”

“Make love to me, Dave,” she whispered, the paintbrush still moving. It didn’t look like she’d sketched anything beforehand. The picture in her mind was materializing on the canvas, even while she was distracted.

He cupped a breast and stooped, aligning himself. Hands now on her shoulders, he bent her over gently before slowly pushing forward, parting her folds. Only then did the paintbrush lower. She moaned, long and low, sitting back to impale herself more.

“I never get over how good that feels.” She bent to set down her tools, and he pulled back on her hips as he thrust again, getting in as deep as he could. Loving the feel of her tightness around his cock.

“Me either. I don’t want anyone else, Janie. I just want you.” He pulled out and turned her around before pulling her close again. She flung a leg over his hip, and he lifted her up, making her throw the other leg around him as well. He slid into her hot wetness.

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Ditto.”

“Very romantic,” he said, sinking to the floor. He laid her on her back before pumping into her.

“I’m a master linguist in these situations.” She arched like a cat stretching in the sun, tilting her hips up. “Fuck me like the world was ending, baby.”

Yes, she was a master linguist in these situations, because a shock of passion stole through him. He lowered over her, delighting in her hard nipples rubbing against his chest. He kissed her, plunging his tongue into her mouth as he plunged his cock into her wetness.

She moaned and wrapped her legs around him again, this time even tighter. He threaded his hands between her fingers and lifted her arms over her head.

“Hmm, Dave,” she mewed.

The living room filled with frantic breathing. The pressure built. His balls tightened as he moved, letting go like he had in the bathroom. Surrendering to her again.

Pleasure crashed down onto him, trying to pull him under, but he resisted—his gut clenching, his body tensing.

Her moans increased in volume. “Yes, Dave!” she shouted, shaking with release under him. But he wasn’t through yet. He wanted more from her. He wanted to make sure she never forgot the effect he had on her body. He would mark her with pleasure, claiming her as his own.

He pumped harder. Strived for more. His body wound up, uncomfortably tight. But still he thrust, holding on to her hands for dear life.

She shuddered again, calling his name.

“No more,” she begged, arching back. A moan revealed her delight, belying her pleas. “Oh Dave, no. Ohh…” She shook again, her mouth rounding in a silent scream.

Their bodies slick, he moved over her. Within her. He dominated her, pushing her pleasure higher as he finally succumbed to his own. Unbearable now, he let his mind blank and pounded into her.

“I’m coming!” she shouted.

He blasted apart. Pleasure crashed through him. Drowned him. He emptied into her as the sensations rolled through his body.

“Hmm, Dave,” she said, rubbing his back and shivering. “That was incredible. I love you.”

His kiss was languid as his body continued to move. He needed more. He needed to forestall her painting, because he was far from done.