Chapter Twenty-Nine
Eden
Jared wanted a skull, roses, and wings so that’s what I was painting on the side of his two-story brick building that housed the tattoo parlor on the first floor and his apartment on the second floor. It was the Tuesday after Labor Day, but it still felt like summer in Brooklyn. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades and I was fantasizing about a cold shower when Zeke yelled up to me.
“Yo, what’s up, Picasso?”
I looked down at Zeke from my perch on the mini-scaffold tower. He was wearing a flowered Hawaiian shirt, plaid Bermuda shorts and Vans, his skateboard under his foot. Somehow, he made the crazy outfit work for him. He’d just returned from a week-long vacation in Martha’s Vineyard with his family, and was sporting a golden tan, his hair bleached lighter from the sun and saltwater. I set down my paintbrush and climbed down the scaffolding to give him a big hug. “I missed you,” I said, treating him to my sweaty, grungy self.
Zeke grinned. “Missed you too. Get my postcard?”
“Wish you were here,” I quoted which was all the postcard said, and I found out he sent the same message to every bartender and Ava too, because he sent all the postcards to the bar and we compared notes. “Good trip?”
“Excellent. Spent time with the fam. Hooked up with a hot chick. Did some sailing. Life is good in Zeke’s world.”
“Is it ever bad in Zeke’s world?” I teased. It was impossible not to love Zeke. I kept waiting to catch him in a bad mood, but I never did.
“Nope. My life is awesome.”
I laughed and shook my head but right now, my life was awesome too.
“Speaking of awesome,” Zeke said. “This wall is the bomb.”
I backed up on the sidewalk to look at what I’d done so far. Last week, Killian had power-washed the wall and helped me paint the undercoat because he was the master of all trades. My skull was twelve feet tall, with roses in the eye sockets, around the base, and a banner underneath for the name of Jared’s tattoo shop: Forever Ink. The wings, which I was working on now, extended from each side of the skull and spanned the width of the wall.
“Thanks, Zeke.”
“You want me to grab some lunch for you and bring it back?” Zeke asked just as Killian pulled up to the curb. He cut the engine and stepped out of the Jeep, giving Zeke a onceover. His gaze swung to me and he gave me a big smile like he was happy to see me, and it had been a long time. When we’d woken up together only a few hours ago and he’d dropped me off here with an iced coffee, a bagel, and bottles of water to keep me hydrated. He’d hung out for a while, talking with me and Jared while I painted.
“Hey, baby,” he said, pulling me into his arms.
“Hey.” I leaned into him and gave him a kiss. “I’m all hot and sweaty,” I murmured against his lips.
He nuzzled my neck. “I love your sweat.” He tucked me close to his side and walked us over to Zeke who had a big smirk on his face.
“How was Hawaii?” Killian asked. I elbowed him in the ribs.
“Martha’s Vineyard,” Zeke said with a grin. “It was all good.” He waggled his brows. “But I feel like I’ve missed a lot…living in the permanent friend-zone.”
Killian spun his globe keychain around his finger. “Hope you’re enjoying your stay.”
“Like I had a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” Killian said. “You made the right one.”
“Plenty of fish in the sea of Zeke.” Zeke grinned at us, then flipped his skateboard over. “I’m going fishing. Catch you later.”
“Bye Zeke,” I called after him, as he took off down the street, his arm raised in the air.
Killian shook his head. “What the hell is he wearing?”
I burst out laughing. “His fishing outfit. Obviously. You should be nicer to him.”
“That was me being nice. If I wanted to be mean, I would have asked him what the hell he was wearing.”
I eyed Killian’s cargo shorts and gray T-shirt. “His wardrobe has more colors than black, white, gray, and khaki.”
“You want me to wear different colors?”
“No. I like you just as you are.”
Pulling me against him, he cupped my butt in his hand. “I like these little orange shorts and this little blue top. And all the colors of your skin.”
I laughed. My shorts were coral, my tank top was navy, and my arms and legs were splattered with paint dots. Killian tugged my lower lip between his teeth and sucked on it. I whimpered and pressed my body against his and wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Mm.” I bit his lip and ground my body against his. He backed us up, so he was leaning against the door of his Jeep. “You taste so good. I want to eat you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” he said, working his kisses down my neck.
“I learned from the best.”
“Wanna hear what I’m going to do to you later?”
“Yes.”
Someone cleared their throat and I turned to look at Ava. “Am I interrupting?”
“Yes,” Killian said, turning me around in his arms so I was standing in front of him, with my back against his chest. Most likely to cover the raging hard-on he was sporting. I pushed my butt into it and laughed when he groaned.
“I don’t know how Eden gets any work done with all her visitors,” Killian complained.
Ava smirked at him. “We don’t distract her as much as you do.”
“I welcome all distractions.” I wiggled my butt against him again.
“You’re going to pay for this later,” he whispered in my ear.
“I look forward to it.”
Ava clapped her hands together. “Who’s up for some lunch?”
“Killian is up for anything,” I said.
“I bet he is,” she said, arching her brows. “Shake Shack? Burgers, fries, shakes.”
“It’s a salad day,” Killian said, extracting himself from me. He opened the hatch and came out with a bag that no doubt contained Tupperware containers filled with salads. He’d been bringing me lunch every day, which was how I’d learned just how big of a health nut he was. Lean protein, lots of greens, and grains I’d never heard of, all prepared by him in his kitchen.
On today’s menu, we had a quinoa salad with chicken, pistachios, dried cranberries, and mint. And a green salad with tons of raw veggies and a mustard vinaigrette dressing. Yesterday we had couscous with roasted vegetables. The day before was a wild rice salad with salmon. The day before that was a Greek salad.
Ava rolled her eyes as he unpacked the salads. “I knew the cookies were a one-off,” she grumbled.
“Next time I’ll bake brownies and we can eat them all,” I told her.
She high-fived me. “Now we’re talking a language I understand.”
We sat on the ground with our backs leaning against the wall and ate our salads al fresco which had become our little routine. Ava turned her nose up at the salads, but she hung out and talked while Killian fielded bar-related phone calls and I stuffed my face because I loved his salads.
“Pick you up at four,” Killian said, giving me a chaste kiss goodbye. Anything more started a fire inside me, and I needed to focus on painting my wall. Not to mention I needed to conserve my energy for work tonight. The sun and heat and Killian turned me into a limp noodle.
After they left, I climbed back up the scaffold and got back to work. While I painted, I tried to remember a time when I was this happy, and I couldn’t. Unless I went all the way back to childhood, but that was an entirely different kind of happiness. My life was so good now it was scary.
Any feelings I’d harbored for Luke had vanished. I’d finally spoken to him on the phone and he’d tried to explain his side of the story. While he’d talked, I’d waited for the hurt to dig its claws in. When it didn’t, I’d smiled into the phone, grateful that I’d put it behind me and had moved on.
Now I was painting a wall in Williamsburg, had a bartending job I loved, cool friends and best of all, I had Killian. Hard to believe that we’d ever done that push-and-pull because now we were all in.
* * *
I was lying naked on the chopping block island in Killian’s kitchen, my hair fanning out around me like a mermaid washed up on the beach, my legs draped over his bare shoulders. My body was his banquet to feast at and I was Lady Bountiful.
A David Guetta remix was playing on his sound system, the ceiling fan spinning above me. A cool breeze blew across my skin, and a delicious shiver ran through my body. I wasn’t cold, though. I was a raging inferno.
His tongue circled the rim of my belly button and dipped inside. Around and around. Heat pooled between my legs. My muscles clenched, and a low moan escaped my lips. His tongue glided up my belly, slow and torturous. The stubble on his jaw grated against my skin, making all the neurons in my body fire on all cylinders. His tongue circled my nipple, flicked over it. Glided over the swell of my breast and moved on to the next one where he continued to torture me.
My back arched, and I was moaning, writhing. He’s working me into a frenzy. It wasn’t enough. It was too much.
“You need to stop,” I whimpered.
“You want me to stop?” he asked, lifting his head to look at me.
“Yes. I mean, no. I want…more than you’re giving me.”
He chuckled. “So greedy and impatient.”
He was trying to kill me, I was sure of it. His tongue glided up my inner thigh. Inching its way up to where I wanted it. My body was quaking, my palms sweaty. He stopped short of the mark and started on the other leg. The tip of his tongue found my clit and flicked over it once. My body spasmed. He did it again. And again. Two fingers slid inside me, curling, reaching, rubbing against the spot he didn’t need a map to find. I was all nerve endings and slick heat. Throbbing, pulsing, aching need.
“I. Want. You,” I gritted out.
Taking himself in his hand, he rubbed the tip between my slick folds.
I lifted my head to watch him. His eyes were on my face, his lips slightly parted as he guided himself inside me. Slowly. Slowly. I closed my eyes and all thoughts evaporated as he moved in and out filling me up. Again. And again. He pushed deep inside me.
“Oh…God.” I yelled hoarsely.
My body exploded, my muscles clenching around him, convulsions rocking my body. As if from somewhere far away, I heard his ragged breathing. His hands tightened on my hips, fingers digging into my flesh, as he came. He pressed a kiss on my belly, the stubble on his jaw brushing my skin, before he pulled out of me.
My legs felt like rubber as he lowered me to the ground, and I got dressed in my tank top and underwear.
He took my hand and led me upstairs to his bedroom. Unlike me, he hadn’t bothered to put on clothes. I got a good look at his perfect ass, firm, and round, and deserving of a photo plastered on the Brooklyn Bridge. On billboards across the country. It was that good. My gaze traveled upwards to the dimples on his lower back and to the phoenix tattoo.
“How are you going to make your salads on that island now?” I asked.
“Tomorrow’s salads will be extra salty.”
“Oh God,” I said, laughing.
We took turns in the bathroom and met up in his bed. I hadn’t seen Connor’s bedroom, but Killian’s was small, with two windows facing the backyard. His room was clean but basic, with a queen-sized bed, a dresser, and bedside tables. I lay back on his forest green sheets and looked at my painting on the wall. I’d stretched the canvas onto a wooden frame and he’d hung it across from his bed, so it would be the last thing he saw before he went to sleep and the first thing he saw when he woke up.
Killian slipped under the sheets, flicked off the lamp, and pulled my back against his chest. He bent his knees, bringing mine with them, and I snuggled into the curve of his body. His hand found mine and he laced our fingers together. This was how we fell asleep every night. We didn’t wake up this way. Killian slept on his stomach, his arms wrapped around the pillow. I usually woke up on my side, arm under my pillow, facing him. But this was how we fell asleep and I loved it.
“Goodnight, baby.”
“Goodnight, Killian.” I had barely gotten the words out before I drifted off to sleep with a smile on my lips.
I was woken the next morning by a tongue swirling around my nipple. Twenty minutes later, we emerged from the shower together, a cloud of steam billowing behind us.
Fifteen minutes later, we were on our way to Jared’s tattoo shop, an iced coffee in my hand. I’d braided my wet hair and bravely donned white shorts and a light blue T-shirt because I had a laundry issue, as in I needed to cart all my dirty clothes to the laundromat. Which, sadly, I planned to do tonight, on my night off.
“We’ll pick it up now,” Killian said, when I mentioned it.
“Why?”
“I’ll take it to my house.”
“Why?” I asked, still not cluing in.
“I have a washer and dryer. I’ll throw your stuff in while I make lunch.”
“You can’t do my laundry, make my lunch, run the bar, drive me all over town and—” I was still protesting when he stopped in front of my apartment building.
“Go. You’re burning daylight.”
“Burning daylight?”
He drummed the steering wheel with his fingers. “I’ve got shit to do.”
“Exactly my point,” I said, not making a move to leave. “You don’t have time to do all this other stuff. I’ll buy lunch at the deli today. And if you let me hang out at your apartment tonight, I’ll do my own laundry and I’ll be waiting for you when you get home.”
He perked up at that suggestion. “Naked?”
“Maybe.”
“Naked,” he repeated.
“Okay. Fine.” Although I had no intention of sitting around his house naked. “I’ll cook dinner too. We can eat at two in the morning.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. But you’ll have to eat whatever I cook.”
He grinned. “Deal.” He leaned across me and pushed open my door. “Get your laundry.”