I looked around in wonder at the paintings all over the walls, leaning against them or hung neatly for display. There were dozens of them all over the place, different faces looking at me from every corner. The style was beautiful—fluid as water colors but with a heavier style, eyes alive, faces lit up and expressive.

“Amazing,” I breathed as I went to look at them closer, circling around the room. I could feel Cooper’s eyes on me as I looked around, and when I looked at his face it was filled with interest and curiosity.

“You like them?” he asked. I nodded, faintly tracing the outline of one with my fingers, the gentle curves of a woman with her hand over her mouth, a sly smile hiding behind it.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“A girl I met once,” he said. “Most of these people are those I’ve seen in passing. I don’t use photos.”

“So you just remember their faces?”

“For the most part,” he said softly. “Sometimes I have to fill in the details.”

I looked at him over my shoulder. “That’s crazy.”

He laughed. “So I’ve been told.”

“You’re so good,” I said. “I can’t believe it.”

“No?” he asked, grinning at me. “Didn’t think I had it in me?”

“Most cowboys aren’t known for their artwork,” I said.

“I’m a little different than most cowboys,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” I said to him coyly, moving over to his workstation, where there were dozens of bottles of paint covering the table. There were multiple brushes, too, large and small. I had never seen a set-up like this, so full of options and opportunities. I turned to him, taking a deep breath.

“You’re really going to make me do this?”

“I’m not making you do anything, Violet,” Cooper said. “But I want this. I want to see what you can create.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he said, coming up behind me. “I want to know everything about you. I want to see your art, your body, your smile.”

I shivered when he said the words, trying to ignore them as I picked up a palette and a couple of bottles of paint.

“Are you going to watch me?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said simply, sitting on a stool in the corner of the room. I took a deep breath, staring at the canvas, my mind wandering where it always did when I painted. There was a certain blankness, yet a clarity that I never had any other time as I started to paint. I could feel his eyes on me and yet I wasn’t nervous. Every brush stroke made me feel safer, more in my zone, until I forgot he was in the room almost completely. I didn’t know how long I painted before it was over, a canvas full of scarlet red, deep purple, the colors of passion.

“Lovely,” he said, and I realized that he was right behind me. I turned to him, looking into his face. His gaze was narrowed and hot, lingering on my lips.

“Why won’t you let me kiss you?” he asked. “I would kill to kiss you.”

“I don’t want it,” I lied, and he grinned at me, biting his bottom lip.

“What are you afraid of, Violet?” he asked me. “That I’ll hurt you? Tell you no?”

“I’m not afraid,” I said. He shook his head, and pulled me in by the hips against his body.

“So kiss me,” he breathed against my lips, and I did exactly that, melting into him despite the fact that I was covered in paint from where it had splattered. I didn’t care about anything as I sucked his bottom lip, then the top, before I parted my own and he was able to slip his tongue in to taste me. He gave a soft growl when I tasted him back, his hands twining in my hair, holding me close to him as we devoured each other, ravenous for touch.

“Cooper—”

“Shh,” he said, kissing me again, then again. “Hush and let this happen.”

I whimpered softly, especially when his hands cupped my ass, and he started to lift my dress up from behind. I allowed him to pull it up and over my hips as he lead me over to the work table, pushing the paints aside so that I could sit on the edge of it. My thighs were visible to him, my dress hiked up so that he could see my panties, could see my wet pussy if I opened my legs. I kept them shut, shy about my arousal even as he kissed me, his tongue exploring my mouth, teasing me. He parted my legs with his hands, caressing my thighs, pulling my panties down before I could stop him. He knelt, then, staring at my pussy, swollen and wet already.

“Cooper, this is weird,” I said to him. He shook his head, pulling me toward the edge, nuzzling the inside of my thigh.

“You think me looking at your pretty pussy is weird, huh?” he asked. “As if it isn’t the best artwork in this room.”

“It’s not—”

I was cut off when he placed his mouth between my legs, sliding his tongue from the bottom to the top of my slit. He buried it inside of me, gathering my juices, spreading them around so that every part of me was dripping and glistening, ready for his mouth. He began to lick me in slow laps, breathing heavily against my pussy, his mouth ravenous but patient as he stroked my clit with the tip of his tongue. I squirmed against his face, letting myself go, though every part of me screamed that this was a bad idea. He parted the lips of my pussy with his thumbs to bury himself even deeper, licking me, tasting me with an expert tongue that made me start to shake and tremble on the table with a pleasure I had never felt before.

“Oh, Cooper,” I breathed. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t stop,” he growled. “Not until you’re cumming all over my face.”

I moaned in response to that, humping against him. A gasp came out of my chest when I felt him slip one finger into my wanting pussy, something that I had never felt before. I didn’t even use my own fingers that way, too embarrassed to probe into myself. It seemed to fill me up even though it was only one, and when he started to stroke the inside of my pussy with it I wanted more and more. I had never been touched by a man in any way that was intimate—I’d always been too busy to think about sex, but now it was all that was on my mind.

“Your pussy is so tight,” he said with wonder. “So fucking tight. God.”

His words made me gush even wetter, and I nearly collapsed when he started tonguing my clit again. I came within a few moments, a wave of electric pleasure washing over me, bucking against his face with no inhibitions. I squeezed my thighs around him, unable to help myself, and he groaned as he continued to eat me, making me cum one more time. Then he pulled away from me, looking me in the eye.

“Good?” he asked. I nodded, breathless.

“Thank—”

“Yeah, no problem. Goodnight, Violet,” he said in a cold tone, and left me alone in the attic, filled with confusion.