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I lift the painting and spin it around to face her. She tilts her head, studying it with an artist’s eye, and snaps a picture with her phone. I smile and pose.
“Did you get it?”
“Yep.” She glances at me as I set it down. “Still can’t figure out what it says, other than the title. I guess the artist was too tired to sign their name after making this masterpiece.”
I chuckle. “You’re probably right. Something like this must’ve taken a few months.”
“Maybe longer,” she says. “Oh, speaking of paintings, I’d like to see the ones you have in storage.” She looks up at me with sparkly green eyes like she adores the shit out of me.
“Whatever you’d like, gorgeous.”
She grows giddy. “Today?”
“If that’s what you’d like. And you can pick the ones you want pulled, and I’ll have them delivered here next week.”
She tilts her head. “Can you have themalldelivered here?”
I laugh. “No room. I have over a hundred framed paintings. That means you’ll need to be strategic with wall space.”
Her mouth drops open in disbelief.
“Oh, come on. Don’t act too shocked. I’ve been painting most of my life. If anything, there should be more.” I kick off my shoes, enjoying being back home.
The stack of unopened mail that was delivered while I was away is a reminder that my honeymoon is over. Tomorrow, I return to work.
“You impress me,” she says with admiration in her tone.
I tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear.
“Can we look at your paintings after we take a nap?” She grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs, her steps light.
“A nap? Ora nap?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Anapand then a nap. That’s theonlylogical order.” She smirks.
When we reach the second level, I pull Carlee closer. The smell of her vanilla-cinnamon skin is intoxicating. Our mouths slide together, and her arms loop around my neck. In one swift motion, I lift her, holding her ass to steady her. Instinctively, she wraps her legs around me.
“I can never get enough of you,” she confesses in a hushed tone.Her soft lips brush against my neck before returning to my mouth. “I’m addicted.”
I nudge open the bedroom door and gently lay her on the mattress. Her hair is splayed around her, and she smiles up at me.
My wife is gorgeous.
She glances at the wall and spots the painting of her above the headboard. It’s where she wanted it. The colors pop, and the image is full of life and love.
“Oh wow,” she says, totally captivated by it while I’m completely captivated by her. A smile tugs at her lips as she turns her gaze back to me. “I can’t believe you see me like that.”
“You’re my gorgeous girl. Now”—I wipe my hand over my scruff—“sit your pretty pussy on this face.”
“Mmm.” She gives me a smoldering look, chewing on the corner of her lip. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”
Four hours later,I’m unlocking the climate-controlled space and flicking on the lights. Carlee walks in first and freezes.
“This is an art gallery,” she whispers.
“I guess you could say that,” I explain, glancing at the neatly organized space. “I own a few of these around the city. All of my artwork is hosted here.”
“Really? These are all yours?” she asks.