The soundof our shoes walking across polished concrete floors echoed through the dark warehouse room. He turns the light on, and we are surrounded with random sized and colorful paintings on the glossed white walls. Geometric sculptures were displayed randomly around the room. It was a private art gallery. I observe the entire room and look back at him, my eyes reading complete awe as to what he did. My Belfast to-do list and he made it happen.
“You found one?” I ask.
His lips curling upwards into a cunning smirk, “You say it like it was hard.”
“Aren’t you the overachiever,” I reply.
He leads me further into the art gallery, his hand never leaving mine. My eyes placed on every piece of art hanging methodically on the walls.
“Found an art gallery to ourselves. Are you going to tell me what it’s for?” he asks.
“Sex,” I say, my mouth curling upwards into a knowing smirk.
I turned around to face him, raising a brow of skepticism. He pushes a stray hair out of his face and clenches his jaw once more in a move to keep himself from laughing or smiling at me.
“You are going to paint sex?”
“No, you are,” I say.
“I’m a bartender, love not a painter,” Finn scoffs.
“No, we are going to paint while having sex,” I smile.
He gazed at me with uncertainty as his brows furrow together in confusion.
“Goddess,” he warns.
“Handsome,” I say, my voice trailing off in song.
The thick canvas cloth lowered onto the cold concrete of the gallery in his large hands with ease. My breath quickened at the sight of him in front of me. He wore only his black jeans and no shirt. His defined abs in full display as he bent over folding the cloth flat against the floor. The bottles of paint in my hands nearly dropped as my grasp went weak. Everything about this man was perfection.
His chiseled jaw.
Rock-hard six-pack abs.
Mesmerizing cobalt blue eyes.
This man is perfect, and I am far from it. My nerves bundled in my stomach, rolling in tidal waves of nervousness. My feelings becoming more obvious by the moment.
“Hey,” I croak, my mouth dry.
He turns to look at me, standing up to face me and rests his palm against his hip.
“There you are.”
“I found the paint,” I say, nodding down indicating the plain white bottles in my hand.
He grabbed the bottles from my hands, “Here.”
“Thanks,” I breathe.
He placed them on the floor next to the drop cloth and I desperately wish to say anything to free me from the pressive nervousness I feel being around him.
“I’m sure there was tons of paint to choose from.”
“Not many body paints, but whoever paints here had quite a few on hand.”
“To bad it isn’t flavored,” Finn says.
“That’s gross. I’m game for anything, but not everything is edible.”
“You sure are,” he says.
He grazed his hand across my cheek and pulled my lips against his in a soft kiss. It wasn’t frenzied, rushed or passionate. It was romantic. As he pulled his lips away from mine, his forehead rested against mine.
“Are you sure about this?” he breathes.
“Never been so sure,” I whisper.
He reached down and handed me a bottle of paint. We walked around the floor and poured white and black paint in different circles and shapes across the heavy white cloth.
“Just black and white, eh?” he asks.
“Hit the lights,” I whisper, biting my lips between my teeth in amusement.
He regards me carefully with a look of suspicion in his eyes. He walks over to the wall and turns the main light switch down as we are enveloped in darkness except for the swirls and lines of neon paint on the cloth in front of us. Before my brain can compute, my feet point me in the direction of the man in front of me. My fingers graze across his abs and he shudders at my touch in the dark.
“Jesus Christ, love. You scared the shit out of me,” Finn says.
A small chuckle escaped his lips and I have never heard a sweeter sound. This man lit my skin on his fire.
One look.
One touch.
One kiss.
Out of the darkness, his hand touched the back of my neck. His fist full of my tangled curls. His soft lips feathered light kisses against my neck and then up to my lips. Something so erotic about being in his arms and not being able to see him completely. His touch gentle. Numbing. His hand on my waist. Fingers grazing across my hard nipples, straining against my top.
“Finn,” I breathe.
Breathing against my neck, “Get naked,” he whispers.
His warm breath against my neck was the very thing to set my skin on fire and fill me with need. I heard the telltale sounds of his zipper open, and his jeans fall to the ground. I reach my hands across his abs and down his V to be met with naked skin.
“I said get naked,” Finn repeats, his voice authoritative and demanding.
My fingertips grazed over my top and pulled it over my head in one swift move. The desire to be naked completely in front of him in the lights was freeing. I did not usually think about my size when I am with him but being completely shrouded in the dark was sexier than I ever could have imagined. A guttural growl escapes his lips as he rips the black lace fabric of my bra off and falls to the ground in two pieces against the concrete floor.
“Fuck,” I whisper.