Chapter 60

Ollie’s POV

I’m entirely transfixed by the shifting muscles of Wes’s back as he continues to leave large strokes on the canvas. Seeing his back work makes my mouth go a little dry. Suddenly, I want to put my hands on his skin, to trace out the dips and planes of his back, mapping out the entirety of his torso.

Realizing I am ogling him, I clear my throat and turn away, making sure the door is closed behind me.

When I face Wes again, he’s glancing back at me.

“Oh! You’re here,” he says.

He smiles brightly as he turns around to greet me. There’s little spots of paint on his chest, like freckles or a constellation. As he approaches me, I see those speckles are in all shades of blues and greens.

“Please come in,” he says. “Make yourself at home.”

There’s a couple of stools in the room as well as an old couch with a tarp over it, but I don’t feel like sitting down. Instead, I step closer to the easel to see what he’s working on. The bare wooden floorboards creak under our weight as he follows me.

“How old is this building?” I ask.

“It’s one of the older buildings in town,” Wes admits. “I like it though. It’s quiet and peaceful and far enough away from everything that I feel like I can escape for a while.”

I glance at him sideways, wondering just what he needs to escape from. He’s one of the Alphas, and a son of an Alpha and a Luna. For his whole life, all he has known is privilege. What could he need to escape from?

But that’s unfair, isn’t it? We all carry our own burdens. Surely the title of Alpha King carries its own weight, despite the privilege of his position.

It’s probably none of my business and I should let it go, yet, in this moment, I wonder what troubles Wesley is carrying, and if I could help ease some of that burden.

That would be too much, though. Our relationship is temporary, and if I allow myself to open up to him in that way, taking on his problems as my own, then I might become overly attached.

For now, it’s better if we maintain as much distance as we are able. At least in terms of our hearts.

Trying to find something else to talk about, I more fully focus on his work.

Now that I’m looking closer, I can see he is painting a bowl of fruit in the afternoon sunlight. The colors he’s using and the brush strokes make the painting seem more like a dream than reality. It’s absolutely breathtaking.

Wes has a lot of hobbies, but he often keeps them secret. This is the first time I’ve ever been able to truly see and appreciate his work.

“You have so much talent,” I tell him, meaning every word.

He’s watching my face as he comes to my side. “Would you like to learn?”

“I couldn’t…”

“All it takes is practice.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“I’ll show you,” he says.

He takes away his own painting and replaces it with a blank canvas. Then he daps one of his paintbrushes in the paint already on his palette, and holds it out for me to hold. Once I’m holding it, he moves around behind me.

Gently, he reaches around me and places his hand over mine. With him guiding me, I start pressing light paint strokes down on the canvas.

I can’t say if they are good or not. I’m not really focusing on the work itself at all.

Instead, all of my nerves and all of my attention is singularly focused on the nearness of Wes’s naked chest to my back and the feel of his hand covering mine, leading me.

“That’s good,” he says. “Just like that.”

I freeze, the words sending fireworks down along my spine. At once, my body heats up and I so very much want to hear those words said in a different context, praise gifted in a different way, as our bodies are aligned.

Wes must detect the sudden stiffness in my body. “What’s wrong?” he asks me.

I turn my head to look up into his face. Gods, he’s so close. On instinct, my gaze dips down to his lips.

He stills now too, likely seeing the way my attention has waned. With as close as he is, with his hips so near my ass, I can feel when his dick jerks within his pants.

He swallows hard but doesn’t move away. That’s good, because I really don’t want him to.

“May I… kiss you?” he asks, ever polite. Ever a sweetheart.

In response, I turn more fully toward him and throw my arms around his neck. As I push myself up to meet his mouth, he leans down to meet mine.

We catch in the middle.

Whatever shyness Wes might have been feeling vanishes the moment out mouths connect. Suddenly it’s as if a wildfire has been sparked. His tongue slips into my mouth. His hands explore my body.

Soon, he’s guiding us down onto the ground. It isn’t terribly comfortable, trapped between the creaking floor and the hardness of Wes’s body, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. I’m right where I want to be.

One of his thighs is between my legs, and I buck up into it searching for friction. He growls against my mouth as his dick swells against my hip.

Finally, I trace his bare chest with my hands, smearing those paint specks in my desperation to explore all the plains and valleys of his chest.

Before long, we break away, panting. He pushes himself upright, staring down at me from above.

Gods, I want to be naked for him. I want to feel him inside of me, and –

“I have to paint you like this,” he says. “You are so beautiful. Is that alright?”

Maybe some distance would be for the best. I was just about to lose myself.

“Alright.”

“Don’t move,” he says. He stands and rushes to move the easel. He scraps the painting we had started together and starts something new. His movements are quick, moving like a madman.

I thought these moments apart would cool my passion, but the weight of his gaze is nearly as heavy as his touch as he inspects every square inch of my body. I’m still wearing my clothes, but I wish I was naked. I want him to see me through and through.

He must feel the same, because after some time, he licks his lips and says, “I’m having trouble with your shirt… Maybe you should take it off.”

His cheeks tint a bit red as his gaze drops to my breasts. Desperate to feel the weight of those eyes on my bare skin, I reach up and start to undo the buttons of my shirt one by one.

With each bit of skin that’s revealed, he hurries to add to the painting.

Finally, I unbutton the last button, though my shirt still hangs mostly closed. I grip the two halves, about to stretch it open –

There’s a knock on the door.

Wes and I both freeze.

“Wes!” Declan calls. “Open up. We need to talk.”