Nothing But Trouble

by Ashley Bostock

  It seemed only fitting to embrace newness considering everything she’d been putting herself through.

  “Charlet had something come up and couldn’t make it in. I’ll show you what she wants you to do,” Gayle greeted Sophia when she walked into the Art Center. Sophia didn’t care for the woman much. She wasn’t personable and had a bad attitude. If Sophia had to guess, Gayle wasn’t much younger than Sophia. Maybe twenty. She had zero people skills. She always spoke to Sophia like she was a bother. Not a volunteer. Honestly, it got on Sophia’s nerves.

  She followed Gayle down the same hallway where Sophia finished the other room, making faces behind Gayle’s back. Sophia was not ashamed. It felt good to be mean to someone other than herself for a change.

  “In here. She wants you to paint it however you want.”

  “What? No way!” Sophia exclaimed.

  “That’s what I thought too.”

  That time Sophia gave her a dirty look directly. “I can handle it.”

  “Sure. Whatever. Anyway, she said to keep it appropriate.” Gayle eyed Sophia up and down as if she knew what Sophia did for a living. Like Sophia didn’t know how to be appropriate. Whatever.

  “Fine. Where’s the paint?” Sophia asked.

  “Like I know. Find it yourself.” Gayle turned on her heel and left Sophia standing there gaping at her backside. How rude!

  Sophia set her bag down and walked across the hall to find the paint. It was probably still in the rainbow room. She turned on the light, and sure enough, all the paint cans sat neatly against the far wall. She began picking them up two at a time and moved them into the other room. The blank canvas room that she could do with as she pleased. If that didn’t brighten her day, what could?

  “Here, let me help you with those.”

  Sophia jumped at the sound of Michael’s deep voice, longing and guilt settled into her stomach. She squared her shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

  Sophia tried to ignore how handsome he looked in his faded blue jeans and bright-blue t-shirt. He’d had a recent haircut and those short, even lines along the side of his neck made her heart skip.

  “I was getting ready to ask you the same question,” he said.

  “I volunteer here.”

  “Me too.”

  Sophia quirked an eyebrow up. “You do hands-on volunteer work here?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. I started a few weeks ago. Around the same time, I realized I shied away from anything having to do with feelings.”

  His gaze bored into hers as he told her this, setting her soul on fire. It was as if he was revealing his dirtiest, darkest secrets to her, and he was making sure she was paying attention. Oh, definitely paying attention.

  “When did you start volunteering here? After the gala?” he asked.

  “Yes. That next day I came and filled out an application.”

  “How have you been since your grandma…” His voice trailed off, and it was obvious he was asking, not only about her grandma, but also about how she’d unceremoniously told him they couldn’t be together. After she stole a few orgasms from him. That was her, an orgasm thief. The knife she’d had in her heart since her grandma’s death and his departure just continued to stay stuck in there. Turning and turning like a windmill.

  “I’m okay. Looking for a new job. I also enrolled in two classes for the fall. Here. Help me with the paint,” she said while trying to avoid the twisting knife in her heart. She picked up a few cans and didn’t bother looking back as she exited the room.

  “That’s all good news. I’m proud of you. Gosh, I’m glad someone finished this,” he remarked.

  Sophia stopped dead in her tracks and faced him. “What do you mean?”

  “This room.” He chuckled. “I just kept screwing it up.”

  “You were the one who threw away my paint brushes?”

  Realization dawned in his eyes. “You were the one who cleaned up my mess?”

  “Cleaned up your mess? Michael, I’m surprised you’re back as bad as you were,” she said.

  They laughed together, and the light that shined through the half-open blinds highlighted the faint stubble along his cheekbones she hadn’t noticed before. Instantly she was flooded with memories of that same stubble brushing against her face and neck, across her breasts and between her legs. As if he sensed the burning sensation inside of her, he stepped closer, half an inch of space between the two of them. His breath fanned across her cheek, and she swore just one tilt of her head and she would be able to feel all that sexy stubble yet again. Sophia held her breath instead. Not knowing what he intended to do.

  “It’s too bad I went back to my no-kissing rule because your lips look so sweet all glossed up like that. So delectable. Like they’ve been waiting for me to touch them ever since the last time I did.”

  Sophia’s tongue darted out to lick her lips, confirming she still had her gloss on them. His eyes tracked her movement and shivers raced down her spine as he walked ahead of her carrying the paint cans. She started forward, wishing he, too, would break that rule again. At least for this one moment. Once the two of them carried all the cans into Sophia’s blank canvas room, Michael stood there watching her. Waiting.

  “You can go,” she offered. Plus, the more time they spent together, the more she wanted to have a relationship with him, confide to him all her troubles, to apologize for the way she’d treated him. It was best if he left as quickly as he could so she didn’t make a fool of herself.

  “Go? Charlet told me this was my room to work on.”

  “She told me it was my room.” Sophia hadn’t even had a chance to claim it yet, but she was already attached to her blank canvas room and the idea that she could create anything she’d like. She almost began to pout.

  “Let’s do it together. We’ll make a great team,” he said.

  Sophia’s eyes widened. He couldn’t be serious. “What? We can’t do that.”

  “Why not? You can be the boss. You tell me what to paint and I’ll try to paint it.” He laughed. “I’ll even be a good boy and help you fix all the things I mess up. And I promise I won’t throw any of your paint brushes away.”

  A good boy? The way he touched her and used that mouth of his, had her agreeing that he was a good boy indeed. The man was relentless. Charming. Addicting. Sweet. And Sophia knew all of this. As they stood quietly in the room, eyeing one another, the gleam in his eyes tantalizing her with more, she acquiesced.

  She tried so hard to put up barriers, but that was probably a challenge for him that he was all too happy to overcome anyway. After all, the man dealt with negotiations every day of his life. His business didn’t get where it was from nothing.

  He was endearing, honest and for whatever reason, he wasn’t giving up on her. He wasn’t giving up on her. She repeated this in her head, and she forgot about the thrown-away paint brushes and considered why this man, this amazingly smart, handsome, successful guy wasn’t giving up on her. Sophia had thrown everything in her arsenal at him: living in different worlds, too busy to be with one another, her nursing goals. Hell, she’d even thrown in that she was a stripper as an excuse, but he kept coming back. Over and over, even after she had the gall to make him see his mistakes with Mindy.

  She shook her head, not believing what she was thinking. Did she truly believe she needed to keep hurting herself for her grandmother’s death? Out of all the times in Sophia’s life she needed someone, someone strong to lean on and take life’s burdens off her shoulders for just a little while, it was now. Why couldn’t she move forward? Trust in Michael. Trust in herself.

  Michael stood watching her with his head tilted to the side, his eyes still gleaming with an all-knowing look that shook her straight to her soul. Why was she so eager to push him away? She’d waited so long to have sex with someone and she made the conscious decision that that man was it—the man she’d been waiting all her life for—to show the part of her that she’d kept sacred and every week he managed to break
the wall around her down, only to have her rebuild it the next week. Yet, here he was, always on the other side of that wall, waiting to tear it down once again.

  What would it hurt if the two of them worked on her blank canvas together? It would only be a few nights a week, a couple of hours each night. It would still feed this hunger she had in her to paint and pour her heart into something extravagant.

  “It’s a deal. Let’s paint this room together.” Her smile was genuine this time, stretching muscles in her cheeks that she hadn’t used for some time. It was a smile she hadn’t been able to achieve since she made him leave her apartment, but it was real. When he smiled back at her, his twinkling eyes causing her stomach to flutter with whimsical things, she knew his was genuine, too.

  Over the next month, three nights a week, Michael met Sophia at the door of the Art Center. Ever the gentleman, he’d open the door for her and allow her to go first. Once inside he’d produce mini chocolate bars with almonds—Sophia’s favorite!—and sometimes he would bring chocolate covered coconut candy bars that were his favorite. Then, snacks in hand, the two of them painted a few hours each night snacking on the bars and becoming friends.

  Real friends.

  The type of friend Sophia wasn’t used to because she’d never had. He was happy to share his latest projects with her.

  “Here. Last chocolate bar. Open your mouth,” he said.

  Without hesitating, Sophia opened her mouth and let him shove the chocolate inside. “You have to stop bringing those things. I’m going to weight an extra hundred pounds.”

  “Right,” he scoffed.

  She smiled. “Is that one project you were telling me about finalized?”

  “The women’s shelter? It’s getting there. Cole’s in charge and I think it’s going well.” He reached up and rubbed the corner of her mouth. “Chocolate.”

  The attraction between them was still very much alive and present every single moment of every single night they were together, but he never made any moves toward her and she never made one toward him. Unless you counted all the times Sophia “accidently” touched him. She was disappointed and relieved that he wasn’t noticing her antics and that he was still following his no-kissing rule.

  Tonight though, along with chocolate, he brought her hot-buttered rum, concealed in a metal thermos.

  “Shh. I snuck it in. Charlet would fire us, if she found out.” Michael’s eyes gleamed with mischief.

  Sophia laughed, nodding her head. “She would kill us. What if I get tipsy and start messing up my strokes?”

  “I’ll fix them for you.”

  Michael glanced up and they both burst with laughter, knowing with his skills—or lack thereof—that wasn’t possible.

  He turned back to the drink. Sophia salivated watching Michael twist the cap off. He raised the bottle to her mouth, being careful not to shove it down her throat. The warm beverage glided easily over her tongue and she closed her eyes momentarily to enjoy the sweet flavors.

  “You have the most beautiful throat I’ve ever seen,” Michael’s husky voice and breath against her cheek, made her open her eyes.

  Heat pooled between her legs. His eyes never wavered from hers as he brought the thermos to his mouth and took a long swallow. God, he was so close. Not touching, but almost. She rectified that by casually laying her palm on his arm.

  “Did you make it yourself or did Irma?” There was a sweetness in the air that had nothing to do with the drink. Tension stretched between them. Longing. Passion. It was so thick and so apparent; Sophia was sure it was going to snap. Kiss me, damn it.

  “I made it. You like?” Michael asked, his bushy eyebrows quirking up on his forehead.

  “I love.” Sophia could barely get the words out. She hadn’t meant the rum drink, even though that had been what he was referring to. She meant him. God, she loved him.

  Badly.

  “Me too, Sophia. Me too,” he said as if he understood completely. “Oh, I brought you one more thing. I hope you’ll like it.”

  Piquing her interest, she smiled. “What?”

  Michael proffered a silver potato smasher, holding it out in front of him like a bouquet of flowers. “For you, Madam.”

  She laughed, taking the kitchen utensil from his hands. Her heart tripped over itself and she was even more convinced that her heart was in the right place. She loved him. She threw her arms around him.

  “It’s better than all the roses you got me. Thank you.”

  Later that night, that was the only thing that ran in and out of Sophia’s head. Michael’s dreamy gaze and his deep voice agreeing with her. “Me too, Sophia. Me too.”

  A few days later, their blank canvas was starting to turn into something amazing. The room didn’t have chalkboards up, just the white concrete block walls, so they had ample amounts of space to work with. Because of Michael’s lack of painting skills, he mostly stood back and watched Sophia. He switched out the colors when she needed them, cleaned or changed her brushes and every so often he’d ask her about something she was working on that wasn’t making sense to him. For one of the walls, she asked him to cover it in a shade of blue and he managed that without incident.

  “Is it going to be a unicorn?” he asked as she worked on the body.

  “It is. How did you know?” she said surprised.

  “Because you’re a dreamer.”

  She stepped back from the step stool and stumbled. Luckily, Michael was there to break her fall, and he haphazardly caught her with her back pressed against his chest, his arms secure around her waist.

  Oh, my God, he feels so good! “Thank you. I’m glad you were standing there.”

  “Me too,” he whispered.

  Those shivers he was so good at giving her were back as his nose and mouth rooted against her hair. He was hard against her bottom, and once again she was thinking of all those gloriously wonderful things he did to her that night at his penthouse that her body could not forget, try as she might.

  “I’ve been wanting to hold you like this, Sophia. To feel your hair against my face, to feel the soft length of your body against mine, to touch you here.” His hands brushed against the undersides of her breasts. “To feel you against me here.” He pressed his erection firmly into her butt. “But most of all…” His hand came up and moved her head so she could see him over her shoulder. “I’ve been dying to feel you here.”

  His lips claimed hers, and it was better than all the seconds she thought about it every hour of the day. He was possessive and hungry, like she was going to be his last meal. She began grinding into him, unable to stop herself. It felt so right to be in his arms this way. As if they were built for one another. Their limbs, although opposites in strength and definition, were built to become one.

  He tasted like home.

  “Turn around.”

  Sophia turned into his grasp, realizing she’d dropped the paintbrush somewhere along his sweet intrusion, and their eyes met. Sophia went from volunteer painter to willing partner in two point five seconds. Why was she trying to stay away from this man? She couldn’t remember, and she no longer cared. She wasn’t staying away any longer. Not now. Not tonight. Not anymore. She wanted him to know how important he’d become to her, how much she appreciated him, even when she pushed him away. She chalked it up to that saying, “absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  She wanted to give him more than her innocence.

  She fumbled with his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, until she was able to reach inside his briefs and wrap her hand around his erection. His head fell back, and his eyes went to half-mast as she stroked him, savoring the smoothness of his thick shaft. She stroked him and stroked him, thumbing her way around the head of his erection, spreading out the small amount of liquid beaded there.

  He groaned in delight, and before Sophia lost the nerve from thoughts of uncertainty, she dropped to her knees and swiped that wetness, creating an even bigger slick with her tongue.

  “
Sophia, you don’t have to do this,” he said in a low, guttural voice.

  She tilted her head back looking up directly into his eyes. His mouth formed a cocky half-grin, and she smiled back, trying to imagine what this picture of her, down here like this, painted for him.

  “I want to.” She eyed his thick, swollen cock. “Really freaking bad.”

  She licked him again and again, until finally, Sophia opened her mouth and took him inside. She felt like a queen. Although on her knees, she was the one in control. She held all the power in this situation, and when she raised her eyes to look up at his face, her thoughts were confirmed.

  The emotions in his eyes; trust, arousal, affection, love, mirrored her own—something they always seemed to do. This was what love was all about—the kindness, respect, the willingness to do things for the other person to make them happy—she’d never had love or anything close to a relationship the way she had with Michael.

  She continued licking the tip, sucking him deep into her mouth, all the while hoping she was doing it the way he liked. It didn’t take long, which was okay considering that sassy Gayle or Charlet could walk down there at any moment.

  “Sophia.” He grunted. “I’m going to come.” He tried pulling away, probably because he didn’t think she wanted it in her mouth. She wasn’t sure if she did either, to be honest, but she knew she wanted all of him. She gripped his thigh with her free hand and continued to stroke the length of him harder, more desperate, when the warmth of him hit the back of Sophia’s throat. She gladly took it down amid his grunts and moans of approval.