Chapter 16 - Nile

I had told Violet I would be home late, but I hadn't intended to be gone for as long as I was. By the time I got home, it was far past Penelope's bedtime, and I prayed that the girls weren't too upset with me.

My feet took the stairs two at a time until I reached the top floor.

"Violet? Penny?" I asked when I reached the top landing.

There was no response, but I heard the quiet sounds of a television coming from inside Violet's art studio. I opened the door gently to avoid disturbing her and found Penny asleep on the couch. I smiled at the sight of my sleeping daughter, touched that she had felt comfortable enough with my mate to fall asleep in Violet's studio. I couldn't remember a time when she'd been able to fall asleep without me putting her to bed.

"Did you two have a good time?" I asked quietly, spying the half-eaten pizza and pints of ice cream on the coffee table.

Violet was hidden behind the canvas she had been working on and didn't answer my question. I peeked around to look at her and realized she was crying.

"Vi?" I asked in concern. She sniffled as I knelt down next to her. "What's wrong?"

She didn't speak but appeared to try to compose herself, fanning her face and wiping her eyes on the hem of her shirt. She cast a glance at Penny's sleeping form.

"I'll go tuck her into bed, and then we can talk. Be right back, you stay there," I said.

I cradled Penny in my arms and carried her across the hall, placing her in her bed and pulling the covers up to her shoulders. She turned over in her sleep and grabbed her favorite bear, undisturbed by the change in her sleeping surface.

Walking quietly back across the hall, I went into Violet's studio and shut the door.

"Talk to me," I said gently as I sat down next to her.

"It's stupid," she said tearfully.

I hadn't seen Violet cry before. The sight alarmed me, but I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, so I tried to gently prod her into speaking one more time.

"I'm sure it's not stupid," I assured her. "But even if it is, that's okay. I still want to hear it."

She wiped her eyes again with the hem of her oversized shirt and took a deep breath.

"I just finished this painting," she said, waving her arm at the completed canvas in front of her. "And I feel like I'm living in a dream. Walter commissioned two pieces from me today, and I'm just so happy I couldn't help but cry. See? Stupid."

"It's not stupid at all," I said, tucking her honey-blond hair behind her ear. "And I think this is your best piece yet. I feel like I'm in the clearing on our wedding day."

"I'm really proud of it, but I just know I'm going to mess this up somehow," she said.

"The painting?" I asked, confused.

"No," she shook her head. "My chances at being a real artist. My pieces might be good, but what if I just fizzle out? What if this is the last good painting I ever do, and I never get any more commissions?"

"That's a lot of ‘what-ifs' for one painting," I pointed out.

She shrugged her shoulders, wiping the tears from her eyes once more. I didn't have any experience with cheering her up and wasn't sure what exactly I could do to reassure her. I knew I had to try, though.

"Come here," I said, pulling her away from the painting and toward her supplies. "Look at all of these tools and supplies. Look at these pieces you've already completed. This is the room of an artist. You have many more paintings yet to come, and each one will be even more beautiful than the last."

She frowned at the paint supplies and shrugged. "I just don't feel like a real artist right now."

"You look like one," I said simply.

"Really?" she asked quizzically.

"Actually, now that you mention it, something's missing…" I replied thoughtfully, stroking my chin as I studied her. "Ah! I know what it is."

I dabbed my pointer finger into the paint on her palette and wiped it across her cheek. "There! Just like an artist," I declared.

Her eyes widened with surprise, and her lips parted slightly. "You. Did. Not," she said in mock anger.

I grinned at her, daring her to stay sad in light of my antics. What I hadn't counted on was what she would do next.

Her hand reached up to wipe the paint from her cheek. She stared at the glob for a moment, and then she reached toward me to wipe it on my shirt.

"Ah! No, I'm not the artist," I replied with a laugh. I held up the palette like a shield to prevent her from touching me, resulting in even more paint smears on her hand and arm.

"You're in trouble now," she said, finally smiling as she grabbed an entire bottle of blue paint from the shelf next to her.

She managed to squirt me with it before I grabbed her, smashing the paint between us and causing it to spatter everywhere. We were both laughing as I tackled her to the ground and wrestled the bottle out of her hands.

"No more paint for you, missy," I said breathlessly. "Clearly, it's a dangerous implement in your hands!"

"Hey, you started it," she said with a raised eyebrow, wiping her paint-covered hand down my chest.

Between the look in her eye, our proximity, and the way her hand was moving lower on my torso, I felt my blood rushing toward my groin as my penis became erect. I shifted my hips away from her to avoid her noticing the effect she was having on me, but I wasn't fast enough.

"Sorry," I muttered as I sat up, moving away from her.

"Don't be sorry," she said.

Without a word, she removed her shirt and used it to wipe the paint from her hands. My focus slipped even more as I realized she hadn't been wearing a bra under her top. Her perfectly formed breasts bounced slightly as she moved, and my attention was drawn to her erect nipples. I swallowed hard as she finished wiping her hands and crawled toward me on the carpet.

"Vi, what are you doing?" I asked, unsure of where we stood with each other and not wanting to risk ruining any progress we had made.

"Giving you a hand job," she said bluntly, reaching toward the waist of my pants.

I gathered her hands in mine, preventing her from unbuttoning my jeans. "You don't need to do that," I said.

The lack of blood in my brain was making it hard to think, but I knew that I didn't want this moment to turn into something that was only physical. I couldn't lose her again, especially if it was because I couldn't control my own body.

"I want to," she insisted, disengaging her hands from mine and pushing on my chest until I was lying on my back.

I groaned as her hands moved down the length of my chest and stomach. She unfastened my pants and pulled them down, releasing my erection from its clothing constraints. As she looked into my eyes, she grasped my shaft. Another moan of pleasure escaped me as she moved her wrist, sliding her hand up and down my cock.

"Violet, wait," I said.

Before I lost all sense of control, I needed to talk to her. I couldn't allow her to give any more of herself to me without knowing whether it meant something to her.

Her hand paused, still encircling my manhood as she cocked her head quizzically. I unraveled her fingers, linking them with my own as I sat up. My other hand reached behind her head, cupping her gently as I moved in to give her a slow, sensuous kiss.

"I won't take you hard and fast like I did last time," I told her. "If we have sex again, it will be slow and intimate. It will be meaningful."

"What are you saying?" she asked.

"I'm saying I don't want to fuck you. Let me cherish you," I said earnestly, staring into her eyes as I spoke.

A smile crept onto her face, and her eyes glistened with emotion as she nodded. "I think you should take me to your bedroom, mate," she said.