Chapter 52: The Art of Touch
Sleep wasn’t coming to Oliver, his mind restless and circling around the evening. Del had brought home dinner. It was such a small thing, but it surprised him. For him, that counted as something close to a declaration.
He kept replaying it in his head, the way she’d brushed it off as “practical,” like it meant nothing, even while handing him chopsticks. But he’d felt it—the change, the way she was letting him into her life in slivers she didn’t even notice.
And then there was the other part. The part that still made his chest tighten whenever he thought about it. He could hardly believe she had actually let herself be that close with him, had trusted him in moments so intimate he never thought he’d see her give away.
She was still Del—guarded, not one to play into anyone’s fantasy—but she had let him in, and that truth stayed lodged in his ribs like something he didn’t want to shake loose.
He was still turning those thoughts over when a soft tapping reached his ears. He pushed himself upright, padded across the floor, and opened the door.
“Can you… come with me?” Del stood there in her oversized tee and pajamas, hair a little mussed, expression quiet. “To my room.”
Oliver didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
He followed her down the hall in only his sweatpants. As they stepped inside, he tugged at the waistband and gave a half-smile. “Mind if I stay like this?”
Del shrugged, already climbing onto her bed.
He grinned to himself and slipped in behind her, stretching out so she could settle back against him. He curved easily around her smaller frame. His chest pressed against her shoulders, his arm draped across her waist. When she shifted slightly, he adjusted without thought, pulling her closer until they fit together without any space left.
Oliver closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the warmth of her pressed against him.
“You okay?” he asked softly after a while.
“I’m fine,” Del answered. “Just… thinking.”
“What about?”
She didn’t answer, and for a moment he wondered if she’d drifted off.
So he tried again, giving her waist a light squeeze. “Tell me about your first piece. Or your favorite piece.”
Del hesitated before answering his question. “I don’t know. My first piece wasn’t anything big. Just… a sketch of my shoes when I was twelve.”
Oliver smiled against her hair. “Your shoes, huh? So, your art career started with laces and scuffs.”
“They weren’t scuffed,” she muttered, almost defensively. “I kept them clean.”
He chuckled softly, then reached up, brushing her hair away from the curve of her neck. His fingers lingered there for a moment, giving her seconds to stop him. “This okay?”
Del stilled, considering. Then she gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
“Keep talking, then,” he said, his voice low, coaxing.
She shifted a little in his arms but didn’t pull away. “My favorite piece is… probably the painting I did of the river by my grandmother’s house. I stayed up all night working on it. My hand hurt for days, but I didn’t care.”
Oliver lowered his mouth to her skin, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, then another just below. When she trailed off, he murmured, “Don’t stop. I want to hear it.”
Del exhaled slowly. “I—fine. The river. I liked the colors. The water never sat still, so it was hard to get it right. But I did.”
“You did,” Oliver said against her skin, giving it a gentle suck before pulling back. “Is this okay?” His hand slid tentatively over her stomach, resting there.
Del’s voice caught, and for a moment she didn’t say anything. Then, replied, “Yes.”
He let his palm warm against her belly, not rushing. “Keep going. Tell me about the colors.”
Del swallowed, then obeyed. “There were greens, some almost black, and patches of silver where the moon hit. I mixed them for hours until it felt right.”
Oliver moved his hand higher, skimming up to cup her breast over the thin cotton of her shirt. “Here?”
Her lips pressed together, and she hesitated before answering. “…Yes.”
“Good.” He gave her a gentle squeeze, then kissed her shoulder. “Don’t stop, Del. What happened after you finished it?”
She let out a shaky breath, forcing herself to keep speaking. “I—I gave it to my grandmother. She hung it in her living room.”
“I’d like to see it someday.” Oliver smiled against her skin and then added, “Can I feel your breasts?” His lips brushed her neck in between words.
Del’s breath hitched, her body tensing slightly in his arms. She didn’t turn to face him, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I… I don’t know,” she murmured.
He pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder, his hand stilling on her hip. “I just want to touch you, Del. Make you feel good.”
A long pause stretched between them, her heart pounding loud enough she was sure he could hear it. Finally, she gave a small nod. “Okay… yes.”
Oliver’s lips curved into an appreciative smile against her skin. “Good girl,” he murmured, then added, “Tell me about the next favorite piece of art you ever did. The one you’re proudest of.”
Del swallowed, her voice shaky as she began to speak, trying to focus. “It was… a painting of a storm over the ocean,” she said, her words halting at first. “The water was this deep, churning blue, almost black in places… I used heavy strokes, thick layers of paint to show the waves crashing, the way the sky split open with lightning…”
As she spoke, Oliver’s hand moved, sliding under the hem of her shirt. His fingers grazed the soft skin of her stomach, warm and teasing, before inching upward. Her breath caught as his hand slipped beneath the band of her bra, cupping the weight of her breast in his palm. Her nipples hardened instantly.
“You’re so soft,” he whispered, gently squeezing her breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. Del let out a soft moan, her words faltering, but he pressed a kiss to her neck and urged her on. “Keep going, Del. Tell me more about the colors and the strokes.”
She tried to focus, her voice trembling as she continued. “The… the sky had grays and purples… streaks of white for the lightning…” Her words broke off into another quiet moan as Oliver’s fingers deftly unclasped her bra, the fabric loosening to give him full access. Her breasts spilled free, and he groaned softly against her ear, his hand cupping one fully, kneading the tender flesh.
“God, you feel incredible,” he whispered. “I want more, Del.”