Chapter 247: ~ 247
Chapter 247
~Annie~
I was busy with my Canvas when Clinton came in.
Clinton looked exhausted. He has been trying to build up his company well since his father’s prison chronicles.
His tailored suit jacket was gone, his crisp white shirt sleeves were rolled unevenly to his elbows, and his silk tie was loosened so far it hung precariously from his open collar.
He didn’t say a word. He just walked straight toward me, his dark eyes locked onto mine with an absolute, quiet gravity.
I set my palette down on the rolling cart, not even caring about the wet blue paint smudged across my canvas apron, and stepped into his space. Before I could say a single word, Clinton reached out, his large hands catching me by the waist, and pulled me flush against his chest.
A long, ragged breath escaped his lips as he buried his face deep into the crook of my neck. His arms tightened around me, locking me down so securely it felt as if he were trying to physically anchor his drifting soul to the earth through me.
"You smell like paint." he murmured against my skin, his voice rough, thick with an exhaustion that tore at my heart.
"And you smell like a storm," I softly replied, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. I tangled my fingers in the short, dark hairs at the nape of his neck, gently massaging the tight muscles there, feeling the intense knots of tension slowly begin to give way under my touch. "Come on. Let’s get you out of those."
I didn’t let him answer. Taking his hand, I led him away from the paint-splattered workspace and toward the living area of the loft. I pulled off his loosened tie, throwing it carelessly over a chair, and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. "Annie, I should probably check that—"
"The world isn’t going to stop spinning if you take a few hours for yourself, Clinton," I interrupted firmly, looking up at him with a soft but unyielding gaze. "You’re just Clinton. And you’re home."
A faint, deeply grateful smile finally broke through his tense expression.
After he showered.
I pulled a massive, oversized knitted blanket from the closet and turned on the projector, letting the familiar Netflix logo on. I picked a random, comforting movie we had seen a dozen times before.
I curled my legs up onto the worn velvet sofa, and Clinton dropped heavily onto the plush cushions right next to me. He didn’t hesitate to pull me into his lap, shifting my body until my back was resting firmly against his chest, his powerful arms wrapping securely around my waist.
As the opening credits of the movie rolled, casting a soft, blue hue across the dim loft, a classic 90s R&B track began to play softly from the projector speakers.
Clinton’s chest rumbled against my back as a low, nostalgic chuckle escaped him. "Do you remember this song?"
I smiled, leaning my head back against his shoulder, my fingers automatically intertwining with his large, calloused ones. "How could I forget? You tried to learn the chords on that terrible, busted acoustic guitar you found in the alley behind the bodega."
"Hey, that guitar had character," he defended jokingly, though his voice was thick with a beautiful, quiet warmth. "Even if it only had five strings and the bridge was held together by wood glue."
"It sounded like a dying cat, Clinton," I laughed softly, turning my head slightly to look at his profile in the dim light. "You were determined to play it because you told me every real artist needed a muse."
"You were my muse," he murmured softly, his eyes dropping to look down at me with a profound, quiet adoration that made my heart skip a beat. He lifted our joined hands, gently pressing a kiss to the knuckles of my paint-stained fingers.
"The one and only," I whispered, a wave of intense, sweet nostalgia washing over me.
Long before he wore three-piece, custom-tailored suits and handled tech things, he was just the fiercely protective boy who would stand between me and the neighborhood bullies. He had always been my protector; he had always been my quiet, steady rock.
"I have to remind myself that the terrifying corporate shark everyone is afraid of is the same boy who cried when he accidentally stepped on a stray kitten in the alley."
Clinton let out a mock grunt of annoyance, pinching my side gently through my shirt. "That is a highly classified secret, Annie. If anyone finds out about that, my reputation is completely ruined."
"Your secret is safe with me," I purred, shifting slightly against his chest to get more comfortable under the heavy blanket. "It’s just amazing how much things have changed. Look at this place. Look at what you’ve built, where we are now. But when you hold me like this... it feels exactly the same as it did on that fire escape when we were twelve."
"Because nothing that matters has changed," Clinton whispered into my hair, his grip tightening around my waist, pulling me so close I could feel the steady, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat syncing up with my own. "My world still starts and ends right here in this room. With you."
The absolute, deliberate intentionality in his voice made a shiver of pure, emotional warmth rush down my spine. This wasn’t just a casual relationship; it was a lifetime of shared history, a love that had grown deeper and more resilient with every passing year.
As the movie played on the wall, completely ignored by both of us, I reached over to the side table and picked up my phone. I unlocked the screen, opening my private chat with Octavia.
Even surrounded by my own perfect, quiet sanctuary, I couldn’t completely shake the protective instinct I felt for her. I knew the storm Octavia was facing right now, and I wanted to extend a piece of the peace I had here to her.
With my free hand still locked securely in Clinton’s, I quickly typed out a message.
Hey Octavia, just checking in on you. I know the world outside is incredibly loud today, but the noise doesn’t change the truth. If it ever gets to be too much at the office or anywhere, my home door is always unlocked for you. Sending you so much love.
I pressed send, watching the message bubble pop up onto the screen before turning the screen completely off and tossing the phone back onto the table.
Clinton leaned forward, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the side of my neck, his breath warm and comforting against my skin. "Thank you for looking out for her."
"I’m looking out for all of us," I murmured, turning around in his arms until I was facing him completely. I reached up, my hands framing his strong jawline, looking deep into the dark eyes of the boy I had loved my entire life. "But right now, I’m looking out for you."
I leaned in, closing the final distance between us, and pressed my lips to his. The kiss was slow, deep, and filled with a quiet, powerful intimacy that spoke of decades of absolute devotion. It wasn’t rushed or panicked like the corporate world outside; it was steady, safe, and entirely ours.
When he finally pulled back, his breathing was slow, his forehead resting gently against mine as his large hands stroked my back beneath the blanket. This was it for us.
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