Sunrise Sketches

As if summoned by her name, Sunny nudged Jude’s knee with her nose, tail thumping against the grass. He reached down to scratch behind her ears, his movements casual, but his eyes remained on mine.

“I’m glad she did,” I admitted, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “I think I would have kept sketching you forever, never brave enough to bridge the gap.”

Jude’s fingers stilled in Sunny’s fur. “Why?”

The question was simple, but it echoed through all the quiet Saturdays, all the pages filled with his likeness. I shrugged, searching for an answer that wouldn’t sound pathetic. “You’re… sunlight. And I’m the girl in the shadows with a sketchbook.”

Jude tilted his head, his focus sweeping over my face with unnerving attention. “You’re the girl who sees sunlight,” he countered softly. “Who captures it in lead and charcoal, who notices the way it changes through the seasons.” He tapped the sketchbook in my hands. “These drawings… they’re not just about me, Liora. They’re about how you see the world.”

My breath caught at the insight, at the way he’d flipped my perspective. “I… suppose they are.”

“So why hide that?” Jude asked, his voice gentle but probing. “Why not share it?”

“Because art is personal,” I said, my fingers tightening on the sketchbook’s cover. “And admiration… even more so.”

Jude’s expression softened. “Is that all this is? Admiration?”

The question hung between us, heavy with implication. I swallowed, my eyes dropping to the dappled shadows at our feet. “It started that way.”

“And now?” Jude pressed, his voice barely above the rustle of leaves.

“Now…” I hesitated, my heart pounding against my ribs. “Now it’s something more.”

The admission was terrifying, exhilarating. I risked a glance at Jude’s face, bracing for rejection, for polite deflection. But his eyes held none of those things—only a steady focus that took my breath away.

“Good,” he said simply, the word warm and sure. “Because for me, it’s been ‘something more’ since the day you sketched me teaching Mrs. Henderson how to use her resistance band.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “You captured the exact moment she called it her ‘flab fighter’ and nearly took out Mr. Jenkins’ poodle.”

A surprised laugh bubbled up, easing the tension in my chest. “That was a memorable day.”

“They’re all memorable when you’re in them,” Jude said, his eyes narrowing at the corners. “Even when you’re pretending not to be.”

He reached out, his fingers grazing the edge of the sketchbook. “Keep drawing me, Liora,” he said softly. “But let me be part of the story too.”

My breath hitched at the invitation, at the warmth in his gaze. Before I could answer, Sunny nudged my knee with her nose, her tail wagging expectantly. I looked down to find her holding her frisbee, her eyes bright with hope.

“I think she’s ready for her close-up,” Jude said, laughter in his voice.

I smiled, the last of my apprehension melting away. “I have a feeling she’s going to be a very demanding muse.”

Jude’s grin widened. “She’s been known to photobomb a few sketches in her time.” He held out his hand, palm up. “What do you say, Liora? Shall we give her something new to inspire?”

I hesitated for only a heartbeat before placing my hand in his. His fingers closed around mine, warm and sure, as natural as breathing. “I think we owe her that much,” I said, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest.

As we walked back toward the heart of the dog park, Sunny bounding ahead with her frisbee, I realized something had shifted—not just between Jude and me, but within myself. The girl in the shadows had stepped into the sunlight, her sketchbook no longer a secret, but a bridge.

And as Jude’s thumb traced a lazy circle on the back of my hand, I knew this was only the beginning of the story.

I let Jude lead me back to my apartment, our hands clasped like teenagers as Sunny trotted ahead with her frisbee. The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees, painting everything in gold and amber—a fitting backdrop for the golden retriever man holding my hand.

My studio was exactly as I’d left it: canvases leaning against every wall, drop cloths draped over furniture, the air pungent with turpentine and possibility. I watched Jude take it all in, his eyes lingering on a half-finished seascape propped on an easel.

“You really are incredible,” he murmured, his fingers trailing over the textured paint. “I’ve always loved watching you work, even from afar.”

I set my sketchbook on the cluttered worktable, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s not much, but it’s—”

“Perfect,” Jude finished, turning to face me. His gaze swept over the room before landing on me, warm and direct. “Like you.”

The compliment settled over me like a blanket, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, my skin prickling under his attention. “Coffee?”

Jude’s mouth curved into a smile. “Trying to sober me up already?”

“Just being polite,” I countered, moving toward the small kitchenette in the corner. “Unless you’d rather I paint you into submission.”

Jude followed, his laughter low and rich. “Tempting, but I think I’d rather see what else those hands can do.” He braced his palms on the counter, caging me in with his body. “Unless you’re in a hurry to get back to your sketches.”

My breath caught as he leaned closer, his chest brushing mine. “I suppose I could take a break,” I managed, my voice low and quiet. “Artistic inspiration and all that.”

“Mmhmm,” Jude murmured, his nose skimming the curve of my ear. “Very noble of you.”

I shivered, my hands finding the counter behind me for balance. “Someone’s got to make sacrifices for the creative process.”

Jude’s lips brushed the sensitive skin beneath my jaw, feather-light and devastating. “What if I want to be more than just your muse?”

My pulse leaped, heat pooling low in my stomach. “What did you have in mind?”

Jude pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his golden-green irises darkening with intent. “Let me show you.”

The kiss started slow—a brush of lips, a shared breath, the sweet shock of connection. Then his hands were in my hair, angling my head, and everything narrowed to the slide of his tongue against mine, the press of his body, the way he groaned into my mouth like I was water after a drought.

I clutched at his shoulders, my knees threatening to buckle as he kissed me like he’d been waiting months for this moment—as if every sketch, every stolen glance, had been leading us here.

“Liora,” he rasped, breaking away just long enough to trail his lips down my throat. “God, I’ve wanted this… wanted you… for so long.”

The admission sent a jolt through me, hot and bright. “Jude—”

He cut me off with another fervent kiss, his hands sliding down my back to cup my ass, pulling me flush against him. I felt the hard length of him through his jeans, and my breath hitched, desire coiling tight between my thighs.

“Tell me you want this too,” he murmured against my lips, his voice raspy with need. “Tell me I’m not alone in this.”

“You’re not,” I breathed, my fingers fisting in his shirt. “I want you… so much.”

Jude’s eyes flared, his grip tightening as he lifted me onto the counter like I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him near, and he groaned, his hips pressing forward in a slow, deliberate grind that made my head fall back.

“Fuck, Liora,” he growled, his teeth scraping the column of my throat. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I did, though—or at least, I was starting to. Every sketch, every moment of longing, had been a prelude to this. To him.

His hands slid under my shirt, warm and calloused against my skin, skimming up my ribs to cup my breasts through the thin cotton of my bra. I arched into his touch, my breath coming faster as his thumbs brushed over my nipples, teasing them into tight peaks.

“More,” I gasped, my fingers knotting in his hair. “Please, Jude.”

He made a low sound of approval, his lips claiming mine again as he reached behind me to unclasp my bra with easy familiarity. The fabric fell away, and then his hands were on me, skin to skin, his palms rough and perfect against my sensitive flesh.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his thumbs circling my nipples with just the right amount of pressure. “Every inch of you.”

I whimpered, my hips undulating against his, seeking more of that delicious friction. Jude obliged, his erection pressing against my core in a rhythm that had me seeing stars.

“Bed,” I panted, my hands scrabbling at the hem of his shirt. “Now.”