''Everybody expects me to be this delicate little flower, which I'm not. I'm sturdy and as strong as a horse. You see these hands, they were made for work. I am here to do something, not just sit around and be decorative.''
-Rose.
The sloped, cracked ceiling of the garret almost hit Jack as he stood up straight, quickly tilting his neck.
''Almost!''
''Yes, not quite the bump I had yesterday.''
Rose wiped her dirty hands down her thin, plain black dress. Her auburn curls fell into her face and she tucked away a curl and then another as it fell into her eyes, narrowed as they inspected the canvas before her.
''I'm sure each night this ceiling sneaks down to the floor, just a little bit more.''
When her face broke into an amused smile, Jack couldn’t help but feel his stomach pull. That sound. His left hand snaked up around her waist, pulling at her until she weakened and fell against him. Her giggle turned into girlish screams.
''Jack, no! The paints all over my hands.''
It was too late, a bright yellow paint already smudged across his own hands, chin and his open shirt.
''We'll just have to get our clothes off and get in the tub, huh?'' He smiled, suggestively and his hair fell into his eyes in that same boyish way it always had.
''Is that right?''
Without even warning, he crushed his mouth onto hers. Immediately, she melted against him. Pale yellow smears crossed his shirt as she tore at it as she ragged it from his shoulders. His lips came to her neck, trailing kisses down causing every nerve ending to stand up. Her breathing became ragged and she felt the sudden urge to giggle again.
''What could possibly be funny?'' He whispered slowly in her ear, she pulled away from him, her hands still on his parted shirt, running across his bare chest.
''This.'' She ran a hand up his chest, up to his neck, trailing splatters of paint. ''With all this paint, we're almost part of the walls and the furnishings.''
''Well, let's clean up in that tub, you always told me you never wanted to be a decorative piece.''
His head came to her again, bowing down so that his lips touched her nose, rubbing it against his own and then he pressed his lips to hers again. She closed her eyes, feeling his hands move down her dress to the back and to her waist. He clasped her either side of her waist and lightly pulled at the seams of the dress, it teared open with one gushing rip sound and her bare back was exposed, her hair tickling at it as his hands worked up to her shoulders and he pulled the material down from her shoulders and she shuffled out of the garment, from her waist it simply dropped to the floor in a pool.
''Mr. Dawson! I only purchased that dress last week.''
Jack removed his own shirt, his eyes not leaving hers. She saw the flames of passion in them and suddenly his lips were on hers again.
''With the money we get from this painting, I will buy you three more.'' He whispered in between kisses down her cheek. ''But, they may also be ripped by this time next week.''
His words were so full of mischief and yet, she couldn’t help but remain serious. That was the thing she loved about him; just how he made her feel. The passion he had for her, their life and everything which they had created together. Her hands were in his hair, on his chest, across his face and neither cared just how sticky the paint had become. It would wash away and then, they could start again. That was the best thing, they could always create more art together.
