The Girl in the Painting

Blues and purples and pinks, it’s all the colors I’ve loved all my life.

My breathing shallows, and I’m not surprised Ansel hears it.

When it comes to me, Ansel seems to hear everything.

“I know. I don’t know how, but I just know, Indy. Everything about you, it’s right there in the open for me to see.”

I nod. It’s all I can do.

With a dip of the bristles in the bluest of indigos, he puts paint to my skin.

Each stroke drags me a little deeper into the heaven we’ve created. He tugs at his lip with his teeth, and his forehead furrows with concentration.

While he explores with the brush in one hand, his other roams the rest of my landscape.

It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful art I’ve ever experienced.

Ansel

Indy’s chest rises and falls with easy breaths as I move the brush across the hollow below her collarbone. Her face is lax, and her jaw is slack, and her lips are parted in rapture.

I watch in fascination as the feathered strokes I’ve left on her breasts move with the motion of her breathing.

Her nipples are tight and pink, the perfect complement to the palette I’ve used around them, but the desire to paint them is too strong to let them be.

I grab a clean brush and dip it into the pink paint before swirling it slowly around the peak of one, and then the other.

Indy’s breathing changes from slow and steady to the deep, dragging pulls of arousal, and her legs fall open beside me.

Untainted by paint, the area between her legs taunts me to take a taste.

I lean down and press my mouth to the slick honey, and she gasps.

She tastes perfect and pure and like my life’s greatest desire.

Her moans drive me to explore with my tongue, around, to the top, and inside.

In need of my hands, I toss the brush to the side and grip the flesh at the inside of her thighs hard enough to leave the skin mottled from my fingertips.

The wet paint is slick beneath my hand as I reach up to palm the weight of her breast, and she arches into the feel of it.

I move away briefly enough to get a condom from my nightstand and roll it on with my clean hand.

Indy watches with dark, bottomless eyes and palpable want.

When I climb back on the bed, I fit my hips between her legs and slide myself inside to assure that no paint gets where it shouldn’t.

Her body feels warm under mine as I lean my chest to hers to let her paint cover me. It swirls and mixes between us, and I don’t even have to see it to know that it’s the most beautiful, perfect piece I’ve ever created.

“Ansel,” Indy moans as I put my mouth to hers.

“You…are perfect, Indigo Davis.”

Our climax happens quickly, but just like with everything else between us, it’s completely in sync.

Once I clean up my paints from the table and dispose of the condom, I kneel beside my sleeping angel and brush a few pieces of hair out of her eyes. “Indy,” I whisper gently, but she doesn’t stir.

The truth is, I want her to stay here. In my house. In my now-dry-paint-covered bed. With me.

So I don’t even bother trying to wake her again.

I slide into bed beside her, turn off the light, and pull a perfect, painted Indy into my arms. She wraps her little body around mine like a vine and snuggles her face into my chest. And it takes all of two minutes for her breaths to turn soft and her body to grow heavy and relaxed against mine.

“Good night, Indy,” I whisper into the dark room and place a soft kiss to her forehead. “I will never recover from this night. Never recover from you.”

“Good morning, Ansel.”

I blink my eyes open to find bright blue staring back at me and the early morning sun coming in through the windows. “What time is it?” I croak out, and Indy smiles.

“A little before eight, I think.”

“Too early,” I tease on a groan and make a dramatic show of closing my eyes. “Go away and don’t come back until it’s at least nine.”

“No way.” Her giggle brushes against my cheek. “It’s time for you to wake up and make me breakfast.”

I peek at her through my lashes. “Oh, so that’s how it is?”

“Uh huh.” She adjusts herself under the blankets until her entire body covers mine. Her naked little body is warm and soft, and I move my hands to her ass and shut my eyes closed again.

Mmm…perfect…

“Hey,” she says and presses playful kisses to my cheek. “Wake up.”

Eventually, I give in to her demands and work my eyes open until they’re face-to-face with bright blue again. The blue of her eyes, the blue of her body, and the blue on my sheets, my life is a perfect shade of indigo.