The Girl in the Painting

Her heart is in her eyes, and tears are now in mine.

“I love you too,” she says in a rush. “I love you.”

The girl in the paintings.

The girl in my mind.

The girl who owns my heart.

She steps up on her tippy-toes, pressing her lips to mine, and I respond with fervor. Tasting her lips and tongue and savoring how good it feels to finally be kissing her again.

The rain runs down our faces to where our lips meet, each of us tasting the cold drops and each other’s skin. But instead of detracting from the intensity of the moment, it brings us to new heights. I press my lips to hers more firmly, and the wave that runs through me is intoxicating, making my head swim as I pull back to take in her beautiful face.

But it’s only seconds before we’re kissing again.

Pouring everything we have into this kiss.

Our love. Our hope. Our everything.

There is something so heavenly about a kiss in the rain, a tender moment that just won’t wait. And this kiss, our kiss, it is a burst of love being expressed and not caring about the fucking rain or anything around us. A connection that shows the strength of our feelings, the mutual need for each other. It is a rebellion against the elements. Nature can bring the rain, but we are telling her to fuck off.

I slide my hands under Indy’s ass and lift her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist.

We don’t break the kiss when I walk us inside my house.

Or when I shut the door.

Not even when I walk us up the steps and into my bedroom.

I lay her on the bed and remove her wet clothes. She smiles up at me and giggles when I toss her jeans and they hit the hardwood with a slop, and my fucking heart is bursting inside my chest.

My clothes are gone next, and I climb into the bed, moving my body over hers.

I kiss remnants of tears and rain from her cheeks and her mouth, and her lips smile against mine. I sweep the drenched locks of her hair away from her creamy skin and kiss along her collarbone and neck.

She wraps her hands around my back, and her fingers flex with need into my skin.

And when our vibrating desire for one other becomes too strong, too powerful to resist, I slide inside of her.

She moans into my mouth, but her eyes never leave mine.

I breathe in deep. In and out. And I just stare down at her, taking in the way her breasts move up and down with each pant. The way her eyes glow with desire. And the way her hands can’t stop touching me. My face. My shoulders. My back. Anywhere they can reach, they touch.

Fuck, I feel like I have waited so long for this. I have craved her skin and her warmth and her moans and her tongue tasting my breath and the way it feels to have her clenching around me tightly.

She wraps her legs around my waist, and time is forgotten.

The only thing I’m aware of is her.

Her eyes.

Her skin.

Her moans.

And how much I love her.

In the dim light of my bedroom, Indy is cuddled up to my body, her arms wrapped around my waist and her head on my chest. Music plays softly through the speakers in my bedroom and my heart is ablaze with nothing but love.

This, us entwined together, is a little slice of heaven, warm and cozy perfection.

I lazily stroke her still-damp hair with my fingertips, and the warmth of her petite hands against my skin makes me grin.

If I could spend the rest of my life doing this, lying in bed with Indy, I’d do it in a heartbeat. She brings me a peace I’ve never known. A calming of the storms inside my heart.

With Indy inside my embrace, I feel like there is nothing to fear or doubt. Hope for the future cocoons the room, filling the silence with solace and contentment and…love. It feels like all the love in the world is inside my bedroom.

“Comptine d’un autre été” begins to play, and Indy smiles up at me, her big blue eyes glowing.

“This is our song,”

Without hesitation, I shake my head. “No, it’s not.”

There is only one song that could possibly encompass what Indy means to me. And although this composition is beautiful, it’s not beautiful enough.

I found our song a long time ago. Years ago, in fact. Before I met her. And the instant I heard it, I thought that kind of love was impossible. I thought I’d never feel like that about anyone.

I was convinced of that very fact.

Until Indy.

“What are you talking about?” she questions and scrunches up her nose at me. “This is definitely our song, Ansel.”