Page 110 of Painting Celia

She shook her head, then painted dots on his stomach with her fingertips. Each touch made his muscles tremble.

“No. How about ‘my painting’?”

“Mi pintura.”

She shook her head again. “‘My canvas.’”

“Mi lienzo.”

Her eyes burned. “That’s it. León, mi lienzo.” She bent close over him and stroked paint up his side. “Mi lienzo.”

León had no words. To hear her purr that in his ear…she was everything. He loved her this way.

Shock hit him like a sucker punch, knocking the air out of his lungs, his vision blurring around the edges as he saw the honest truth.

He was in love with Celia.

Of course he was.

He forced himself still as she, still playful and unaware, painted a long thick line down his chest onto his stomach, stopping only when she reached his jeans.

“Unbutton yourself before I ruin your clothes,” she said with a coy glance. The realization, the touches, and the cold paint all compounded. León found his fingers trembling almost too much to undo his jeans.

“Look,” she said as she stroked paint low across his stomach, eager to cover each bare inch of skin as it was revealed. “We found art I’m good at.”

Still shaking, he reached up to her cheek. He wasn’t going to be able to control himself much longer.

She surprised him once more by moving first, wrapping herself around him, and kissing him fiercely. This time it was her holding a wrist to the floor. This time it was her mouth on his neck, nipping and sucking, marking him. He was too dazed to contribute, lost in the feel of his woman taking the upper hand for the first time.

Her paint-covered hand fumbled to push his jeans away, and he raised his hips to assist, senseless at her unusual aggression. Anything she wanted! She palmed him, already hard, over his briefs as she explored his mouth with her tongue, panting. When her fingers began slipping under his waistband, though, she paused, pulling back.

She had yellow and green paint all over her face from where she’d pressed it against his. He almost laughed. She was gorgeous.

“The paint, is it safe? If I touch you there? It won’t sting or…?”

He shook his head. “Bad idea,” he said, breathless.

She grinned. “Rinse off first?”

He nodded mutely. If that’s what she wanted, then yes. Anything.

He barely made it to his feet before she grabbed his wrist and led him across the hall, through to the master bathroom.

He’d been wrong. He didn’t mind her towing him at all.

She tugged open the glass shower door, threw the water on, and hurriedly pulled off the rest of her clothes as it heated. León followed suit, watching her greedily. Her coppery skin was striped in war paint from having embraced him. Her breasts, daubed with gold…his next painting swam in his eyes.

He followed her into the white-tiled shower under the stream of hot water. She wasted no time, slipping wet arms around his hips and pulling him closer. God, she felt perfect, her smooth skin gliding against him. As their bodies finally pressed together, he reached to kiss her, water running down both their faces, washing the paint away.

Her lips parted, her insistent tongue eager in his mouth. She pressed him back against the tile, kissing hungrily. Both panted shallowly, hands roaming freely across each other’s wet skin.

“Jesus, mi cielo,” he breathed into her. Her knee rose, her thigh sliding up his leg, his stiff length pressed hard against her. His hand slipped down to hold her leg, and she reached down to grab his wrist tightly. Her new intensity had him reeling.

The hot water splashed noisily onto her shoulders and back, spattering them both. He had to close his eyes, and the world became only touch and sound. The hard tile at his back and Celia’s slick skin sliding past his…her frantic breaths fighting his…he was lost.

“Here,” she whispered between kisses. “I want you right here.”

He was beyond responding. Her mouth moved down to his jaw, then she bit lightly at his neck again. Pain, pleasure, he didn’t know what he felt. He didn’t care.

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