Page 111 of Painting Celia

Then she was disengaging, her body leaving him. He opened his eyes in alarm, water dashing into them. She moved backward, arm extended, until she stood against the far tiled wall. He nearly slipped in his rush for her, frantic to be enfolded by her body again.

His impact smacked her shoulders against the wall, and she raised her face, laughing toward the ceiling. This joyous goddess of his, this vital gold-skinned siren—he wrapped himself around her, beggared, in the steam and heat.

Her hands slid down his bare back, over his hips, pressing her mound against him. His mouth was on hers, fierce, trying to pull her slippery body closer. Words tumbled from him, but he was beyond knowing what he said.

She put one foot on the shower seat, tilting her hips up to him. His arm slid under her knee again, hand grasping at her hip.

He slid the tip of his cock between her lips, bringing gasps from both. Their eyes locked. Pressing her against the wall with his full weight, he pushed into her deeply. Her cry, her arms clutching at his shoulders, felt as good as her slick hot body taking him in. He sucked in a harsh breath, slowly stroked back out, then in again.

“Cielito,” he breathed, “mi amor, yes.” His hand squeezed her hip, holding tight so he could thrust inside again. He whispered her name with each stroke, fucking her fiercely under the pounding water.

His mouth found hers again as the pleasure built to new heights. His free hand scrambled over her, roughly finding her wet breast. He whimpered brokenly, small gasps being torn from him as he kissed her hungrily, thrusting harder.

Under his hand, her hip muscles bunched and slammed into his. “Yes, god, yes,” he panted, his whole body tense. He bent his knees to thrust even harder, lifting her to her toes each time he filled her.

Her rhythmic gasps became mewling cries, matching their motions. The sensations grew too intense, too close. As he buried his face in her neck, thrusting hard, her body exploded against him, her head knocking back against the tile. He felt her shudder and writhe against him, supporting her weight as he could, slowing his pace to let her release subside. But he couldn’t stop. He cradled the back of her head to him, his ragged breaths muffled against her skin.

With slow, deep, final thrusts, the world erupted, his body shuddering with pleasure. He clutched at her desperately.

For long moments they just clung to each other in the water, breathing hard, nearly in unison.

Incredible. Perfection. She was everything.

Finally, León slipped himself out of her. He kissed her again, his mouth everywhere in the water, on her lips, then her ear, then her neck. “My girl, my amazing girl,” he murmured. “Tell me you belong to me. Please, reina.”

She gently reached to touch his neck where she’d marked him, and he flinched.

“Mi lienzo, this time I claimed you.”

Twenty One

“¡Wepa! Celia! Celia!”

She looked up from her laptop, alarmed by the edge in León’s voice from his studio room. They raced to each other, meeting in the kitchen.

“I sold one!” He waved his phone at her.

“Oh, León! Congratulations!”

He shoved his phone in his front pocket and picked her up by the waist, beaming as she laughed with him.

“The first sale! I can do it. I can make it out here!” He let her slide back down, then planted a firm kiss on her lips, bouncing her in his arms. His elation was contagious.

“Which one?” she asked.

He sobered. “The yellow.” The bouncing stilled. “I love that one. I’ll miss it.”

“She’s going out to see the world,” Celia consoled. “Her new family will love her.”

His mouth twisted, trying to smile, but she saw real pain lurking in his eyes. Then he took a deep breath. “Worth it. I can afford a few more months out here now. Three thousand dollars, how’s that for one painting?”

Her eyes widened. “That’s wonderful!”

Afford a few more months?

He paid no rent and ate for free. He did have expenses—and pride—but she could so easily give him whatever he needed. Would he really leave if he couldn’t sell more paintings?

“I’m so proud of you,” she said, instead. “This buyer is just the first.”

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