Page 116 of Painting Celia

Twenty Two

Celia awoke to León’s usual antics. He was already stroking her side, snuggled close, his unshaven cheek rough against hers.

“I’m waking you,” he whispered. “Is it working? Say yes.”

Celia stretched, wishing for a snooze alarm, but those hands felt nice. “Bring me tea, and we’ll talk,” she yawned, knowing full well he wouldn’t be distracted.

His fingers tickled their way down her bare hip. “You haven’t said yes yet. Say yes.” Her smile said yes, but he enjoyed the convincing. “Say yes,” he whispered into her ear, sliding his other hand over her breast, teasing her nipple. She turned to face him. “Say yes,” he murmured, his lips an inch from hers.

This man. “Yes.”

He took it easy with long slow kisses, caressing and petting her, teasing every inch of her skin. Then, slowly, he woke her with sensitive fingers and kisses in unexpected places. The comforter was soon discarded, and he spread her out in the fragile morning light, kissing every inch downward until her very nerve endings were glowing.

When he brushed that unshaven cheek against her inner thigh, Celia was ready to beg. He flashed his charming grin, teasing with kisses between her legs, no tongue, no fingers, but only for a few minutes. He was too focused to wait long.

His tongue was warm on her folds, lavishly stroking and exploring. He was tender and wicked, sometimes sucking, sometimes teasing with the tip of his tongue. He had her hips off the mattress in no time, helping to support them with his hands as he buried his mouth on her.

Celia thrashed and shivered, waves of pleasure surging in her from his silky tongue. It was heavenly torture. All too soon, she felt that flood of rapture and cried out his name, lost.

He climbed back up the bed to wrap his arms around her shoulders as her breathing started returning to normal.

“Good morning.” He teased some sweaty curls off her temples.

Celia was pleasantly exhausted, but of course he still had energy to spare. León kissed and coddled and placed her hand on his stiff member, encouraging her with specific directions. He could be persuasive.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he kept whispering but didn’t make it that far. Her hand stroking him felt too good, and every time she slowed, he took her wrist and directed her back. She knew he wouldn’t climb atop her when the Spanish began—words she now knew meant ‘good’ and ‘faster’ and ‘queen.’ He came in her hands quickly, shuddering against her, his face buried in her neck.

They drowsed together, entwined and sweaty and spent, until León’s energy rebounded. He hitched himself up to lean on an elbow next to her, cheek resting on a hand, and tickled her face with a lock of his hair until she giggled.

“I need to paint you today, Celia Rose. Maybe something blue,” he said, jiggling a foot against hers. “The blue shadows in here are so pretty. You’re so pretty.” He was in his playful morning mood.

“Do I get to pose in bed, then?”

“Would you? Sometimes I imagine a painting of you here.” He brushed her hair back. “I see you under me, or over me, or next to me. I love that. I want to see you like that all the time.”

“Well, here’s your chance. Live, not a picture.”

He teased her cheek with a fingertip. “I’ll take it.” He took a deep breath. “Damn, I am bought and sold.”

She felt a cold stirring of alarm. “What does that mean?”

“I’m off the market.” He grinned.

She smiled in relief and touched the fading yellow mark still on his neck. “You kind of have to be.”

He mock-pouted at her. “Aren’t you too, cielito? Off the market? I say something romantic, and you just say, ‘you have to be.’” He paused, looking at her more seriously. “You could tell me you’re mine.”

Again? Would he never get the hint?

“You belong to me, mi cielo,” he said with a confident smile. “I’ll capture your soul in paint and keep it. Will you finally say it?”

She looked away uncomfortably, and he went still. Oh lord. Deflect.

“Like, put my soul in a jar and seal it away? You don’t actually want that.”

He took her chin in his fingers, turning her face back to his. His eyes narrowed. “I do want that.”

“You can’t own a person!”

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