Page 10 of Painting Him Mine

I didn’t need to think twice to answer that question. “Hell yeah.”

He scrambled off me and led me over to his unmade bed, which was shoved into the back corner of his tiny studio apartment to make room for his large easel. I could only see the back of his canvas, but it piqued my curiosity about what he was working on. However, as he tugged my shirt off, art was the last thing on my mind for once.

The sight of my tattoos caused Ezra to moan as he ran his hands over the ones on my chest. He followed the path to the flowers that wound around both of my arms. “I can’t wait to study your garden of earthly delights later.”

One of my eyebrows quirked up. “Did you just make a Hieronymus Bosch joke?”

“Fuck, it’ssosexy that you picked up on that.” He tugged me down for a demanding kiss that had me fumbling to get rid of the rest of our clothes in between bouts. It was a toss-up for who was more turned on by his reference to a Northern Renaissance painting triptych from the late 1490s by an Early Netherlandish master. I had never had anyone talk nerdy to me about art history, but it was officially my new favorite thing.

Once we were both naked, he shoved me onto his bed and got on top of me, clearly determined to kiss the daylights out of me. I wasn’t about to stop him from enjoying himself when I was having a great time, too.

Chapter Twelve

EZRA

HavingMauricio get my Hieronymus Bosch reference officially tipped me past the point of infatuation, straight into true love. I had always scoffed at people who said they knew after one dinner that they would marry their date. Now, I was ready to elope as soon as we finished fucking.

As I continued kissing him like my life depended upon it, I rubbed my erection against his in search of exquisite friction. I was torn between wanting to explore his tattoos and having him give me the deep-dicking of a lifetime. It became harder to think as his hands wandered all over, teasing any part of me he could reach with a light touch. But if I didn’t pace myself, I was going to come to an embarrassingly early finish.

With a monumental effort, I sat up to give us both a moment to catch our breath and take a few beats to help me calm down before I came just from the foreplay. “Do you like Bosch?”

He burst into laughter at my casual question that interrupted our passionate make-out session. “Who doesn’t?”

“I can count on one finger the amount of people who have been in my bed and known who Bosch was and what he painted.” It pushed me to test the limits of his knowledge. “What’s your favorite thing in that triptych?”

“My favorite side is Hell, obviously. The pig wearing a nun’s habit makes me laugh. Not to kill the sexy vibe, but I’m a big fan of the Prince of Hell bird-man eating humans and shitting them out. Oh, and the scrotum bagpipe on top of the Tree-Man. That painting is wild, especially considering the era it was painted. I feel like every time I look at it, I see something new.”

I hadn’t been prepared for him to not just get the reference but actuallyknowthe painting. Instead of wrecking the mood, his answer turned me on even more. It drove me to lean down and start kissing along the trail of flowers from his shoulder, then down his arm. His artwork was lovingly rendered down to the smallest detailed veins in the petals. I looked forward to spending hours studying them and learning the story behind each one. “Why flowers?”

“Because they’re ephemeral yet eternal.”

His answer left me puzzled, thanks to all the blood rushing south. “Sorry, I’m too turned on to think right now. How is it both?”

“They’re ephemeral because flowers only bloom so long before they wilt and decay. There’s beauty in how flowers remind us to treasure what we have before it’s gone too soon. But at the same time, they’ll bloom back to life the next year for an eternity. It’s an endless cycle of death and rebirth that fascinates me. I do my best to capture their glory and use that to elevate my art.”

I placed a kiss on the blue orchid on his inner wrist. “That’s beautiful, Mauricio. I’ve never thought about flowers in that light before.”

“My mother is a florist. When I was a kid, I thought she was a floral grim reaper,” he said with a chuckle. “But she celebrates their brief lives by making them as beautiful as possible.”

“A floral grim reaper soundsawesome.” I kissed the purple-and-pink rose by his elbow as I worked my way back up his arm. “That’s really sweet of her. No wonder you’re so thoughtful.”

“She always says that whether you want to celebrate love or comfort someone in a time of grief, flowers are perfect for every occasion. You send them as a sign of love to your partner, to offer friends and family well-wishes on recovering from an illness or mourning the loss of someone important. Sometimes, you gift them just-because. There’s never a wrong time to give flowers because they have a language that speaks without words. As I got older, I realized how right she was.”

“No wonder you see the world with such beauty.” His answer made me fall for him a little more. I sat back and rubbed my hand over the unmarked skin above his heart. “Maybe someday, you’ll let me design a flower right here to show how much I love you.”

The words had slipped out of my mouth without permission. In my panic, I considered saying something joking to downplay my slip, but something inside me whispered that I shouldn't take back the words I hadn't meant to say. I held my breath as I waited for Mauricio's reaction. Just to be on the safe side, I said a silent prayer for him to be okay with my accidental confession and that I hadn't just ruined everything. Maybe if I got lucky, he'd feel the same way about me, too.

Chapter Thirteen

MAURICIO

In my aroused state,I wasn’t sure if Ezra was talking about already loving me or feeling that way about me in the future. Regardless of how he meant it, I would be the luckiest man in the world to be loved by someone as amazing as him. His confident expression gave way to a nervous one, as if he feared he said something he shouldn’t. I hurried to reassure him. “I’d be honored to have your artwork there.”

Relief washed over him. “I’m the one who would be honored.” He bent down to kiss the blank canvas above my heart that I hoped he’d fill in someday. Sitting back, he turned his attention to the other side of my chest. He rubbed his finger over the first flower he encountered. “Wow, a Dutch tulip!”

If I thought him bringing up Bosch’sThe Garden of Earthly Delightswas sexy, it was nothing compared to the aphrodisiac of having him recognize one of my art history flowers. “You’ve got a good eye. That’s a Viceroy yellow tulip with red striations from Ambrosius the Elder Bosschaert’sFlowers in a Glass Vasefrom 1609.”

He gasped when he continued his exploration and found my entwined cluster of Vincent van Gogh’s sunflower, iris, and almond blossom. I had expected Ezra to be impressed by them, but his actual reaction caught me off guard. “Marry me.”

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