Page 73 of Moonlight & Matrimony
But it can’t be that last one. It’s too soon, and even if it was within the realm of possibility, I can’t go there —won’tgo there. So I take a moment to ground myself, closing my eyes and soaking in the warm light of the setting sun cascading through the floor to ceiling windows. It smells like fresh paint and Luca.Home.
It takes me a minute to gather my thoughts before I dip my brush into a vibrant shade of blue — the exact color of Rylin’s eyes. I swipe the color along the canvas and let inspiration take hold.
A while later, I’m lost in a world of color when Luca walks up behind me, placing a glass of wine on the table to my left as he looks over the unfinished canvas. His face is barely a breath away from mine and when I turn to face him, our noses brush ever so slightly. I inhale sharply at the accidental graze. I want to get lost in his touch. “What do you think?” I ask, attempting to guide us back onto solid ground.
“I think you’re incredible.” His words are a gentle whisper, his breath fanning against my cheekbone, sending goosebumpsscattering along my arms. “I think you’re beautiful,” he continues, sweeping a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “I think you’re perfect,” he breathes, splaying a hand across my ribs as his lips find the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. I close my eyes, basking in the closeness of our bodies, yearning to sink back into his embrace and stay there forever.
I lift my hand to his cheek, feeling the roughness of his beard, a little more unkempt than usual, before tenderly swiping my thumb along his cheekbone, leaving a trail of arctic blue in its wake.
“Oh shit,” I snort, severing our intense connection. “Sorry, didn’t mean to turn you into my canvas.” Something in his expression changes then — something heated and wicked. Luca’s hand leaves my body and I immediately miss the contact, aching to have his hands all over my skin. I don’t have to wait long before he’s lifting me off my stool and hauling me over to the pristine worktable, where he gently deposits me on the surface. Without a word, his fingers find the hem of my tank top, yanking it overhead, before tugging down my leggings, leaving me in nothing but a flimsy black thong and matching bra.
Unclasping my bra, he tosses it to the side, his hands returning a moment later to tear through the thin band of my thong, baring me to him completely. He grabs a paintbrush from my supply table, carefully dragging it through a light pink hue on my palette.
His eyes darken, a strangled growl escaping him. “Fuck the Sistine Chapel. Fuck Starry Night. Fuck the Mona Lisa. You are a goddamn masterpiece, Ivy.”
“Luca…” his name is a warning — one he doesn’t heed as he skates the brush along the swells of my breasts, the gentle touch sending my pulse racing. Then he gathers some of the muted lavender shade, gliding the brush down my sternum and around my belly button. My body quivers, breaths coming out in raggedpants. His head lowers, lips meeting my neck and collarbone in a series of barely there kisses, leaving me aching for more. “Please,” I beg, exhaling the word like a prayer.
My plea goes unanswered as he gathers more paint, swirling it along my upper thigh. A giggle bubbles to the surface at the tickle of the soft bristles on my skin. I look down at his handiwork, taking in the messy scrawl branding me as his. I suck in a sharp breath, a torrent of intense emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
He tosses the brush onto the palette, his hands coming up to frame my face. “You’re mine, Ivy. Say it.”
“Yours. I’m yours.”
“That’s my girl,” he growls, crashing his lips against mine, robbing me of my senses. One of his hands snakes around my back while the other threads through my hair, tugging ever so slightly.
He pushes me away, leaving me breathless and reeling. I frantically bring my hands down to his belt, not missing the bulge straining behind his zipper, aching for release. “Need you,” I pant.
We work in tandem to free him from his clothing, leaving him naked before me, every hard angle and defined ridge on full display. Luca steps between my spread thighs, lining his cock up with my already soaked pussy. A sudden urge to be very, very bad rushes over me as I curl my lips into a mischievous smile and quirk a brow in his direction. I glance down at the palette of haphazardly mixed paints, not hesitating as I swipe my entire palm through the mixture.
“What are you doing, Trouble?”
I don’t answer as I bring my hands together, spreading the paints between them. “You don’t want to do that, sweetheart.”
“Oh, but I do.” Wrapping my arms around his torso, my palms connect with his round ass, leaving two unmistakablehandprints. Luca juts his hips forward in answer, the head of his cock connecting with my clit coaxing a strangled moan from my throat.
“Brat,” he grumbles.
“You have no idea, baby.”
I’ve always been very comfortable exploring my sensual side. When you’re with the right partner, sex should be liberating. It should give you the freedom to let everything else fall away, losing yourself in every touch and smell and sound; learning what makes the other pant and writhe, eliciting the most primal sounds — there’s nothing more instinctual than that. But something about being with Luca feels… different. Nobody has ever made me feel the way he does. It’s both maddening and all-consuming.
Luca grips his cock, guiding his shaft along my seam, hitting my clit before retreating again. Teasing me in the most delicious, infuriating way.
“I need to feel you inside me,” I sigh.
He pauses as if considering his next move, then lifts me into the air, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, putting us in perfect alignment. Luca takes two steps to the left, then crashes my back against the wall. I cling to his shoulders, holding on for dear life as my fingernails dig into his skin, leaving little half moon indentations. The paint smears between us on contact, a mess of blues and purples.
He lifts me higher as he lines himself up at my entrance before driving home, filling me so completely. Our foreheads collide, something heady passing between us in that moment. Tilting my head, I nip at his bottom lip, silently urging him to move. The hand in my hair roughly pulls my head to the side, baring my neck for him to lay tantalizing kisses and prickling love bites along my flesh, sending shudders throughout my body.
His hips start to move at an achingly slow, deliberate pace. I can sense my orgasm building at the feel of his hard cock buried deep inside me, bottoming out with each thrust. Desperately seeking release, I slide one hand between us, finding my swollen clit as my orgasm builds, sending shockwaves through me. Throwing my head back, I cry out his name as my pussy clenches around his cock.
Luca sucks in air through his teeth, pulling my hips down hard as he frantically chases his own orgasm, plunging into me over and over, my body tingling as my hands cling to his sweat-slicked skin. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” he cries, spilling himself inside me with one final thrust.
We stand like that for a few prolonged heartbeats, Luca’s head resting on my shoulder, our bodies covered in paint. “I’ll never get enough of you,” he breathes. My head falls back against the wall as I catch my breath, absentmindedly stroking my hand through his hair.
“Mmm,” he purrs. “That feels nice.”
I roll my head to the side, looking out the floor to ceiling windows, taking in the stunning view of the moon and stars, feeling almost whole for the first time in a long time.
