Page 89 of Fruit
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We get to the gallery twenty minutes before closing time. The building is low and large, sectioned off into two single-artist collections which only stay alive a few weeks, and then a third, more stable collection of works from various artists the gallery supports.
My pieces hang in one of the single-artist sections, but the success of the opening night may mean one of my pieces will be moved to the more durable collection.
There are quite a few people in the front of the building, the gallery open this late because today is the opening night for the other single-artist collection, and people have spilt out of the building in preparation for closing time. Sebastián and I slip through the crowd, our hands clasped. The moment we enter the building, the air grows quiet and reverent, the glass doors muffling the sound of the people outside.
“It’s through here,” I say, leading the way.
We enter the space where my collection lives. He stops at the entrance for a moment, looking around as if not knowing where to start. This section of the gallery is simple, two open rooms connected to each other, the walls white and the lighting kind. The colours of my paintings spring out as we look, having space to breathe.
We go around each room slowly. Sebastián looks at the art. I look at him. It’s like the moment during a kiss, when you’ve been pressed to someone for a while, and you part and open your eyes. Your lips are tingling and wet, and your breath is coming in a little short, and you feel the other person brush their fingers against your cheek or your hair, and you look at them. And the look in their eyes is so…present. They see you, with a soft look that presses itself almost achingly inside your chest. You feel like you’re going to choke on it for a moment, it’s so quietly much, but it’s too gentle for that. It’s too good.
That’s how Sebastián looks at my paintings. Like he sees them, in all that sweetness and red, purple, orange skin. Like he sees what those desperate hands, pressing into pulp, fingertips discoloured at the force, are trying to say. What I am trying to say when I paint them and when I paint him, the last painting we reach.
When that look is turned towards me, I think I’ll be prepared, but it still knocks the breath out of me.
He pulls me close and kisses me. “I love you,” he says. “I love you. I—”
“You fucking idiot,” I say. “I love you too.” And kiss him back.
*****
We’re already kissing as we stumble into my apartment, but Sebastián breaks it off as Nina comes running up to us.
“Nina,” Sebastián says, relief clear in his voice. My heart squeezes as he picks her up and cradles her against his face.
“She missed you,” I say. He looks at me through her fur.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. So did I.”
Sebastián kisses Nina gently before placing her on the floor and pulling me close. “Me too,” he says and kisses me.
We make our way to my bedroom, but it takes us a while to get there, stopping to kiss every few seconds. His lips press against my neck, my clavicle, under my ear. I sigh as we finally reach the bed, my back against the mattress and his body over mine.
His hands hold my sides under my shirt as my legs come up to wrap around him, seeking to eradicate the space between us. He presses against me, and I sink into the bed, into him. Nothing feels like enough after what has felt like so long without.
I pull at his shirt, wanting skin. It gets caught between us as he refuses to give up my lips for a moment before I manage to get it off. My hands brush against his shoulders, and he bites at my lips as if he can’t help but devour too.
I arch my spine for him as his hands strip me of my shirt. I shiver at the momentary absence of his warmth and he unhooks my bra, dragging the straps down my arms and then casting it aside. When he presses down again, it’s the heat of skin, and I moan into his mouth.
I try to say his name, but it gets caught between our lips. He moves down, kissing a trail down my neck. My arms wind around his neck, one hand cradling his head, scratching nails lightly against his scalp. He lingers at the juncture between my neck and shoulder, tasting me there.
My hands move between us to undo his jeans. I want him naked before we get too distracted. I want to see and feel him bare.
We take a moment to undress each other fully. When we’re naked we just look for a while, seeing the sun after a long period of darkness. His hands brush against my breasts, the dip of my waist, my hips, greeting what he could have lost forever.
“I really love you, you know,” I say, wanting not just his body now but his soul. He looks up at me. His smile is small and unbearably soft.
“I’m not letting you go,” he promises.
“You better not,” I say, and pull him into another kiss, as deep and long as the last.
He marks a path against my skin. Down my chest, my nipples, my stomach. I open my legs for him, and he settles there, licking me slowly. I close my eyes and breathe, my hand holding on to the nape of his neck.
“I want,” he starts but cuts himself off as he catches my clit in his mouth, running his tongue against it. I jolt, wondering what else he could possibly want when he’s already got everything I have to give.
