Page 57 of Fruit
“Yeah.”
“Can I look? You don’t have to show me.”
I shrug. “Sure.”
I watch him as he flips to the start and then looks through the drawings slowly. There are a few sketches of Nina and the view from my window, but mostly the pages are filled with people. A handful are pages of rough character studies, but there are more detailed drawings as well: an old man leaning on a cane as he waits for the lights to change to cross the road; a little girl pulling her brother along, her backpack almost as big as her; a woman pushing her hair away from her face as she sits in a café.
He takes his time with each one, studying them closely. I want to look away, feeling exposed, but I can’t.
“These are…really good, Iva,” he says when he’s looked through all of them. He glances at me but flips back to the start to look through them again.
I shrug. “I’ve had practice.”
“Well, yeah, but…it’s your eye as well. The detail…I almost feel like I know these people, now. The expression and character on the faces…it’s just…” he trails off, looking at me again.
He sets the sketchbook down carefully on the coffee table and moves Nina off his lap and onto the floor. Nina meows in protest before hopping onto the armchair. Sebastián doesn’t look at her, his eyes intent on me. He pulls at my legs slightly, stretching them out across the sofa, and moves over me.
I lie down and close my eyes as he kisses me. It’s as slow as his other kisses but different, too. Sweeter. One of my hands comes up to cup the nape of his neck, the other pressing against his chest. I part my lips and the kiss turns deep and rich, and I forget myself and everything else as we kiss.
I slip my hands under the back of his shirt, wanting to feel skin. One of his hands rubs against my bare thigh, tracing the skin under my skirt before trailing down again. I feel the want grip slowly until I’m breathless with it.
“Sebastián,” I say, the word muffled by his tongue.
He takes my shirt off and kisses the line of my jaw, down to my neck. It’s a slow, warm path. He bites me lightly over my pulse point, and I arch my neck for him, exposing more skin. He takes advantage of it, dragging his tongue and biting me a little harder. I make a low, choked noise. I can feel the imprint of his teeth against the rushing of my blood. I wouldn’t have taken him for a biter, but suddenly it’s all I want.
The noises I’m making seem to embolden him. He drags his tongue against sore skin before moving down to suck a bruise at my clavicle, where a normal shirt will hide it.
“Fuck,” I say, gripping at him, my body tense and hurting and filling with pleasure until he lets me go. “Fuck. Fuck.”
He unhooks my bra and removes it, dropping it on the floor. My spine arches as he cups one of my breasts in his hand, his thumb tracing a circle around my nipple and then over it. He catches my lips with his again as I make another noise. He swallows it down.
My hands brush against his broad shoulders as he moves down. It’s his lips against my throat, my clavicles, my breasts. He presses light kisses on my sides, across my soft stomach, decorating the edge of my skirt. He lingers there. His lips turn feathery, more breath than anything else, and after his deep kisses and bruising bites, the lightness is almost unbearable.
“Sebastián,” I say, and he squeezes my thighs deliciously before he unzips my skirt. His hands are slow as he pulls away to push the skirt down, his palms pressing against my thighs, my knees, my legs. He casts it aside and looks at me, stretched on the sofa in my panties for him.
He bends down and kisses the side of my knee. He follows a path up, and my toes curl slightly at the feeling of his lips on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. My nails dig a little into his shoulders. My stomach is tight with want. He’s almost where I need him, almost, and then he moves away again, down to my opposite knee. I grunt out a growl in protest, but he just kisses me, tracing the reflexion of the same path with his mouth and breath, with that patient reverence he’s holding me with.
He moves me suddenly, gently, so that I’m sitting on the couch with my feet on the floor. He pushes the coffee table away and kneels in front of me, pulling my ass to the edge of the couch. I open my legs instinctively as he settles between them.
He presses a long, sweet kiss on my inner thigh before moving up. At the first press of his tongue through my panties, I lean back, closing my eyes. I’m so amped up even that slight touch has me wanting to moan.
I grip his shoulders as he licks me a little harder, opening my legs wider. I can feel the pressure of his tongue at the edge of my clit. I think he’s just going to tease me to death as he gets my underwear damp with his mouth, but I cry out as he slips two fingers under the material, tracing a line up to my clit.
“Yes, fuck, come on,” I say, digging my fingers a little more into the muscles of his shoulders.
He removes his fingers and I’m about to protest, when he hooks his hands in my panties and drags them down, getting them completely off me before returning. This time, he doesn’t play around. He licks into me and then flicks at my clit with the tip of his tongue again and again as he plunges two fingers inside me.
“Oh, Jesus. Oh, fuck.”
He rubs my clit with the flat of his tongue, the pressure of it making me tremble, before returning to an erratic rhythm that has me breathless as I try to catch up. The fingers fucking into me are ruthless and deep. I can feel them rubbing against me, building the pleasure from all directions.
I look down at him in a haze and, what a sight. Sebastián, caught between my thighs, face buried against me. He opens his eyes as if he can sense my gaze and looks up at me with those dark eyes. A shiver goes through me.
I’m so close. I’m so—
Sebastián pulls away from me. I almost scratch at his shoulders trying to get him back, but he rears up, pulling me down to kiss me, my taste on his lips.
I moan into his mouth, desperate for more, for his lips somewhere else, for his fingers inside me, but he just kisses and kisses me until I almost forget.
