by L. A. Fiore
Greyson
I couldn’t get enough of her, buried deep and still coming down from the best fucking orgasm and I was getting hard. It had always been like that, but it added another dimension fucking my wife. My wife. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks rosy from desire, her chest rising and falling as she pulled air into her lungs.
“That was incredible,” she whispered dreamily. Her eyes opened, passion and love stared back. “Better, if possible.”
She was so fucking beautiful. “I want to paint you.”
Her entire body blushed. “Like this?”
My cock liked that idea. She felt it too when desire swept her face.
“I do want to paint you naked, would you consider that?”
“For you, yes, but it would have to stay in our bedroom. And when we have kids, perhaps your studio.”
I shifted my hips in agreement; she closed her eyes on a moan.
My fingers brushed along her face, she should be captured in clay too. “Sit for me tomorrow. I want this face.”
“Okay.” Her eyes warmed. “We’re married. It feels like a dream.”
“Then we’re dreaming it together, beautiful.”
Alexis
We’d been married for three weeks and still I was floating. We spent our honeymoon in bed, on the beach and bluffs, or with Paige and family, but mostly in bed. He’d invited Teresa to the wedding, the journalist who had done the article on him. She was the only one he invited. The photograph that was featured on the cover of her magazine I liked so much I asked for the original; the photographer captured us right after we were announced husband and wife. It was my favorite photo of us. We’d been home for a week and even though we’d been living together for years, it felt different now that we were married. Better. Sometimes I just watched him doing something simple like brushing his teeth or washing the dishes and I felt incredibly lucky knowing I had a lifetime of this.
A lifetime with him.
It was hard getting back into work and today was no different, the morning flew by as I sat lost in thought and not ones circling the script I was working on. It was lunchtime, though my eagerness had less to do with food and more to do with convincing Greyson to join me. Not that he needed convincing.
His studio door was open, but the room was empty. I grinned, we even thought alike. Entering the kitchen, he had the fridge open while he chugged the milk from the carton. I’d suggested countless times over the years that he might want a glass, but he was pretty fixed in his ways. I didn’t care. I wasn’t a milk drinker but having his mouth on the carton, I saw nothing wrong with that. He glanced over, a twinkle in his eyes getting caught. He wasn’t at all repentant.
“What are you in the mood for?” he asked while putting the milk back. He was in his painting outfit—faded jeans, a tee and his bandana. He didn’t wear shoes or socks when he painted. That first day on the jetty he had been barefoot too. I had thought it was because he had been on the beach, but it was just part of his process. The man was sexy as sin.
“You.”
It was one seamless move how he closed the fridge and moved into me, pressing me back against the counter. “I’m always up for that.”
“You wanted to paint me.”
His eyes went hot, his fingers already moving over my body studying his subject. “All of you?”
Desire, thousands of pinpoints of it, tingled my nerve endings from my head down to my toes. “Yes.”
It wasn’t just arousal or even love in his gaze; he was the artist now working the image and how he wanted it translated. “I’ll get set up.” But he didn’t move; those pale green eyes looked directly into mine and then he kissed me, long and sweet. My body went liquid. He touched a few strands of my hair, rubbing them between his fingers. “Thank you.”
I left Greyson in his studio and went to our room. I felt a little nervous as I undressed because this was permanent, my naked image forever captured in oil. It was definitely in part sexual, but it was about more than that. Trust, me giving it to him and him giving it back. I stood in front of the mirror, my robe hanging from my shoulders as I studied my body. I remembered doing similarly once upon a time. Greyson created beauty. Whatever he envisioned, whatever he brought to life, was going to be beautiful because it was us.
He was sharpening his pencils when I entered. He sketched first. The paint would come later; he first had to get the vision on the canvas. He stopped working when I entered, a smile curving his lips. One wall of his studio was all windows, but he had a white screen up and angled so any curious people in the buildings around us wouldn’t see anything if they happened to be looking.
He crossed the room, took my hand and silently led me to the screen. He turned into me, our bodies so close we were practically touching. His fingers curled around the silk of my robe, his focus on me when he slowly moved it down one shoulder. It was his expression, love, lust and awe that had my nerves settling. His finger ran along the underside of my breast, his thumb brushed over my nipple. It was the lightest of touches, but he grinned as he moved his hand down my arm over the evidence of what he did to me.
“Hold it here.” His voice was gruff as he curled my fingers of one hand around the silk at my hip. He kept my other shoulder covered.
“Sideways.” He guided my body in the position he wanted. He had a painting on an easel at the other side of the studio, close to the windows. “I want you to look at that.” He touched my chin to lower my head slightly and pulled a few tendrils of hair over my shoulder, to curl near my breast. I thought he wanted me completely naked, but this was Greyson. Only my breasts, shoulder and stomach were bare and with how he wanted me to stand, in profile, it was the simple beauty of the female form he was after.
“Just like that,” he said and moved in long strides to his easel. I wanted to watch him work; instead, I looked where he asked but thought of him drawing the lines of my body, blending them with his fingers, his touch on my shoulder, my arms, over my stomach, across my nipple. Desire pooled in my gut and my nipples went hard.
“Fuck,” he growled. “Don’t you move.”
He knew I was turned on, the scratching of his pencil over the canvas sped up and all the while I imagined him touching me, first with his hands, then his tongue. I imagined him backing me up against the wall, lifting my leg and driving his cock into me. My clit spasmed at the thought.
I didn’t know how long I stood there, but I was a bundle of lust when I heard the pencil drop on the floor. In three strides, he had me in his arms. “I could smell you, beautiful,” he said right before he kissed me, a kiss so hungry it left me weak. As I knew he would, he read my mind when he backed me against the wall. I worked his jeans, yanking them down enough to free his cock. He never broke the kiss. He curled his fingers into my thigh, lifted my leg and slammed into me. I threw my arms around his neck and moaned into his mouth because real life was so much better than my imaginings.
Greyson
It was the fastest I’d ever completed a painting and it was without question the best fucking thing I’d ever done. If I put this up for sale, collectors would be banging down my door, a bidding war would ensue, it would sell for millions. I understood why too. It was Alexis, that innocence of hers that weaved through everything she did and yet she trusted me enough to pose naked. The combination of innocence and seduction was fucking magnificent, just like the woman it depicted. I painted her rings. She was mine, every part of her belonged to me. I was one lucky bastard.
She was working, her desk in the corner of the living room. I leaned against one of the columns and watched her. Her lips were moving, her fingers dancing over the keyboard. I didn’t want to interrupt her, she was in the flow so I stood and watched the magic of her mind working. She realized I was there when her head lifted and her eyes warmed.
“Hey. What are you doing? Keeping the roof up,” she snickered, and rolled back from her desk.
Fucking adorable.
She crossed the room to me, and I
wasn’t shy about watching her, the gentle sway of her hips and those long legs. She usually moved right into me, pressing in close, but she stopped a few feet from me and pushed her hands into the pockets of her jeans.
“Whatcha looking at?”
“My wife.”
Her eyes warmed even as her lips turned up into a smile.
“It’s done.”
Excitement danced in her eyes now. She caught my hand as she headed for my studio. “Show me.”
I grinned. If I didn’t move, she wouldn’t be going very far, but I wanted her to see the painting. I let her pull me into my studio, her feet coming to a stop when we entered. She approached the painting slowly, almost like she wasn’t sure it was real. I walked to the side of the room to watch her experience it. Her expression was one of wonder; her hand lifted like she was going to touch it, but she curled her fingers into a fist at the last minute.
“That’s me?” There was a bit of disbelief in her tone. “It looks almost ethereal…” She looked over. “Like I’m stepping out of a dream. I don’t look like this.”
“Yes, you do.”
She didn’t believe me, but her focus shifted back to the painting. “I knew whatever you created was going to be beautiful, but Greyson this is beyond beautiful.”
I walked to her, wrapping her in my arms. “It’s how I see you. Beautiful, innocent, sexy.”
“I’m pretty amazing in your eyes.”
“You’re amazing period.”
“We should hang it in the living room.”
That surprised me, I glanced down as she looked up, “Are you serious?”
“I know I’m naked but it’s art, really beautiful art.”
I held her tighter. “I’d love that, but I’m selfish and don’t want to share this part of you.”
She leaned back into me, linking her fingers with mine. “Our bedroom then. You need to have a frame made.”
“Yeah, I’ll call my guy.”
“We should eat,” she said and pulled from my arms.
I grabbed her arm, tossed her over my shoulder and headed to our bedroom. “You read my mind.”
Alexis 2009
It was fall, the weather beautiful in the city, so we were walking to the grocery store. Two years we’d been married and what an amazing two years they had been. I adored the painting he’d done of me. It hung over our bed and every time I studied it, how he saw me, that hole in my heart was just about gone.
He was wearing a hat I knitted. I wasn’t very creative, outside of my writing. I still couldn’t cook; my last attempt at a cake had not fared any better than my first attempt. My knitting skills were not much better than my baking skills. There were so many missed stitches that there were large holes marring the design. The color was pretty, brown and light green like his eyes, but it was a really ugly hat. Still, he was wearing it along with his leather and shearling jacket that cost a small fortune and his designer jeans, tee and sneakers. He was a walking advertisement for the Sesame Street game, ‘One of these things is not like the others’, but he wore that hat with pride.
“You don’t have to wear the hat, you know?”
He glanced down at me. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s hideous.”
“You made it.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that it’s an eye sore.”
He dragged me closer and draped an arm over my shoulders. “I like my hat and it’s warm.”
We passed a pet store and there was the cutest little cat in the window. He was all gray with the biggest black eyes.
“Greyson, look at him.”
I pulled him to the window then tapped on the glass. The little guy was scared, his body shook, but it didn’t keep him from moving closer.
Glancing at Greyson to gauge his interest in a pet, he was watching me not the cat. “What?”
He touched my cheek, but said nothing.
“You want to lose the hat but don’t have it in you.”
He grinned, but I understood the look. It happened to me too, at the oddest times I was nearly overwhelmed with the reality that we were married. I smiled in understanding then I asked, “What are your thoughts on cats?”
His focus shifted to the cat. “He is cute.”
“We have plenty of room at the apartment.”
“We do.”
We wanted children, but we were enjoying it just being us at the moment. There was time to start a family and getting a cat was a good first step.
“He has to stay out of the studio. Cat claws and canvas don’t mix.”
“Agreed.”
“All right.” He held the door. “Let’s see about bringing the little guy home.”
It wasn’t just the cat we brought home. It was the carrier, the cat bed, food, toys, litter box, litter. The little fella was shy. He only left his carrier for a few minutes at a time, exploring a little farther than his last effort before he darted back into the safety of what was familiar. Greyson and I lay on the floor watching him for hours. He was the cutest little thing.
“Maybe we should leave him alone. He knows where his litter box is and his food. If we stop hovering, maybe he’ll grow more bold,” Greyson suggested.
That seemed logical. “Okay. Let’s watch a scary movie.”
Greyson stood then offered his hand to me. “You pick the movie, I’ll get the popcorn.”
“And the—”
“M&M’s I know. You can’t have popcorn without M&M’s.”
“It’s brilliant and you know it. The heat from the popcorn melts the chocolate, but the candy coating keeps it from getting all over.”
He chuckled and kissed my head. “Find a movie.” He started for the kitchen, but glanced back at me and grinned. “Don’t forget I double as a damn fine blanket.”
My entire body throbbed. Understatement. He was the best fucking blanket ever.
It was several days after we brought the cat home that I learned the meaning of the expression curiosity killed the cat. It was also the same day we settled on his name.
He roamed the house now, was comfortable with us about a day after his homecoming. He didn’t sleep in our room, but I was hopeful he would eventually. He did sit with us, usually curled up in his cat bed, but every once in a while he slept on our laps and we were pathetic because every time he did, we beamed like we’d just been bestowed a great honor. And there were people that said animals were dumb.
Greyson and I had a tradition of having pancakes for dinner at least once a week. These weren’t any old pancakes though. Greyson created art from the pancake batter, anything from a cactus to the Eiffel Tower.
I was sitting at the counter. Greyson was working at the stove.
“Have you ever considered cooking in the nude?” I asked.
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Have you?”
“As you know I can’t cook, but I could be your sous chef.”
“My naked sous chef?” His grin was sexy as sin. “We’d starve to death.” He paused as he thought it through. “We’d never get anything done.” He looked wicked when he added, “We’d fuck ourselves to death.”
“What a way to go though.”
Neither of us saw the cat walk into the kitchen. The flour was kept on the bottom shelf of one of the cabinets. It was usually sealed in a canister, but Greyson had yet to seal it. A puff of flour, that resembled a mushroom cloud, rose up next to Greyson. He looked down. “You bugger!”
Glancing over the counter, I was treated to the sight of our cat looking like an uncooked chicken cutlet. His eyes looked particularly dark against the white flour.
“He’s going to track flour throughout the house. We need to give him a bath.” Greyson reached for him. Startled, the cat took off trailing flour in his wake. I watched as he flew past me then turned to Greyson. He was pulling the pancakes from the heat.
“You’re seriously going to chase the cat?”
“Aren’t you?”
“No. We’re not going to
catch him.”
“I’m like a ninja when I need to be,” he boasted.
Oh, I was going to enjoy this.
I turned in my chair to watch my husband move like a ninja. I chuckled and wished I had some popcorn. There was no way he was outrunning a cat. He realized it too when the cursing started. The apartment filled with profanity, which was just sexy as hell because of his Irish accent. I listened to the footsteps upstairs, much like the dad from A Christmas Story when listening for Ralphie and Randy to get in bed before he and the Mrs. pulled out the Christmas presents. I walked to the stairs and timed it perfectly. The cat came darting down them. I swooped him up when he hit the bottom. Both the cat and I looked up when Greyson appeared at the top of the staircase. I didn’t want to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. He had more flour on him than the cat.
His eyes narrowed as he started down the steps. “What’s so funny?”
“You. That was a spectacular demonstration of ninja moves. I’ve never seen such agility before. My mind is blown.”
It was the look; I knew that look. “At least I tried, you just sat there.”
“I was waiting for my pancakes.” Though it wasn’t pancakes I wanted now.
I slowly backed away, releasing the cat so he could flee to safety.
“I seem to be in need of a shower.”
And though he was going for menacing, my body throbbed with anticipation. Still, I had to tease him because Greyson was many things, but a ninja was not one of them. “Your hair is white and there is a smear here,” I pointed to my cheek for reference.
“Alexis.”
“Yes, Greyson.”
“Run.”
It wasn’t cursing that filled the house, but laughter.
Greyson
“I’m hungry,” Alexis was curled up against my side. We’d worked up an appetite, first in the shower and then out of it.
“Give me a minute to get feeling back in my legs and I’ll go finish the pancakes.”
“I know what we can call our cat.”
I glanced down at her.
“Buggers.”
I grinned because it was a very fitting name. “I like that.”
