by Tia Louise
“Turn to your side.” My eyes sweep Deacon’s nude torso. As I drag the kohl pencil down my large sketch pad.
“At least it’s warm.” He quips. One leg is bent, and a small towel covers his lap. “I wonder where you’re planning to hang this one.”
I’m shading the lines of his muscles, the planes of his shoulders, when I realize he’s teasing me. “Do you need a break?”
“I’m good.” A sly smile curls his lips, and my favorite dimple catches my eyes, distracting me for a moment before I get back to work.
Sliding my hand along the page, I return to the smooth highlight of his pecs… his beautiful body. My eyes narrow as I look at him again, so unaware of himself sitting there naked and amazing.
“I’ve never had someone sit for me before outside of class.”
He looks up from his phone. “Good.”
It’s so emphatic, I laugh. “Good?”
“I don’t want you looking like that at other guys.”
“Looking like what?”
His eyebrow arches. “Like you’re all flushed.”
“You make it hard to concentrate.”
That only feeds his ego. His blue eyes darken, and I shift in my seat, clearing my throat. “I need to finish this so I can send it with my Arthaus application.”
“When is it due?”
“This week, and it’s very important.”
Then he grins. “So I’m distracting?”
I don’t answer, moving to his stomach. Eventually, I’m going to get down to his pelvis and then all bets are off.
Drawing him is like touching him, but slower. It’s examining every line, memorizing every square inch of skin, every shade and nuance. It’s the most intimate thing we’ve ever done.
“Tell me about your mom.” He takes a drink of the water bottle I put out for him along with some snacks. “You said she made you want to be an artist? I know she was a Buddhist. How did that happen?”
Pausing a moment, I take a breath. It’s a good distraction, and it’s something we haven’t talked about very much.
“She went to art school in California. It’s where she learned different philosophies.” Looking up at the mountains rising along the skyline, I try to remember her. “She never told me why she turned to that belief system over our family’s tradition. I was raised strict Catholic, but she resisted.”
“Do you think that’s strange?” Blinking back to him, I see he’s watching me with that familiar intensity. So interested in everything I say.
“I didn’t then.” Lifting my pencil, I return to work on his perfect abs. He is such a Michelangelo. “Maybe I don’t now… I mean, knowing what I know. Once or twice she mentioned the life she left behind. She would talk about hearts consumed with revenge and hate and how it was cancer in your soul.”
“She left her husband and her son.” His voice is gentle, not accusatory. “Didn’t she feel bad about that?”
My brow clenches, and I slide my pinkie finger over his abs on the page. “I was so little. I never thought about that. I never asked, and she never said.”
Deacon shrugs. “It would explain why he’s so angry. My mother died when I was young. It hurt to have her gone, but at least I knew she loved me.”
“Mamá loved her family…” My voice is sharper than I intend, and Deacon’s eyes blink to mine.
“Hey, I’m sorry—”
“No, I’m sorry.” Shaking my head. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. It’s a fair question. I don’t know the answer.” I look down at the paper. “Maybe she wanted them to come to her?”
“I would come to you.”
I smile and make two strong lines for the outside of his thighs. His powerful legs are lined with muscle all the way to his calves. I’m inching my way higher when his voice breaks the silence.
“Tell me about her art. What made you want to be an artist like her?”
Sitting straighter, I think about this. “She said you become a part of life through art. She said she found her voice in her art. She loved Georgia O’Keefe. Her boldness and wildness… She had this quote by her that said, ‘I could say things with color and shapes I couldn’t say any other way.’”
I think about the quote now and how true it is.
“She seems like a really interesting lady. Problematic… but hey, aren’t we all?”
Our eyes meet again, and I laugh. “Apparently so, even when we try not to be.” Pushing off the couch, I carry the sketchpad to where my naked love reclines. “Take a look and see what you think.”
He catches me by the waist and pulls me down on the cushion between his legs. Taking the drawing, he holds it up as I lean my head back against his shoulder.
“This is amazing.” He kisses my temple. “One thing bothers me. Right around here.”
He moves his hand around his eyes and brow, and I frown. “What’s wrong with it?”
“He doesn’t look as happy as he ought to be.”
Tilting my head, I feel a grin pulling my cheeks. “How can we fix it?”
The sketchpad is forgotten as he turns me in his arms. “I have an idea.”
Heat is in his eyes, and I climb onto my knees as our mouths collide, ripping that small towel away and straddling his lap. He cups my breasts through the top of my thin dress, and I shrug out of the sleeves, allowing it to fall around my waist.
I love when he devours me, and I rise higher on my knees, lifting them closer to his mouth. Only this time when he kisses the soft peaks, making his way to my straining nipples, I jump when he pulls one with his teeth.
“Oh…” It’s not a cry of pleasure, and he frowns.
“Too rough?”
I kiss his forehead, working my way down to his cheeks as I slide lower. “Must be tender from last night… or after dinner… or skinny dipping…” I punctuate each time with a kiss.
He grins, moving his hands under my skirt and grazing his fingers along my slippery core. “We’ve done it a lot. Do you need a break?”
“No, thank you.” I smile, covering his mouth with mine again, pushing his lips apart and sucking his tongue.
He kisses me back with equal desire, and I slide my fist up and down his thickening member. He groans, and I feel it in my core.
“I want you inside me.” I whisper hotly.
Gripping my waist, he turns me on his lap, and with one deep thrust, I arch, pressing my back against his chest and rotating my hips as I ride him in reverse. His hand slides to the front of my lap, fingers circling my clit, and I rock faster, sending him deeper, feeling him hit the spot that makes my eyes roll.
“Oh, God,” I gasp, squeezing him inside me.
“Fuck, yeah,” he groans.
I love it when he groans. I love it when I can hear the struggle in his voice.
Reaching over my shoulder, I hold his face and drag my tongue along his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, the scuff of his beard.
His fingers move faster, and heat rises in my legs. We’re frantic with desire, desperate for more of each other, for everything. We chase each other’s mouths and skin. He cups my breasts, teasing my hardened nipples as we move.
Desire prickles beneath my skin, tingling every nerve ending. Orgasm races through my blood. His thrusts grow sharper, plunging deep as I break into shudders on his lap. His arm is a band of iron holding me tight, pressing me against him as he comes, as I ride with him higher, lost in a swirl of heat and lust and union.
Deacon’s arm is over my waist, and his breathing is low and rhythmic. I’m lying on my back, gazing at his beautiful face as the wind moves his thick brown hair across his brow.
A smile curls my lips, and I trace my finger lightly along the sweep of a wave, just above his skin, not touching. I don’t want to wake him. My heart beats for him with so much love.
Crawling carefully to the side, I lift the sketchpad and start a new drawing, losing myself in the lines of his forehead, the cut of his cheekbone, the square jaw covered in scruff. My st
omach tingles. He’s a god in repose, something you would see in a Greek temple or a Roman coliseum.
He’s mine.
My eyes heat, and I’m so emotional lately. My love for him has always been strong, but I’ve never been such a cry baby.
A strange scent floats by on the breeze, an animal, and my throat closes. I’m shocked by my body’s sudden revulsion, and jumping to my feet, I barely make it to the half bathroom just inside the patio door before I throw up my small breakfast of toast and coffee.
I flush quickly and step to the sink to put cool water on my face and neck, and I remember being at the hospital, talking to the doctor. Then I remember the next morning with Mateo. I’d chalked it up to stress, but closing my eyes, I filter through the dates…
I’ve got to know for sure before I say anything, but my chest trembles. My stomach tightens, and my insides squeeze. I’m excited and I’m scared, and I can’t breathe. And I’m terrified…
If this is true, I have no idea what happens next.
21
Deacon
The sky spreads out in front of us brilliant blue and gold. The sun dips toward the horizon, and it’s like fire rolling beneath the clouds. Angel is behind me on the bike, slim arms tight around my waist, and we’re flying along the freeway headed up to Mount Cristo Rey.
Placing one hand on top of hers, I give it a squeeze as satisfaction spreads across my stomach. We’ve spent the last twenty-four hours growing closer than we’ve ever been, talking about everything, loving each other whenever we want. It’s like a little honeymoon…
It’s amazing.
And I’ve decided.
Nothing’s stopping us anymore.
Wind pushes against my face, and we rise higher, following the trail up the mountain. As the sun drops lower, we can see the lights of Juarez flickering on to the south. It’s crazy how close the two places are.
Reaching the top of the small mountain, I ease off on the gas and we slow. No one else is here, and I park the bike, removing my helmet and reaching for hers. Our eyes meet, and we don’t speak. We’re in this magical place at this time of day when it feels like anything can happen.
The air is a little cooler at this altitude, and I pull her against my side, wrapping my arm over her shoulders as the breeze swirls around us. Her skirt swirls around her beautiful legs, and I think about those beautiful legs being mine, her beautiful heart belonging to me, her talented mind and caring soul.
We climb the wooden staircase leading up to the enormous cross with the massive statue of Jesus standing in front of it. It’s not a crucifixion, as the Christ’s hands are facing down, palms spread over the cities as if in blessing or prayer.
I’ll take both.
Standing on the crown-shaped platform at the base of the monument, we gaze upwards, absorbing the solemnity of the moment as the sky turns red above us. The air is crisp and dry. Dipping my head, I press my nose to the top of Angel’s head and inhale.
Exhaling slowly, it’s time.
“I thought it would be easy.” My voice is quiet. “I knew people like Winnie would be a problem, but I could handle her. Now we’re in a dark place.” She tenses, and I tighten my embrace. “I wanted to do this differently, but now I don’t want to wait.”
Turning to her, I hold her left hand as she looks up at me. “Nothing will change my love for you, Angelica Maria del Carmen.” Lowering to one knee, I take the ring I’ve held since April out of my inside pocket.
“Deacon…” She inhales sharply, pressing her hand to her lips as her eyes heat.
“I want you to be my wife.” Looking at her slim hand so delicate in mine, I place the ring on her third finger. “Will you?”
She drops to her knees, her pretty eyes shimmering as she nods quickly. Emotion tightens my stomach. She blinks and two tears fall right before she dives into my embrace, wrapping her arms around my neck.
Clearing the thickness in my throat, I look up at the sky around us, the hands spread over us in blessing. “Don’t cry, beautiful. I’m going to make you so happy.”
She smiles through tears, her hands on my shoulders. “You already have.”
Rocking back on my heels, I pull her to my chest so I can seal our lips together, tongues entwining. She climbs into my lap, pressing her body to mine as our kiss deepens, emotions surge between us.
My mouth moves down to her sternum, and I wrap my arms around her waist, holding her tight against me, listening to her heart beating like wings in her chest. My beautiful angel.
“I saw a movie once…” Her voice is soft, thoughtful at my ear. “This couple couldn’t be married by a minister, in front of their families, because of a war… so they said the words three times, and they were married.”
“Look at me.” I lift my head, and I’m determined, forceful. “I’m going to marry you in front of God and everybody.”
A smile creases her face, and she nods, blinking as another tear falls. “I want that too… But I want you to know, I’ll marry you right here, even if it’s only the two of us promising at Jesus’s feet on this mountain in the desert.”
Love burns in my chest, and I look up at the monument, at the sky. I like her idea. It’s sacred and perfect.
Rising to stand, I help her to her feet. “Three times?”
“Let’s say it together.”
Holding both her hands in mine, I look directly in her eyes and repeat the words as she says them.
On the third time, I’m sure it’s in my mind, but the air seems to still. A final ray of sunlight cuts through the red-orange clouds, and the force of our promise surrounds us, binding us together.
We’re changed.
Leaning down, I kiss her again gently. It’s a holy kiss, a kiss that defies the hatred and prejudices of our families. A breath apart, our noses touch. We smile and possessive warmth surrounds my heart. We’ve created something unbreakable.
Returning to the house, her body is pressed against my back like a hot promise of what’s to come. Her hands are on my waist, but I feel her fingers fumble with the edge of my shirt, lifting it and tracing the lines across my stomach. Tingles move below my belt, and I lean harder on the throttle.
The wind washes around us, the sky stretches purple and gold as we cover the miles, racing down the mountain road to the city below. Consummation is hot in my blood when we finally arrive at the house.
Pulling up the long driveway, I park at the edge of the porch. We’re off the bike, whipping off the helmets and leaving them on the steps as we stumble up them, falling into each other’s arms through the doorway.
Our lips fumble for each other’s, our hands are everywhere. Hers pull up my shirt. I’m unbuttoning the front of her cotton dress. I lift her, and she holds my neck, fingers threading the back of my hair as we seek out skin, cheeks, mouths.
I want to be gentle, but my jeans catch my ankles, and I stumble, catching us as we fall on the stairs leading to the second floor.
I’m sitting with her on top of me, and I groan. “That’s going to leave a mark.”
We both laugh, diving into each other again. I’m too hungry to care.
My hands are under her skirt, tearing her thong away. She gasps, clutching my shoulders and pushing me back, dipping her head to pull my dick in her mouth.
“Ohh, fuck.” My head drops back with a groan.
She’s licking and sucking, and my fingers slide into her hair. My hips rise involuntarily. It feels too good. My eyes squeeze shut as pleasure snakes up my legs. Her head bobs faster, pulling me deeper. My cock hits the back of her throat, and I groan low, shakily. I’m close…
But I don’t want to come this way. I want to be inside her, holding her.
Reaching down, I manage to lift her to me. “Come here.”
She comes off with a pop and a frown, and I pull her onto my lap. “I want to hold my wife when I fuck her the first time.”
“I want to hear my husband groaning my name.” Her eyes are hot, and she’s so fuckin
g sassy and perfect.
“Don’t worry, beautiful. You always blow my mind. Even when we’re not having sex.”
Her soft breasts are against my chest, and I sink deep into her slippery-hot depths. Our mouths unite, and we move, flowing together, rising higher, finding that place of bliss like we always do.
Exploding through space until we’re floating down to Earth again, holding each other close, sharing each other’s breath. Sharing everything.
Forever.
“I think you should go back to Beto’s place.” It’s pre-dawn, and Angel’s packing for the drive back. She’s actually worried about losing time on Winnie’s portrait.
“You’re joking, right?” She cuts those pretty eyes at me.
“Actually, I’m not. I think it’s the best thing—for now.”
I passed a restless night, her beautiful body draped over mine, staring into the darkness searching for another way, but the only way forward is not creating a bigger rift than already exists. For now.
“I’m not going back there.” Shaking her cute, stubborn head, she places her art supplies in the suitcase, wrapping the pencils and brushes in paper towel and dropping them in a large Ziploc. “Mamá took me away from that life. Now I understand why.”
I study the oval diamond ring on her finger. With the rose-gold setting it’s beautiful on her elegant hand. “Your brother loves you. His anger is justified. Us living together will only make things worse.”
“I’m your wife.”
Catching her arm, I pull it to my lips, kissing the soft skin of her wrist. “Not on paper.”
“A piece of paper isn’t going to change anything.”
“At least we’ll be legal.” Pushing off the bed, I walk around to face her, sliding a curl off her cheek. “I know we’re going to wait, but when we do have children, you’ll miss your family.”
She stiffens, blinking away from my gaze. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Catching her chin, I turn her eyes to mine. “What about Sofia? You love her.”
“Don’t bring Sofia into this. She’s just a little girl.”
