Paris Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems.
In the summer after his sophom...
I wake up with Gray pressed against me and his arms wrapped around my torso. We haven't moved from the position we fell asleep in last night; two sparrows permanently intertwined by the tenderness of their love.
"Good morning babe," Gray whispers, his soft lips brushing up against my neck. The vibrations send a delicate shiver down my spine. I turn halfway, just enough to catch a glimpse of his green eyes. They take on a vibrant lime in the beam of morning shimmer.
As I look at him, Gray reaches close to kiss my cheek. The warmth pours out from his lips, melting my body into clay for him to caress and fondle.
"Let's draw a bath," Gray suggests. I nod and burrow into the covers while he glides out of bed, slipping on his glasses in the process. Gray's nude frame stalls for a moment in front of the gleaming window and my eyes are immediately drawn to him. He's an angelic spirit, too stunning and ethereal to be of this world. I trace the lines of his effervescent skin, imagining it enraptured in tongues of tangerine flames, and wonder how I managed to find a guy like him.
Gray walks into the bathroom, proudly strutting his cute voluptuous ass. The muscles of his supple thighs flex as he shimmies onto the tile, and I roll my eyes at his sexy flaunting.
"I don't hear the water running!" I tease. Shortly after, I hear the faucet run and the bath begins to fill.
After a few minutes, I ask Gray if the bath is ready but he doesn't reply. When I call out again and hear no response, I grow worried. Perhaps I should check on Gray and make sure he's alright.
Just as I sit up to get out of bed, Gray sneaks up behind me and swoops me up in his arms. Instinctively, I squeal, though Gray's chuckles cloud my muffled yelps. Like a helpless rag doll, Gray swings my torso onto his shoulder and steadies me there with his firm grip. In protest of my capture, I swing my legs up and down. Alas, my attempts at flight are futile. Eventually, I surrender and giggle as Gray carries me to the bathroom. I've never felt safer than within his snug grasp.
Gently, Gray lowers me into the bath. A fizzing bath bomb dyes the sweltering water a vivid blend of magenta and purple and releases a fragrant mixture of coconut, ocean waves, and passion fruit. The resulting sultry aroma fastens my heart beat and awakens my senses.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Do you even have to ask?" I reply, gazing up at him. My eyes follow the curve of his defined shoulders to his rounded pecs and the thin lines of his abdomen before averting my eyes just as they're about to reach below his v-line.
Gray smirks, his head rocking with a captivating laugh. Slowly, he inches into the bath, settling his legs around mine until he's so close I can feel his firm chest against my arched back. I curl my neck upward, allowing Gray access to my wet lips. His lilting fingers wrap around my cheeks as his mouth presses against mine. Although it's an unusual position, it feels absolutely marvelous. I nibble at his upper lip, putting it in-between my teeth like a pliable gummy worm. The tantalizing sensation draws an arousing growl out of Gray, but I pull away before his elation engulfs us both.
Lightly, Gray's hands scoop up water and bring it to my shoulders, letting the torrid drink cascade down my chest and along my arms. Liquid beads trail down his fingertips and onto my body, rinsing my skin clean. The water washes away any mess from last night, though a part of me never wants to scrub away the product of Gray and I's love. Whenever the fountain overflows, it feels as if Gray has claimed me as his one and only. I never want that feeling to escape me.
As if Gray can hear my concern, he says ever so softly, "My body. My bones. My hair. My skin. My soul. It's all yours, Paris. And now that you've bathed in it, it can never escape you."
I find my place in the crook of Gray's neck, allowing him to rest his chin on my head of damp curls. We lay like this for what seems like hours. Even when the water grows tepid and the bubbles wane, there's nowhere I'd rather be.
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