Paper Hearts

09 | coral

[ dedicated to sargently because she actually has such a good taste in books (and tv shows tbh) and she's recommended some amazing books to me (some of which i've actually read already and loved to death). plus, she's just such a fun, kind, lovable girl that i always have to dedicate a chapter to her. that's how much she means to me <3 ]

PAPER HEARTS | 09

warning: contains some mature content

His hair was silken under the palms of her hands, curling seamlessly around each fingertip she had threaded into his roots. Hazel eyes alight like the fire crackling next to their nearly-naked bodies, he didn't try to mask the shadow crossing his features as his head descended past her jawline. His lips, wet and swollen when they ran across her own, sponged a brief kiss along the underside of her breast before painting their way downwards. And they painted like an artist whose last breath depended on his masterpiece. His tongue dipped and flicked and sucked and ravaged.

He dotted her body with hues of indigo and coral and wine and cream; his kisses were messy and erratic and speckled her just barely. Wherever his tongue and lower lip dragged across the panes of smooth skin were brushstrokes of lavender and teal and burgundy. As his teeth nipped, she witnessed a streak of crimson embroider the raised flesh. However, she didn't care that her breasts were painted lilac or her navel sapphire or her lips scarlet; she only cared that, at the apex of her hips, he was painting her with every color he knew. With each stroke of his tongue, she witnessed that masterpiece she was meant to be actually come to be.

His hands, roaming her body, smudged the paints. They spread one one way, and mixed another another way. Fragmented fractals penciled into her skin while textures dug into her sides. Perhaps choosing to make love on the newly replaced carpet in the barely furnished living room in the hardly empty cabin was not their best idea, but he was persuasive. His nephews were fast asleep, their snores emanating from the bedroom through the cracked door. When a moan started to slip past her, his messy hand pursed her lips shut - muffled her voice until it no longer existed.

But the artist was not satisfied with painting only the outside; he wanted his paints to bleed through the canvas. His lips halted the voice in her throat, swallowing the scream before she could breathe life into it. When she clung to him, locking her ankles around his waist and pressing her body flush against his, the paints smeared. The designs disappeared between them, but neither of them cared. His artwork was almost finished. Four strokes later - he was counting - she would be all his, inside and out. Her heart would beat his blood, her lungs would breathe his air, and her lips would only know his name.

He wanted to present his jewel to the world - display her for the whole world to see. His name signed in the corner, he wanted lingering eyes to know she was his, and his only. But as her breathing evened, he knew his showcase would have to wait. The two of them wrapped in a quilt, he feathered kisses along her brow and cheek until her chest rose and fell in the slightest. Until the barest breath teased his chest when it blew past parted lips. A sheen of sweat was glistening along her hairline.

When she woke up the next morning as the sun was rising over the horizon, she jolted to the empty space next to her. In its place was a note reading, Went out to grab some groceries. Make sure you're dressed before the kiddos wake up - can't have them making moves on my beautiful, naked girlfriend. Clothes hidden underneath the quilt and her body draped conservatively, she made her way to the master bedroom - to the full length vanity mirror tucked into the corner of the bathroom. While she had been too tired to examine the art he had made of her the night before, there was no chance she could forget to see it. However, when the heavy material fell from her shoulders, she wished she had washed the colors away.