Scoring a Goal [✔]

12 ♒️ works of art

**chapter is filled with some sexual content [not at the beginning, obviously since it's the funeral lol], if you are uncomfortable don't read**

+

The funeral was on a cold, rainy Sunday. The sky went from a lovely shade of blue to a dark, raging grey, almost like charcoal. Rain poured from the sky, and quickly, people whipped out their umbrellas to cover their heads.

All around us, people cried over the loss of my mother. Wives dabbed their eyes with ragged tissues, men held onto them and caressed their backs, bowed their heads. Friends of my mothers closed their eyes and said a prayer. And me? All I could do was stand. My cheeks were dry, not a single tear shed. My bones were struck cold and my legs were glued to the ground. Just seeing my mother, lying there in her casket, was enough for my stomach to turn over backwards.

The whole time I stood there, doused in black from head to toe, I held onto Alex's hand. I had to admit, it was the only thing giving me a sort of comfort throughout the whole process.

Once it was time to lay her to rest, I placed a fresh daisy on top, said a little prayer, and whispered, "I forgive you."

+

A few days had gone by since the funeral. It was now Tuesday, and I watched Alex paint downstairs in her art studio. Apparently it was a portrait, in which I was the main subject, so I had to stay as still as possible.

Apparently, I wasn't doing too good of a job.

"Would you quit moving there, jitters?" She sent a sweet smile my way, looking intimately at my face.

"Stop complaining, lady. It's hard staying still. I've been doing a pretty good job for the past half hour, dontcha think?"

"All I need is a few more minutes, I'm just finishing up." The way she looked at me was as if I were a goddess. Somehow, it made me suddenly self conscious. I could feel a blush rise to my cheeks.

"Done!" She put her paintbrush in a cup of water and dusted her hands off. "What do you think?"

Looking at the painting, my mouth fell wide open. There were so many vibrant colors, all blended together to make the perfect painting. My features were painted ever so elegantly on her canvas, and seeing my own face painted with her hands, you could almost believe I were something beautiful-- a work of art.

"It's beautiful, Alex," I smiled.

"Yeah? I'm glad you like it."

"I was hoping next time, maybe you could..."

"Could, what?"

"Oh, I don't know..." I made my way over to her lap and softly perched myself upon it. Moving closer to her ear, I whispered, "Paint me like one of your French girls, maybe?"

"Hm, quoting the Titanic, huh? Is that supposed to turn me on?" She smiled, snaking her arms around my waist. "Because it does."

She leaned in closer to me and cut off the distance between our lips. It was almost as if I were being sucked into a world of intensity, a world I didn't want to escape if I tried. She stood and picked me up, wrapping my legs around her as she held my ass to support me. She licked my ear lightly, then went in for the nibble. I moaned softly into her ear, grabbing onto her back. She stood me up, peeling my clothes off layer by layer, and tossing them in the corner of her studio. Suddenly, I was on the couch. My legs melted into Jell-o as she planted kisses up and down my inner thighs, rubbing her thumb lightly over the sensitive parts of my skin.

Once again, we drowned effortlessly into a deep kiss filled with intense passion. I latched onto her as the kiss got deeper. When I noticed her head go between my legs, I moaned loudly. As she did this, I grabbed her hair and tugged on it, then tore her lips up to meet mine.

This went on for hours on end, and once again, for what seemed like the fiftieth time, I was falling more and more in love with Alex.