a canticle, in prelude – pt. 5

Mature content warning…

***

Silken locks of raven fell on satin skin, curls touching her shoulders and framing her breasts in a showcase of black on peach. The soft, luxurious shade of green within her eyes stood out that much more; bright and wide. I watched her chest rise and fall in tentative breaths designed to mask the nervousness that must have had her heart thumping out a manic rhythm inside her chest. A million compulsions came over me, none of them involving paint and canvas. Yet, I could not ignore her request.

My eyes raised from her chest to her eyes once more. Her hands lowered to her sides. “You want me to paint you naked?” I asked. My voice sounded far more subdued than I intended it to be.

Déesse nodded. I lived within the milliseconds between her head pivoting upward and her chin lowering downward again. “Oui, amour. This is me, after all. Not what others want me to be.”

“This is indeed you, chérie.” I walked closer to her, seeing visions of my hands caressing more than the shoulder I ended up touching. I traced across her smooth skin, surveying the feel of her, my eyes set on her body as though evaluating it for a composition when there was so much more behind the appraisal. Bare chest brushed against bare chest and I closed my eyes, wondering how much of this I could take.

“Qu’est-ce qu’il y a, amour?” she asked, stepping forward to press our bodies together again. Her breath hit my face, but I dared not open my eyes. I knew the minute I did, I would find myself looking down at her parted crimson lips once more and it would be the end of me. “I’m not pretty enough to be painted?”

An involuntary groan surfaced, my throat humming a tune to the key of lust. Finally, the forbidden gaze could not be stopped. I might as well have tried to hold back the ocean’s waves from pounding the shore. I opened my eyes, seeing our bodies touch, her eyes studying me, and her soul laid transparent before me. I focused on the sight of her lips and said, “Tu es la femme la plus belle que j’aie jamais vue.”

She struggled against a frown. “Non. You have painted many people already.” Déesse turned away from me before I could answer and walked for where she dropped her clothing. “I’m probably ugly to you. That’s why you can’t paint … .”

Before she could finish, I closed the distance between us and took her hand in mine, coaxing her to face me again. I stopped her just as she started to crouch for her garments and as she stood, she looked me in the eye, her brow knitted and her movements hesitant. I swallowed hard and looked her over again. “Déesse,” I whispered. “Painting is the last thing on my mind when I look at you like this.”

The look on her face relaxed as our eyes met, my gaze heavy-laden with desire, a hunger mounting. I pulled her close again and cupped her face in the palm of my hand. She took hold of me in return, both arms wrapping around my torso. Her eyes closed in perfect synchronization with mine. When our lips met, it was unlike any other time I kissed her. The kiss went from ginger to deep and passionate within a matter of seconds.

I parted to come up for air. Taking a deep breath, I held her tight, both hands fanned out across her back. Her chest touching mine, she slid against me as though she knew what an affect that would have. I answered the only way I knew how. I dove into another kiss and immersed myself within her, determined to sooner suffocate than let go of her again.

Déesse seemed to possess the same determination. Her lips were just as desperate as mine and the unbridled urgency of the moment threw her unabashed nakedness into a flurry of need and want. One hand still pressed against her back, I slid the other across the contours of her body, fondling everything I could reach. Her first moan drew a groan forth from me. The second one, however, threw me headlong into even deeper caresses. Before I knew it, she and I were on the bed.

My name drifted past her lips and I responded with hers, or rather, that term of endearment that became her name to me. “Déesse de l’amour. Déesse …  ma chérie, ma belle chérie,” I said while disrobing completely, the whole manic episode reaching a culmination when she gasped and grabbed my arms with such force, I paused to furrow my brow at her. The expression on her face looked pained. It was then that I realized, “Chérie, have you ever … ?”

“Keep going,” she managed. “S’il te plaît, amour.”

I did as she asked, even though the way she cried at first caused me to frown. Fortunately, it did not take long for pleasure to have its way and remove us both far from our senses. The walls shook with the sounds of our lovemaking. She and I did not care who or what might have heard us and satisfaction did not come until we collapsed onto the bed, spent and exhausted. Out of breath, yet lost within sheer contentment. We were a tangled mess of arms and legs, one holding on to the other, quiet overcoming us once the manic throes of passion subsided. I stared at the ceiling thinking to myself I had just come as close to heaven as I would ever.

Déesse rolled atop me and laid her head upon my chest. Her fingers traced idle paths across my skin. “Julien?” she finally asked after interminable moments elapsed.

I opened my eyes without knowing I’d closed them. The sound of her voice chased me away from thoughts of Venice. “Oui, Déesse?” I asked.

The look in her eyes was playful, her smile seductive and mischievous, when she raised her head to look at me. “Do you feel like painting now?”

The corner of my mouth curled upward and she laughed and slid up on me to kiss my lips in a lasting, tender kiss before she pulled away again. I smiled, one hand touching the side of her face. “You still want me to paint you naked?”

She nodded. “Oui, amour.”

Reaching down to touch her hand, I raised it to my mouth and kissed it. She watched me while I stood and slid my pants back on, but I clothed myself in little else. Instead, I lit candles and spaced them out across the room; it was just enough light to catch the lingering blush that rose to her cheeks. I smiled and situated my canvas and easel while she laid out on the bed in a sensual pose.

The contours of her body made it onto the portrait and her brilliant eyes took on more form before the imminent threat of dawn forced us to end our time together. “I guess this means I’ll have to come back, oui?” she asked as she dressed again. Déesse’s eyes glinted with double entendre when they met mine. “So that you can finish.”

She might as well have said it outright. So that we could spend countless nights doing exactly what we did that evening. So that she could be free and I could taste her body before depicting it in the form of a portrait. I finished dressing as well and took her hand in mine, pulling her close and touching lips with her. The kiss turned deep for a few seconds before we pulled away from one another, yet not so far that I could not still feel her breath on my face. “As many times as it takes to finish,” I said. “I want to make sure I get it just right.”

“Might take a few tries, n’est-ce pas?”

“Je crois, oui.”

She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me again, with such emotion latent in the embrace that I almost found myself taunted into stripping her of her clothing again. But I knew the dark of night would not provide us cover for much longer. Déesse would be spotted slipping back into her parents’ estate if we lingered in my room. Not much longer, I told myself. Once the portraits were finished and I was paid, then I would ask her to run away with me to Italy.

Our noses touched. I grinned. “You continue that, chérie, and I’m not going to be able to bring you back to your parents.”

I sensed her eyes open. My lids raised to regard her as she stepped back a pace. She held onto the smile, yet I watched it waver a bit. “In my dreams,” she said, “We’re someplace else and in another time. Somewhere safe, just you and me.”

“Perhaps that dream might come true yet.”

We kissed one final time. Then, we ventured into the night. She wrapped her arm around my waist and I held her shoulders, taking my time leading her to her grand estate. We still had the cover of darkness when she opened the gates and slipped away from me, but for how many times she turned to back along the way, the sun should have come up and exposed us both. My eyes set on her, I knew in my heart of hearts how much I loved her.

As I turned to leave, however, a different sort of sentiment washed over me, like an unpleasant chill on the wind. I paused mere steps away from her estate and gazed around Paris.

I did not like the premonition. Something ill drifted in the breeze and although I did not see anything or anyone looking at me through the dark city streets, I knew there was a presence just the same. It haunted me even when I made it back to my room and shut my eyes for a few hours’ rest.

Though I did not dare confess it at the time, the sense of foreboding told the truth in prophecy.

I was never going to make it out of Paris with ma Déesse.

Story Beginning | Part Six

~ by peterdawes on June 5, 2009.