The Portrait

Chapter Nine

“I want to paint you!”

“Oh, Dorian. Why would you want to paint little old me?” Erin giggled. She was sprawled on the floor, like a cat in the sunshine. Her hair was everywhere, the curls brilliant copper against the dull wood of my floor.

I didn’t have paint that color. I don’t think such a thing existed.

“Why? Why, you ask?” I teased.

She nodded and motioned with her child-sized hand to go on.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, dropping the brush that I had been holding. “Guess I won’t.”

She smirked at me, I never could tease her. She was the master of teasing; she could spot it faster than anyone I’d ever met.

“What would you paint?” she asked, sitting up.

“You. Duh.”

Her eyes closed in mock frustration and I smiled.

“I would paint…a girl.”

I looked away. The mood was suddenly so serious.

“Which girl?” she asked.

“Just this one girl I know.”

She was standing by the window now, looking out over the river. Her back was to me and I studied her profile. She was so slender, so graceful. Even her shadow sent shivers down my spine.

“Is she pretty?” she asked, unaware of my inspection.

“No.” I said. I smiled when she turned around to frown at me, “She’s beautiful.”

Her lips sank into a smile and I reached for her, curling my hands around her, pulling her into me. She fit into my body perfectly, her hands twining in my hair and then trailing along my shoulders. Her head was buried in my neck and I cupped her slender neck in my hand, placing my thumb right where her heartbeat pounded.

I felt her all around me. Her pulse under my fingers, her smell entangled in my own.

“Is she?” she murmured.

“So beautiful. I want to paint her, I want to paint her, but I don’t think she’s willing.”

“I happen to know this girl, and I think she can be persuaded.”

“You know her? Isn’t she pretty?” I smiled, pulling her closer.

“She’s…passable.”

I squeezed and she giggled.

“You know, I think if you kissed this girl, she might let you paint her.”

“Really…wow. I don’t know…” I laughed. “Kiss her? That’s asking a lot.”

She raised her head up and brought her lips close to my own. Not touching, just hovering there, waiting.

I brought my own lips down and I felt her breath on my cheeks. Her heartbeat under my fingers. Her lips were warm and soft; I could feel the heat rising off of them, waiting for me.

When I kissed her, I felt her heartbeat begin to pick up speed. I knew that my own heart was going faster and I could feel my lungs tighten, as if I didn’t have enough air. She was all around me. In the air. I could feel her.

Suddenly, the idea of letting her go, even to paint her beautiful form, was the most unappealing idea in the world.

I could feel her smile and I felt a hot heat spread over my face, trailing up to my ears. My ears always would insist on turning red.

Unfortunately, like all kisses, they must end and when this one did, it was like something I had never felt.

I was no longer falling in love. I was in love. That was as obvious as the sun in her hair, and just as natural.

“Paint me?” she asked.

“It would be an honor.” I replied, letting my hands slip from her warm body and I walked, fairly skipped, to my easel.

“Where should I sit?” she asked, looking around.

I twisted up my mouth in concentration, my eyes falling on an old armchair. I dragged it to the window and I motioned for her to sit, nudging the chair to catch the light just so.

“Perfect.” I whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead softly.

“How long will this take?” she asked, ever impatient.

I laughed at that, “If it means that you’ll be here, forever!”