Chapter 30
Thirty
KIERAN
A few nights later, Isabel lays in my arms in the afterglow, holding my other hand up to the light and tracing its outline with her pointer finger.
“Do you think this is a sin?” she asks.
“This?” I lace our fingers together. “That’s what the Church would say.”
She sits up, a half-amused, half-incredulous look on her face.
“Were you expecting me to reassure you?” I tease.
“A little!”
I sit up, too, just to kiss her gently. “I don’t care what the Church will say. I see God when I’m with you.” I tilt my head to kiss her neck, my hand settling on her hip and kneading it. “I feel closer to Him kissing you than I ever do singing hymns.”
“Heresy,” she says, pushing me back with a palm on my shoulder. “You speak profanities.” Nevertheless, she straddles me, and I’m all too happy to be pinned to the floor. “You’re never making it to heaven. St. Peter won’t let you through.”
“I’ve been to heaven,” I say. “And you know who was standing at the gate? You.”
That gets her. She kisses me for what feels like hours, her hips grinding down on my lap until she comes a second time.
* * *
I’m running on adrenaline when I return to the pool house Saturday evening. She’s already sitting at her spot with the blanket draped around her naked body. I set up quickly to paint.
“Kieran,” she says. “You’re rock hard.”
“What?” I glance down at my lap. I thought I was doing a good job of hiding my erection. Turns out I’ve been pitching a tent.
She giggles. “You have to stay focused.”
“I’m trying,” I say. “Stop being distracting.”
“Are you thinking about last night?” she asks.
“Last night,” I echo. “Later tonight.”
“Later tonight?” She feigns as if she doesn’t know where we’ll end up after all this. “What’s happening later tonight?”
I just smile at my painting.
“I think you might have woken something in me,” she says.
“Oh, yeah?” My brush hovers over the canvas. I know better than to paint when I’m this distracted, but I want to maintain my veneer of productivity, if only to keep Isabel talking.
“Yeah,” she says. Her cheeks are pink and quickly deepening to a bright red. She chews on her bottom lip, then says, “I had a wet dream about you.”
I nearly choke on my spit. “Did you? How—How’d it go?”
“I think it’s ‘cause I started reading this other book. A romance. Not Mere Christianity.”
“No, of course not,” I say. She snorts.
“Just—in it, the guy… He’s her older brother’s best friend. And when he finally gives in to her… he makes her call him this name.”
I quirk a brow at her to show her I’m listening.
“Don’t judge me,” she says. “I’ve just been in a mood all week, okay? It’s your fault.”
“I’m not judging you. You’re feeling shy. That’s different.”
She hugs the blanket tighter around her and says nothing else.
“What did she call him?” I ask. She murmurs a response, but I don’t hear it. “You’re going to have to speak louder, baby.” The pet name slips naturally from my tongue. It’s as if I’ve always called her that.
She shrinks in her seat, her blush conquering her whole face now. “Nothing. Forget it,” she says.
No way in hell. “Say it,” I urge. “Is it something you want to try?”
I can tell she’s all wrought up inside about this. I wish I could reach in and iron it out for her. There’s nothing she desires that I won’t give to her. How can she not know that already?
“No,” she answers quickly. “Maybe. When I’m ready.”
“Okay,” I say. “Whenever you’re ready, baby. Would you read me your book?”
“No way!” she cries. “That’s between me and God.”
I laugh and return to my painting. I think I’m just going to have to get used to painting while hard when Isabel is my subject.
“I like when you call me that,” she says after some time. “Baby.”
I can’t help but smile. “You are my baby. You’re my girl.”
Her eyes sparkle when they meet mine. My sweet, sweet girl. My Isabel. I’m going to make you wait for relief.
As is our routine, when I’ve made enough progress on the portrait, she lets the fabric fall, and lightheaded, I set up the other canvas to paint her nude.
Though this one’s just for me, the collection is coming along nicely.
I’ve sketched some scenes of her at the pool, of her lips puckered around a slice of watermelon, its juice dripping down her fingers.
When I finish for the night, Isabel gets dressed.
She seems a little confused by this. I stifle my laughter; I only make it a couple of minutes before I’m kissing her, picking her up from the floor and setting her down on the couch.
I can’t get enough of her. I tear my shirt over my head and press my skin against hers, groaning into her mouth at the warmth between our bodies.
She cups my bulge and rubs it over my shorts, filling my brain with thoughts of her delicate fingers wrapping around my cock. It’s like she had the master key to my libido; unlocked, I became insatiable.
I hook my fingers on either side of her panties.
Instinct. I draw back as if burned, because usually she pushes my hand away, but tonight, she guides it back to place.
She cups my nape and grinds her hips up against mine.
I don’t hesitate; I pull her panties off and push the hem of her dress to her stomach, exposing her wet heat to me.
Christ. I will never ever make a work of art as perfect as her.
I lift her panties to my mouth and suck her juice off the fabric. She props herself up on her elbows, brows furrowed, mouth hanging open.
I’m running on pure instinct when I pocket her panties. “What?” I ask.
“You sucked my panties,” she says.
“Sorry. Shit, sorry. Was that weird?”
Laughter bubbles out of her. She kisses me again. “No. I liked it.”
“Good. I liked it a lot, too.”
Our kisses resume a gentler pace. I pull back and suck my fingers, wanting something of mine to mix with her wetness before reaching down to rub slow circles on her clit. “This okay, baby?” I’ve found that giving over to instinct has resulted in my discovery of sexual skills I didn’t think I had.
She nods, her forehead pinned to mine. “Yeah. Yeah, Daddy.” My cock twitches at the pet name. I’ve never understood the hype, not even when the boys would joke about it. But fuck if I don’t understand it now. I feel it in my bones.
Her eyes bulge open. “I—I mean—”
“I heard you, baby,” I tell her. “Loud and clear.”
She huffs, that same blush from earlier returning to her cheeks. This is what she wanted. She wanted to call me Daddy.
Well, Isabel. If you didn’t know it before, I’ll make sure you’ll never forget it now. Whatever Isabel wants, Isabel gets.
I slip into my role easily.
“You want Daddy’s fingers in you, baby?” I coo, picking up the pace of my fingers. She nods again, and I slide a finger into her as she gasps.
“Good girl.” I press a kiss to her temple. I pump my finger at a languid pace, giving her time to stretch and adjust. “Good girl, baby. One more?”
She kisses me in affirmation, and I sink a second finger in, this time picking up my pace.
“Is this okay, baby? Do you like this?” I ask.
“Don’t stop,” she pleads. I quicken, and the air fills with the sound of her wet and sticky heat.
Panting into her cheek, I whisper, “Just like that, baby. Good girl.”
“I’m coming,” she cries out, back arched as she stands on the precipice of pleasure.
“Come, baby,” I urge her, hovering now to get a good look at her face as she finishes, wanting to commit the image to memory and possibly even sketch it with her permission. “Come for Daddy, baby. Just like that.”
Her body jerks in my arms. I watch as her orgasm ripples through her, then lean in to kiss her deeply. She opens her mouth to welcome my tongue, which I swirl against hers.
I pull my fingers out and taste her on them. Her eyes are half-lidded as she stares. Is that hunger I see? I part her lips and sink the same two fingers in her mouth.
“Your turn,” she mumbles with my fingers still between her lips.
I shake my head. “We’re taking it slow, remember?”
She whines when I climb off her and sit down.
She cups my cheek and pulls me in to pepper my face with kisses.
God, I want her so much. But she was right, you know?
Our first time should be special. I don’t want to do it all willy-nilly in the studio, on the floor or my desk or the couch—though I’ve certainly thought about it.
Isabel settles down eventually, snuggling into my side, her arm draped over my stomach. Though we’ve come to an implicit understanding that nobody outside the two of us can know what we do, I can’t help it. I ask, “Do you think you could sit with me on the plane tomorrow?”
She glances up at me. “I don’t think Natalia would be too pleased about that.”
Natalia has, surprisingly, backed off the past few days. “Maybe sit with Chiara,” I offer. “She’ll want to stick around Cisco. I’ll just stay by him, and then we can be together.”
She bops a finger on my nose. “Looking for loopholes, are we?”
I kiss the top of her head. “I just want more time with you.”
Isabel sighs contentedly. “I’ll see what I can do.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was drifting off to sleep.