“MEET ME IN THE TUB.” He laughed.
John positioned himself in the bathtub, made sure the water was at the right level and just the right temperature for them. And, he couldn’t forget the bubbles. There were a few floating rose petals in the water as well.
John had picked the white flowers from the rose garden at the estate they owned. And Gabrielle knew this. She still wouldn’t go there and he still wouldn’t sell.
She took her clothes off in the bedroom, while he tested the flavors of the paint. She entered the room with him sitting in the tub licking the brown paint from his fingers.
“Taste good?” she asked, releasing her silk robe.
“Not really. Maybe the paint has to be on you, so your salty goodness and the paint mix, and then this yellow one will taste like banana.”
“I highly doubt it,” she told him. Gabrielle grabbed the washcloth from in-between his legs, and set it over the side of the tub. She stood in the water with her back facing him.
“Wait. Stop. Don’t sit down,” he said politely.
“Why, so you can look at my ass a little more?”
“This flavor is supposed to be chocolate. I’m gonna paint something right above your ass.”
“No,” she snarled. “You’re not going to paint while my ass is in your face.”
“It will only take me a minute.” He wanted to be serious. Gabrielle stood still. She almost giggled when she felt the paintbrush trail across her tailbone.
“What are you writing?” she asked.
“I’m drawing a picture.”
“It doesn’t feel like you’re drawing a picture. I know what you’re writing. You’re writing ‘John Ravolie was here’ right above my ass and you’ll probably draw an arrow. I’m not going to keep that on for tomorrow, you know.”
“No, I’m writing ‘Property of Ra’vole’ with no arrow.”
“Figures,” she smirked.
“Okay. You can’t sit until it dries.”
“I’m sitting now, and there will be no pictures of your artwork tomorrow.” She sat in-between his legs slowly; his hardness aligned with her.
“Could you-um-stand back up? Just a tad now, then-um-sit back down-slowly.”
“Sure,” she told him, “like this.” He penetrated her. “Mmm.”
“I need to paint,” he whispered.
“No painting-we’re intimate.” She moaned, and her body crumbled.
“This one is supposed to taste like apple and its green. Do you want a taste?”
“No-No more ... painting.” On top of him, she moved her body.
He opened the jar. After he dipped the paintbrush, he placed the bristles to her back. She continued to move her body, while he tickled her spine. “You are disturbing the artist’s concentration.”
“Your concentration seems to be just right to me,” she said softly.
He placed the jar onto the edge of the tub. “This is not fair,” he whispered. “How am I supposed to practice on my lady love if she doesn’t let me paint on her?” He kissed her back with his lips, his tongue.
“Does it taste like apples?” she asked as he stopped moving.
“Like nasty cinnamon,” he told her. “Yuck. I like the chocolate better.” He grabbed the other jar and began to paint. He used her entire back as an etch board, all the way up her spine. “One day, I am going to draw you in the nude.”
“Why? When you can draw on me when I am nude? What are you drawing?”
“Something brilliant on your beautifully tanned back.”
“Are you almost done?” she asked.
“I just started.” He remained at her neck flipping the brush as if he were a painter. His face was serious, his mouth slightly opened, and his tongue parted his lips.
She then reminded him they had a photo shoot to do tomorrow. “What would we do if this paint doesn’t come off my body?” she joked, while sounding quite serious.
“It will.” He took the washcloth, dipped it in the water, and began scrubbing the right side of her back, above her kidney. Again, he continued with the soap in the towel.
“Okay¾stop what you’re doing, you’re hurting me.”
“It won’t come off.”
“Whaddya mean?” she said, worried.
“I’m scrubbing this leaf I drew. I’m using soap but it won’t come off.”
“Try another spot.”
He did. “It won’t come off,” John repeated.
“Don’t go messin’ around now. You know what I’m wearin’ tomorrow and practically my whole body is gonna be uncovered. And I better not have red blotches or paint on me when doin’ this photo shoot.”
“Well, the five of us will be holding you up, while you’re laying in our arms half dressed. The photographer won’t be able to see your back.”
“No, but the five of you will. This isn’t funny, John.” She stepped out of the tub. She walked to the mirror and noticed where he had scrubbed. She indeed had a red blotch, and the paint was not coming off her skin.
“Do you like what the artist drew?”
A chocolate rose with apple leaves. He had written, ‘Property of John Ravolie’ above her derriere. “Yes, it’s a nice rose, but I want it off my body now.”
“If it makes you feel any better I have some on my waist. I’m wearin’ an open shirt tomorrow.” He began to scrub the brown and green paint that had dried directly under his navel.
“Call Lily, now! Ask her what we can use to remove this.” Gabrielle handed him the cordless phone. He pressed the buttons and told her that the machine had picked up. “Try Courtney. Maybe she’ll know.” Still there was no answer at her and Brandon’s place. It was late at night and the four perhaps remained at the party or already in bed. “Are you playing a joke on me, ’cause this isn’t funny?” she said.
“Look, Gabrielle. I have this paint on me too. It looks worse on me than it does on you. I’m pissed.” He stood.
Gabrielle handed him a towel, and he draped it around his waist. “Do you have the box these little jars came in?” She searched the jar for a label.
“No. I took the three jars and placed them in my pocket. Lily just said it was edible paint. She told me banana, apple, and chocolate. I told her I’d bring the jars back to her tomorrow if there was anything left-"
“Give me the phone,” Gabrielle told him and she attempted Trevor’s cell. “This is Gabrielle. Lily, as soon as you get this message call me right away. John and I were using this edible paint and it won’t come off. The photo shoot is tomorrow and we’ll have to cancel if the paint doesn’t come off us. Call me back at any time tonight. The kids aren’t here so let the phone ring until we pick up.” She hung up the phone. “This isn’t funny,” she said, but almost smiled at him.
“I know.” They sat together on the bed. “Are you still in the mood?” he asked.
© Copyright 2016 Rosemarie Piemonte. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Romance
Short Story / Romance
Short Story / Romance
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