If- Nina G. Jones Page 0,30

grabbing some of the brush handle from behind, “let me guide you.” It was a mistake. Her lavender scent grew strong, and I could smell her fruity shampoo on top of it, and the curves of her behind pressed against my pelvis. The heat rolled down my neck, and to my fingertips, and even though I was holding wood, I felt the warmth of the coziest blanket rubbing against them.

“Okay,” she said in barely a whisper. Her voice moved in transparent cerulean and seafoam wavelengths in my line of sight.

I slid my hands up the edge of the brush, so my hand was over her delicate hand. And shit, I am only a man and I just wanted her so bad. But, I focused on the empty sheet on the easel.

“So you start soft, tentative, until you find a rhythm.” My words were barely a breeze against her ear. “Just relax.” I gently guided her hand and she let me take over. I used the hand of my muse to fill the canvas with strokes of green. “This will be the foundation, but soon we’ll fill it with browns and oranges, even pinks.”

“We? You’re doing all the work, but I like it that way,” she said, almost woozily, as if she were in the same trance as me. She leaned back, resting her head against the front of my shoulder. My heart thudded so hard, I was afraid she would feel it. I guided her hand to a cup of water and she dropped the brush. But I didn’t let go. I didn’t want to let go, and I don’t think she wanted me to either.

“Let’s come back to this, we can work on it a little each day,” she said, turning her palm up so she could thread her fingers into mine. The heat was everywhere, like a warm rush of water, lulling me to do whatever the hell she wanted.

“Now, I show you how to dance.” She turned, using my hand, and then she was facing me. Her skin radiated through tiny freckles on her cheeks and nose.

The next song on the album played. “I love this song,” Bird said, pulling me to the open floor in front of the record player as “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart” began to play.

“There’s only one way to dance to a song like this,” she said, stepping in close, guiding my hands to her waist, as she wrapped hers around my neck.

There was too much. A kaleidoscope of lilting colors, the strong scent of lavender, a sweet taste like nectar, the blooming warmth rushing through my body.

I am only a man.

We gently rocked from side to side, our bodies lapping like gentle waves. She was tall, and so it took almost no effort for me to drop my nose down to hers, I didn’t even feel it happening. Our foreheads met, her small nose pressed against mine. Everything intensified. Plums, magentas, limes, and cobalts turned into stars going through their entire life cycles. They birthed, lived, and died right before my eyes, so that I felt that if I didn’t do something I would suffocate from all the colors, tastes, and sensations.

Then my lips were touching hers: plump, firm, soft. Her kiss was the most amazing thing I had ever tasted. It wasn’t the synesthesia, it was her true taste, and the feeling of her full lips pressing against mine endlessly. I waited for the slap, but it never came. Her gentle hands pulled me in closer until we were one. She tugged on my lower lip so gently, I could almost miss the feeling if I didn’t focus on the moment. Even with my eyes closed I could see in my mind’s eye the swirls of rapidly moving colors that coiled around us. A warmth rushed over me like a waterfall; her touch was like a breeze.

I knew I had done something terrible. I had crossed a line I was never supposed to even near.

But I am only a man.

I ran my fingers down the cotton of her tank, over the slope of her backside, and we were intertwined. I felt myself melting into her, our colors swirling in dazzling circles, like paint flowing onto a spinning turntable. I needed to stop this, but the waves of heat that were gentle before overtook me like a raging river, pulling me closer to her. She was so soft, everything about her was velvety and smooth, and it made my