Page 79 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart

For a moment, their poise was that of the painting, but unlike the scene on the canvas, they themselves were not frozen in time, and as their lips met, Rosalind let out a deep sigh, caught up now in the passion they had so long desired of one another. Nothing held them back. They belonged to one another, entwined as one, passionate as one, making love as one.

“I love you, Sebastian,” she whispered, arching her neck, as his lips traced a trail along the collar of her dress, their hands clasped together.

“And I love you, too, Rosalind. I’ve loved you since the moment I set eyes on you,” he whispered, pulling at the cords of her dress, which slipped down to the floor, revealing the very form she had painted, and which now he could gaze on without fear.

He led her to the bed, and they fell amid the silk sheets, their bodies entwined, becoming as one, as Sebastian pulled off his shirt and breeches, exposing himself to the same gaze as in the painting. She smiled at him, their lips meeting in a kiss, his hands fondling at her breasts, pulling her closer into his embrace.

This was her desire, as it had always been the desire to be part of the paintings she so often imagined herself into. Now, she was she was that figure, as was he, and they would create their own work of art together.

“I never imagined we would be together, not like this,” she whispered, and he smiled.

“But we are, and nothing else matters,” he replied, as now he took her in his arms, their bodies as one, making love, just as Rosalind had desired.

His arms enfolded her, his lips pressed against hers, and with a gasp, he brought his fullness to bear on her, flooding her with such ecstasy as to be overwhelming. She had not imagined it could be like this, and now there was no holding back, pain turning to pleasure. Her eyes closed, as Sebastian’s rhythm became faster, and she clasped at him, letting out a sudden cry.

Her whole body was flooded with the heat of passion, and with a cry, Sebastian, too, gave forth, their bodies shuddering together, clasping at one another, their lips pressed together in a kiss. For a few moments, they lay together, neither able to speak, breathless, and still entwined.

“Just like the paintings,” Rosalind whispered, and Sebastian opened his eyes and smiled at her.

He brushed back the hair from her cheek and kissed her.

“Oh, but isn’t it so much better to create our own masterpiece, than gaze on those of others?” he replied, and in this, and in everything they had shared, there was no doubt in Rosalind’s mind, they had done just that.

THE END ?