Paris In The Rain [h.s]

37

"Anything for you, Flower," the simple nickname I had given her rolling off of my tongue and causing me to grin. I shift forward slightly before planting my lips on hers, every nerve in my body becoming jittery and overwhelming with love, "If anything I should be thanking you. I've never experienced anything like that ever before," I add before kissing her honey-like lips again, humming contentedly as if my body could never get enough of her.

The need - the want - for her was a craving that never seemed to go away no matter how much I touched or kissed her. Even still being positioned inside her - although it was a feeling that was unlike any other - didn't feel close enough to her as much as I craved to be.

Her soft skin underneath my fingertips and the steady rise and fall of her chest against my cheek as I created random patterns on her ribs filled my heart with joy and admiration. I loved her for everything that she was and everything she represented in my life and the others around her.

I called her my Flower not only because it simply suited her, but because of what a flower represents and stands for. They can stand for strength, purity, happiness, patience, and of course love - all of which perfectly depict Aurora in more ways than one.

But it was the beauty that each flower held on its own. Each different flower type held its own meaning but every single one was beautiful. Of course, they had their flaws but that didn't make them any less perfect. It was their beauty that drew you in and had you feeling attached after just one look.

And that's what happened to me the second I caught sight of Aurora at my art exhibition.

Right away, I felt drawn to her. It was almost as if there was a magnet pulling us together that was begging us - telling us - that we had found the one. There were no questions and everything fell into place all at once. I saw myself having a future with her and thinking that she was the woman I would spend the rest of my life loving. Maria no longer seemed to even exist once my eyes started following Aurora around as she observed my artwork.

Something inside of my chest had fluttered as she explained what she thought my art stood for, her words accurately putting them into words better than I ever could. She took my heart into her hands the second she turned her head to look at me as her eyes roamed over me. I felt nervous for once as she slowly observed me and I tried my best not to shift under her intriguing gaze.

But those nerves were calmed the second her signature smell of flowers and honey hit my nostrils and seeped its way into my brain. I could've sworn up and down her scent followed me around those four weeks we were apart, the only thing on my mind during those weeks being the woman in the navy blue dress who took my breath away and seemed to already be picking up the pieces of my heart.

I start tracing out her figure on her ribs with my fingers. As always, she's sparked that creative side in me that makes me want to paint for days and days until I could draw her from memory - although I was already getting closer and closer to that with each passing day. She made me enjoy painting when I sat down in front of a canvas and let my hands do the talking.

Aurora made my imagination come alive. She was the exact definition of a muse. Every small action and every quick look set something off inside of me that drew me to a blank canvas until I filled it with that spark she had set off inside me. The view of Rome no longer ignited that flame. Now it was only her.

Thinking back to our time spent in Sicily, I recall a question she had asked me that I never gave her an answer to, "You know, baby. I just recalled that question you asked me on the beach in Sicily. When you asked me if I preferred Paris or Rome," I mumble softly while continuing my small action of painting small images in my mind onto her skin.