Rebuilding Faith Ch. 12

Picking up the bottle of nail polish, Bill apprehensively climbed the stairs.

The sight of Faith sitting on the bed, clad only in a terrycloth robe, distracted him from his previous concern, and he bluntly said, "Faith, you look delicious."

Her troubled brow relaxed a bit before she held out a particularly sheer piece of fabric for him to see. "Why did you bring this?"

"I don't know? What is it?"

Faith located the shoulders, and held up a white negligee so transparent he could see her looking through from the other side. The front was open and four pairs of white ribbon dangled for fastening and unfastening. The garment's trim was made of a shiny silk or satin, uncomplicated in design, yet very alluring to the eye.

Guessing Faith was upset because he'd brought something so suggestive, Bill tried to calm her resentment by saying, "That's very pretty, Faith, and I'd love to see you wear it someday, but I didn't bring it on purpose. I was in a hurry and I must've scooped it up with your underwear. I remember the drawer was almost empty, so I grabbed everything." After a short pause, he continued in his most sincere voice, "Babe, it was an accident. I'm not trying to pressure you into anything."

"What's that in your hand?"

Standing on the stairs, Bill leaned over the rail with his hands out in front. The red bottle practically flashed, "Look at me, look at me."

"Nail polish." Then in an effeminate voice, he added, "It just makes me feel so special when I'm wearing it. Can I put some on you?"

Faith smiled a little.

Continuing in his normal tone, he said, "But seriously, I've always wanted to paint as a hobby. And while I was rubbing your feet in the hospital I thought, 'Hey, why not start small by painting Faith's toenails, and work up to painting her in the nude.' I mean, I'd be nude not you. Or I could just paint your toenails while you're nude; whatever gets me out of trouble right now I'll agree to. I'm rambling, so I'll just shut up."

Faith stood and walked to the closet. "Okay, I was just wondering."

Shaking his head, Bill strolled across the room and flopped into the overstuffed chair to watch the sun disappear.

A few moments later, Faith sat down in the chair beside him, still wearing the robe. "Beautiful, colors."

The sky faded from light blue, to turquoise, to black. Wispy clouds glowed from orange to pink. The lake became a black hole between the hills. House lights twinkled randomly on the far shore. Their room became dark and shadowy.

Something touched his arm. Bill looked, and found Faith had turned sideways to stretch her foot over. "I'm ready from my paint job." Her face was unreadable in the dim light.

Bill answered, "Hey, I'm not a machine. Artists can't just paint on demand. First I have to study my subject, get in the mood, and build a creative atmosphere."

He moved the small table from between the two chairs and pushed his chair arm against hers. Her bare feet now lay in his lap.

"First I must prepare the canvas," and began sliding his fingers over her toes and in between. A pleasant sigh floated from his subject. Picking up one foot, Bill nibbled from the instep to her toes and kissed each tip, lightly.

"Be careful, Sweetie, I'm ticklish. I wouldn't want you to lose any teeth."

When her two feet of canvas were ready and with a hardening sense of motivation, Bill turned on the table lamp and began applying the red lacquer.

"I like this," he confessed, and admired the completed little nail.

"That makes two of us." Faith wiggled her toes.

"Hold still," he commanded, grabbing her ankle, sliding his hand up her calf to her knee and then back down her shin, beginning to hope for something more energetic than toe touches, but afraid of making her uncomfortable. The best he could do was let her know he was interested.

Upon finishing her left foot and starting on her right, Bill flopped his head back against the chair and groaned. "I can't go on. I've lost the mood."

Rolling his head to gaze at the shadowy Faith, he said, "Babe, you're my muse. I need your inspiration or I can't go on."

After a brief time, her hands reached down and sluggishly separated the bottom of her robe up to the waist, revealing the sheer negligee beneath, and the faint outline of her velvet triangle. "Does this inspire you?"

"Very much," he answered, with a quickening pulse. "In fact, I can feel my creative juices filling me right now."

"Hmm, isn't that funny, because I can feel my juices flowing too. But mine are procreative."

Sitting up, his concentration became sharply focused on completing this project, so that he could start the next. Beautiful images were already revealing themselves to his minds eye.

Between painting nails, and taking inspirational timeouts to view his muse, Bill announced, "Faith, painting with a brush is okay for some artists, but I suddenly feel the need to regress to a more primitive art form, something that brings me closer to my subject," With an intellectually snobbish tone, he added, "So that I may become one with my art."

Faith grinned. "Sounds intriguing. What did you have in mind, Picasso, something else with food? You certainly have a way with pancake batter. And eating your art would make you both one, at least for a digestive cycle." A brief pause and then quietly, she added, "Tell me what you're thinking, so I can motivate you."

Finally done with the last toe, Bill blew on them to hurry the drying process, while massaging Faiths calves. He sat back to admire his first work, and said, "I don't really care for Picasso. The women in his paintings have one eye off center or one breast out of proportion. I enjoy the realism of the Masters -- Michelangelo, da Vinci..."

"Hefner."

"See! I knew you'd understand. You're a wonderful muse, Babe," he declared, as his hands worked above her knees. No bruises in sight. "So, how should I prepare for my new art form? I call it: Finger Painting on Nudes."

Faith was quiet at first, and then said, "Let me think about it, Sweetie."

Bill turned off the lamp, leaving them in a world of grays and black. The only light filtered in from outside. More dots sparkled from the opposite shore and stars now twinkled in the sky above. Within the stillness of the room, the faint swishing of waves could be heard washing in and out, "hush... hush... hush..."

A few minutes later, an answer came from the chair next door. "I don't think I like the idea of you finger painting on other women."

Faith took back her red toenails and stood in front of the window.

Bill watched, as her silhouette untied the robe and let it fall. The feminine form slinked over and leaned down on the arms of his chair. Her lips stopped short of his, to say, "I'm a selfish and jealous muse. Would you promise to paint only me, hmm?" To give him time to think, Faith traced her tongue over his lips, before pressing forward to capture them, her clean scent compounded the pleasant sensation.

"Faith I will promise anything and do anything to have you with me," Bill vowed, surprised by his intense emotion.

"Such dedication by an artist should always be rewarded by his muse," and so saying, Faith sat lightly in his lap, swung her legs over one arm, nibbled his neck and sent lightening bolts down his spine.

Silently, Faith laid flat. Her head rested on the arm of the chair. Keeping her eyes closed, she lifted his hand, kissed it and placed it over her heart. "You may study me whenever you're ready, Sweetie."

Looking down on his vulnerable lover, Bill thought, 'this is the end of the game. She's given in and is depending on me to see this through,' feeling a heightened sense of responsibility and awe in touching her now. This moment was all about recovering what was stolen and fixing what was broken. He was equally frightened and thrilled by her trust.

Cradling Faith in his lap, the soft and silky fabric slipped along her skin, as he stroked her hip. "Faith, I love you."

No response, just a noticeable relaxation of her body. The translucent negligee revealed tempting shadows of feminine curves.

"You are so beautiful," he said, tracing an index finger from her throat, down between her breasts and ending between her closed thighs.

She smiled and shivered.

Bill shifted the fabric over her, playing with the filtered light on her skin and gliding the fabric delicately over her nipples and bruises.

Her lips parted, releasing a sigh, as goose bumps appeared on her arms.

"Tickle?"

"A little."

Using both hands, Bill untied the four bows, releasing their hold from top to bottom. Slipping one palm across her tummy, he pushed the almost weightless fabric off to the sides. Her skin felt hot, and she squirmed pleasantly in his lap.

"Faith, you're already a masterpiece," Bill whispered, as his left hand fondled her breasts and his right teased in the tangle of her womanhood. "Are you all right with this?"

She gave a slow nod and "Mm-hmm," as her hand reached up to touch his face in affirmation.

The bruises on her torso were distinguishably darker and Bill gently marked each one with a tender touch, ending at the count of nine. Stroking her arms, he discreetly inventoried the damage there. She had endured so much and was still able to find pleasure in his caress. How fortunate he was to have met her and to have won her heart. A slight thrust of her hips brought Bill's focus back to the joy at hand. Although her face was serene, his fingers, toying at the junction of her legs, seemed to have created a need. Returning the left hand to her breasts, lightly circling the nipples with the pad of his index finger, he worked the other hand lower, sliding his long middle finger down the valley of her sex, and felt the moist entrance.

Arching her hips against his probing finger, searching for greater contact, she slipped her hand under his shirt to pet his stomach, giving some affection back.

Continuing to pleasure Faith by plying his middle finger between her folds, as the adjacent fingers traced along the edges, he felt her wetness increase. Bill curled his probing finger inside, rubbing her clitoris with a slow seesaw penetration.

Soft, whimpering moans escaped her lips.

He began to swirl his finger over the sensitive nub after every extraction.

Lifting his hand to his nose, he smelled her. Placing his finger in his mouth, he sucked in her essence, as she watched.

"Sweetie, I'm cold. Can we go to bed?" she asked, breathily.

Actions speak loudest, and Bill, lifting her gently, carried her and laid her on the quilt.

As she snuggled in under the covers, he quickly stripped.

Sliding in beside her, he hovered briefly, before sucking a turgid nipple between his lips and slipping a hand down to recapture her sensitive clit.

Faith's hand encircled his erection and began to pump slowly. "I want you in me, now."

Moving between her legs, Bill held his weight on his arms, as Faith guided. His entrance was slow and sweet. Their groans mixed in the air between them.

Afraid to lie on her bruised body, he began an easy motion with only his hips touching her.

Faith's hands caressed them both at their juncture. Her fingers moved faster, as her breathing became ragged and panting. "Oh, God! Bill, I'm coming."

She arched beneath him, squeezing him inside with waves of release.

Her tender climax pushed him over the edge, "So am I, Babe." He forced himself to control the primal thrusts, fighting the desire to pound himself deep within her.

As the last contraction faded, Bill lowered to his elbows and gently captured Faith's lips in a gentle and satisfying kiss.