"A celebration," I announced.
"Huh?" he replied, obviously bored with our outing.
"She's celebrating," I repeated, backing away from the painting to further study it. It showed the silhouette of a woman against a sunset; she was jumping high, legs and arms outstretched. "She's celebrating the end of a beautiful day and embracing the eventual arrival of a new one."
Turning to look at Edward, I shook my head as I noticed him leaning against the wall, eyes closed and stifling a yawn.
"Edward? What do you think?" I asked.
He lazily opened one eye. "What do I think of what?"
"What do you think of this painting? What do you think the artist was trying to say with his creation?"
Edward finally opened both his eyes and with a sigh, pushed himself away from the wall. He stood next to me to appraise the painting, his brows furrowed in concentration while he stroked his chin with his fingers.
"Hmm," he murmured. "I'm guessing the woman is the artist's muse. Did you notice her pose, how far apart her legs are spread? I would say the artist was a horny bastard who wanted to fuck her senseless. Widely spread legs translates to quick and easy access."
Rolling my eyes at him, I watched Edward's expression change from dead serious to devilish smirk. This man was going to be the death of me.
Moving behind me, he placed his hands on my hips and pressed his body against mine. Gently sweeping my hair from my neck, he leaned in and spoke quietly into my ear.
"She reminds me of how you looked in our bed last night—on your stomach, legs spread wide, wet and ready for me."
I let out a small moan as his words and physical closeness caused my whole body to flush with heat. My head fell back against his shoulder and he licked a path up the entire length of my neck, from collarbone to earlobe.
"Bella?" he whispered, "Have you ever had sex in an art gallery?"
"No," I answered breathlessly, shaking with lust as his hands snaked around my waist and slid down to settle between my legs. I should have been a bit concerned over our pornographic behavior in the middle of the Port Angeles Fine Arts Center, but it was near closing time on a Wednesday afternoon and quite frankly, I was too worked up to care.
Edward guided me toward the large window, which offered a spectacular view of the Olympic Mountains. The sun was just about to set and he spread my arms and legs wide, positioning me in a stance similar to the one in the painting we'd just been admiring.
"They say art imitates life," he said softly, fingers caressing my hair, "but in this case, without a doubt, I think life is so much more beautiful than art." My breath caught in my throat, his simple confession swelling my heart with so much love that I thought it would burst.
He pulled away and I heard him snap a picture with his camera phone. "A memento of our evening," he said, flashing a dangerous smile.
Pocketing his phone, he pulled me from the window and back into a small, dark alcove on the opposite side of the room.
"I love you Bella," he said, stroking my cheek with his fingers before leaning in and kissing me deeply.
"I love you too, Edward. So much."
Spinning me around and pushing me against the wall, I felt his hands everywhere: my arms, my breasts, my stomach. He was telling me how good I smelled, how sweet I tasted, how soft I felt, how much he wanted me…it was too much and yet not enough. Grinding against my bottom, he lifted my arms over my head, grasping my wrists in his left hand, while his other bunched up my skirt and slowly pulled it up toward my waist.
I heard him pop the button on his jeans, heard the metallic slide of his zipper. Pushing against him, I let out a small cry as he slid his naked erection between the tops of my thighs. Parting my legs and shoving my underwear to one side, he placed himself at my entrance and just as I felt the tip of him push in, a female voice crackled over the PA system, freezing us on the spot.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Fine Arts Center will be closing in 15 minutes. We hope you enjoyed your visit and will come back and see us again soon. Thank you."
"Fuck," Edward muttered, dropping his head onto my shoulder and releasing my arms.
"We'll continue this…" he said, sliding into me ever so slowly, "…at home." With a groan, he pulled out and tucked himself into his pants. I moaned at the loss of contact.
Adjusting our clothes and regaining our composure, we quietly stepped from the alcove, relieved to find ourselves still alone. Walking briskly to the exit, we ran out into the chilly autumn air, laughing and collapsing against each other.
Later that evening, as we lay naked and entwined in bed, Edward reached for his phone on the nightstand. Pulling up the picture he had taken of me against the window in the gallery, we studied it together.
"It may not be as professional as the one we saw today," Edward said, "but it's every bit as beautiful... even more so, I think."
"How can you say that, Edward? This is a slightly fuzzy snapshot from a cell phone, while the one in the gallery was painted by a talented artist!"
Rolling on top of me, Edward stroked the hair from my face. "I wasn't talking about the quality of the pictures, Bella, I was talking about you."
"Me?" I replied, frowning slightly in confusion.
"Yes, Bella, you," he said, cupping my face in his hands, smiling and staring deep into my eyes. "You are my muse. You're my sunrise, my sunset, and everything in between."
My eyes welled up with tears as I hugged him with all my might.
"And you're my artist, Edward. You colored my world and brought me to life," I whispered, threading my fingers through his hair.
We made love with a newly found intensity and passion before falling asleep from sheer exhaustion. And when the sun rose, Edward kissed me awake and together, wrapped up in sheets and each other, we celebrated the arrival of the new day.