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Some of it’s so fucking filthy, others are the pinnacle of worship.
But each and every one of them is HER.
Stroking her little feet on my lap, I ask her, “Do you trust me, Summer?”
I can’t help smirking.
I wouldn’t fucking trust me.
She folds her arms over her chest, “Not when you look at me like that.”
I laugh. She fights a grin.
“Good. I’m not gonna deny I want to do some very dirty things to you,” and every one of them are in my eyes and on my tongue, “but sit for me. Be my art.”
Our eyes lock.
She’s fighting herself, yes then no, I can see her eyes bounce back and forth, she catches her bottom lip between her teeth, her gaze shifts to my work on the wall then to me. Me then the art.
I don’t move, just watch her, and wait.
Finally, the answer comes softly, but I hear it loud and fucking clear.
“Alright.”
Yeah, I fucking beam, I’m so damn relieved.
I run my hands up her legs, slip them behind and squeeze her meaty flesh.
“Thank you.”
She blushes and smiles. “You’re welcome.”
“Are you ready?”
Her eyes shoot open as her jaw drops. “NOW?”
“Yes, now.” I stand and lift her before she has a chance to argue.
“B…b…but I’m not ready,” she stammers nervously.
“Princess, you were born ready.”
I don’t give Summer a chance to think as I walk quickly down the hallway past doors until I come to the last one. It’s open a crack so I push it all the way open and flip the light switch with my elbow. As I step inside, Summer swivels her head to examine her surroundings.
The room is my home studio. It’s sectioned off into two different areas; one with a bed covered in white with a white background behind it, the other only has a white background, both areas have lights directed to where the subject would be. There’s an easel between the two sitting areas with shelves behind it holding all my art supplies and cameras, lenses, and a bunch of other shit.
I walk to the bed, but I sit Summer down on it, not lay her.
She’s already a little freaked, no need to make her think I’m going to jump her.
She looks up at me. “You want to do this now?”
“Now’s perfect, we’ve got cheesecake.” I grin at her.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Why do I have the feeling you’re not thinking of that cheesecake the same way I am?”
I take a step back and shove my hands in my front jeans pockets, restricting them from reaching out and stroking her. Like they’re dying to.
