“Why did you drawthe mural?”The question bursts from my lips as soon as I step out of my small bathroom.
Stone sits in my new bed after we had sex against the beautiful headboard. I’m still in awe of it.
He’s fucked me twice since we left the gallery, roughly taking me from behind in my new bed and then later again on his haunches, my legs pushed back until they rested on my chest, his palms behind my knees as he stared down between my legs. Each time was better than the last. I’m sore and depleted. He looks like some sort of conqueror in my bed, corded muscles, sweaty and dominating, tattoos on full display. His piercings glint in the soft lamp light.
He reaches over, bending down and picking up his pants. He searches and pulls out one of his brown cigarettes, along with a small box of matches. He lights it, and I frown when he blows up.
I frown deeper, and he chuckles. He must recognize my sour expression because he takes another drag of the cigarette and then pinches the end with his bare fingers. I wince at the action. It doesn't seem to bother him.
He curls one arm behind his head, exposing the underside of his arm and the sexy tuft of black hair. His eyes seem to glow in my room.
“Come here.”
I shake my head, knowing that if I go anywhere near that bed, it’s over. The talking will stop, and I want to know. I have to know because I’m in love with him. The news isn’t shocking. It’s just the reality. I want him in my bed. In my body. In my life. I can’t imagine another man in those places, and that’s scary because I don’t know what will happen with us.
“You’re telling me no?”
“Yes.” I lift my chin, feel bolder. “You won’t answer my questions.”
He doesn’t move a muscle, but his face changes. His eyes narrow, and I recognize the determination, the purpose. He crosses his ankles under the thin sheet, looking amused.
The thicker duvet is discarded on the ground, falling to the wayside from being shoved in every direction by our intertwined bodies.The bed yields to him. Fitted sheets loosen from their rounded corners, exposing the mattress beneath. Sex with Stone means we use the entire surface. He constantly changes positions, manipulating my body anywhere he wants, controlling my pleasure.
“What questions do you want to know?”
Everything comes to mind, but somehow I can tell he won’t like that answer.
His cock twitches under the thin sheet, rising up. Soon, it creates a tent, and I wonder why. I’m not sure what I’m doing that’s making him erect.
“You’re breathing.”
My eyes shoot up to his. “What?” I mumble, not sure what he means. I was too busy looking at his penis.
“You asked why I’m getting hard. Because you’re breathing.”
I said it aloud?Shit. “Me breathing turns you on?”
“Everything about you turns me on. Your arousal starts with your breath. You start breathing faster. Then your eyes widen, and your toes curl. And when you start to shiver I know your pussy is drenched, soaked.”
He kicks down the sheet, exposing his dick. Fucking hell. It’s fully hard now, straight, leaning toward his belly. The underside shows the ladder of silver hoops. The head with his crossed piercings draws my eyes, and as usual, having it inside me is indescribable. He spits in his hand and watches me as he applieshis wet palm to the head, before moving his hand downward. Curling his hand around the thick shaft, he starts pumping, stretching his scrotal piercings with each tug. I watch, entranced as he pays special attention to the head, playing with the metal bars. He constricts the crown, making it an angry red. The piercing glints in the light. The same piercing he mentioned was the most painful, and required an expert to perform it, and took almost a year to heal. It’s one of the rarest.
He strokes himself, studying me. My toes curl inward, and my breathing speeds up. All the things he describes happen one by one. I curl my fingers inward, refusing to move. “Don’t distract me. Tell me about the mural.”
“I drew it because I wanted to.”
“That’s not an answer.” Disappointment fills me.
“I drew you the way I see you.” He shrugs, continuing to stroke himself.
“I thought you said I was a little girl, living in a tower.” I throw his words back at him.
“Things change.”
“What things?”
“I wanted to walk in to see my mark. Your walls were just the beginning.I’ll paint the entire gallery because you’re my canvas now, Camryn. Your walls. Your skin. Your mouth. Your pussy. Your ass. All of it is mine to be primed, then decorated with paint, my mouth, my cum, my cock. It’s been that way since the moment I touched you. Now, come here. I want to create.”
His answer leaves me rooted to the floor. I want to be his artwork, the way he has become mine.
