She swallows and walks closer, and I pull her toward me, needing to soothe that furrow between her brow. Her sassiness is one of the things I like best about her, but her vulnerability is also gorgeous.
“I want you to forget all that bullshit in your head. It’s you and me here, Countess. Show me your art.”She nods and smiles nervously. She quickly pulls off all the cloth coverings, as if to get it over with.
The breath catches in my lungs. Fuck, she’s good, just as incredibly talented as I remember. She used a variety of subjects in her art. A young girl. A mother holding a baby. An older man with a cane. Jace. Valentina. A bird. A close-up of a flower. Each piece marries metal, fabric, wood, clay, and plastics. Some even feature seashells and other organic materials, such as bark. One has discarded pieces of garbage interwoven with the paint.
“Why don’t you put these in your gallery?”
She crosses her arms, stubbornly. Her eyes are trained on her work. “They’re not ready.”
I see her lie. They are ready, but she’s scared. Terrified of that fucker’s words. I wish he were here so I could punch him in his mouth, but he’s her father, and it’s really not my business. She doesn’t want to talk about him, and I understand. I rarely talk about my mother, and Ivory and Angel are rarely talked about outside of Onyx and me. But she listened that day. She listened to my memories of them that day.
“I think they’re more than ready. They deserve to be shown.”
“Maybe.”
Just then, I notice that the last painting has not been revealed. She kept it covered. When I walk toward it, her body goes taut, making me wonder what it is. I drag off the covering, intrigued when I see the profile of a man’s face. A face with a scar, and a tattooed heart under the eye.
I look back, her face is down, eyes anywhere but on me.
I look back at it, humbled. I touch it, running my scarred fingers along each line. The thin metal piece for the jaw. The bits of leather that are part of the face. The thick smears of paint for the slashing eyebrows. The shards of dark glass used for theeye. It’s sensual and harsh. The energy from the expression is mind-blowing. She created a depth of emotion that leaves me speechless. Something about the fact that her fingers made a rendition of my face is erotic as hell.
I pick up the extra-large sketchbook, leaning against the wall. She jumps, lunging toward me. “Wait! No, those are not?—”
I flip through it. Page after page shows drawings of me, of us fucking each other.
“Those are just my sketches. Give it back!” She tries to grab it from my hand, but I lift it, moving it out of her way, flipping through more pages.
I stare at our naked bodies. Every inch of me is drawn in fine pencil strokes. I touch the drawing of her sucking my cock as she kneels. My hard cock is deep in her mouth, and drool drips from her chin. The corner of her mouth is stretched to capacity. My eyes are looking down at her, feral with desire. Beautiful tears stain her face. Her fingers are sunk in my thick thigh muscles. If I close my eyes, I imagine I could hear her gagging, choking on the girth of my shaft. Turning more pages, I hum in pleasure at other angles of her sucking my cock.They are incredibly life-like and sensual. Erotic.
I find one that lights my whole body on fire. This one has her kneeling, mouth open, tongue out, fingers pinching her nipples. She’s drawn the moment my cum shoots out from the tip. Spurts are drawn mid-air, and others land on her chest, breasts, and nipples.
Christ. Each line is seducing me.
I keep going to find more. Illustrations of me eating her pussy, her back bowed, my head between her legs. The last one is of me breaching her ass. It’s a bird’s-eye view, but I recognize my piercings, my tattoos. She’s on all fours, gazing back at me with my pierced cock half inside her. Her hole is stretched impossibly wide, her gorgeous face is sweaty, twisted in pleasure, strands ofhair sticking to her skin, her teeth embedded in her lower lip, fingers gripping the sheets. It’s so realistic that it’s almost like I can smell her pussy, the earthiness of sex. My cock pulses, as if the tight stretch of her ass is really milking me. My fingers automatically touch where my dick is implanted inside her, tracing each line on the thick vellum.
I keep going and find others. There are at least 100. Some are done in blue or black pen. The rest have been created using charcoal and pencil. All of them are like snapshots of the past and future. Her talent is impressive.My little artist has no idea that I have the same in my cabin. My sketchbook is filled with hundreds of drawings of her face and her gorgeous body.“Nice subject,” I say, handing the book to her. My cock is hard, and I’m not hiding it. She licks her lips, looking at my cock, before she takes the book back.
“Are you going to let me draw you?”She whispers.
“Maybe.” I throw the words she gave me back her way. “It looks like you don’t need a model.”
She blushes and hugs the book to her chest. “Some of them are made from memory. I’d like to draw you in person.”
“Which memories?” I ask, already knowing. Those creations came from all the moments I’ve used her body, reveled in our pleasure. She used the memory of the time after I fucked her in my forest when she kneeled in my shower, dirt, blood, sweat, saliva, and my cum, covering her body. The time she begged for my dick, wanting it deep in her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. In her drawings, her hair is wet, just like that day. Those long, straight black strands are dripping droplets down her body. She captured those details in her drawings.She doesn’t reply right away, and I push her, wanting to hear her recall it, to admit that it is burned in her memory too.“I asked you what memory, Countess?”
She shivers, tiny quakes erupting all over her body. “When you fucked my mouth in the shower.”
I step closer and touch her cheek. “What about the other drawings?”
“They’re my–”
“Your what?”
Her chest heaves, and I detect her slight tremors. “My fantasies.”
I take out my cock, stroking myself slowly, watching her. “Get your easel.”
“Are you serious?” She swallows, eyes wide, waiting for my response. When her eyes flicker down to my cock, I fist myself harder.
