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I wanted them to know I was coming for them.
But eventually, I would kill her. And I wanted this painting to remember her, to remember the woman who captured my fascination. It would hang from the wall in my office, so when I drank myself into a stupor, I could stare at this image and think about her. And I could remember the fact that she made it, sealed herself in a priceless work of art.
She pulled the sheets farther up her body even though I’d seen her naked on a daily basis. “I’m not sure about this.”
“I am.” I’d never given her the option. She would make this painting for me, whether she wanted to or not. Sometimes she got comfortable with her bits of freedom and thought she had more of it.
But she didn’t have anything.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Hang it proudly.” We were eye level as I stood beside the bed. When she was raised on the mattress, I could stare at her head-on instead of craning my neck down. Being over a foot taller than her had its frustrations.
“Where?”
“Lake Garda.”
“Why?” she whispered. “You already have a picture.”
“Because I want you to make me something. And the only thing beautiful enough to hang on my wall is you.” I grabbed the sheet and pulled it away, so I could see her flat tummy. She had a cute belly button and flawless skin. Her only imperfection was the scar on her arm where she’d been struck by a bullet.
We had the same scar. I just had it in more places.
She continued to watch me with hesitance in her eyes. “I’ve never painted myself before. It’ll be weird.”
“You painted yourself in that Christmas picture.”
“But that was different.”
“How?”
“Because…it’s just in a different context. An image is about the viewer’s perception. I painted myself the way my family sees me. If I paint myself the way you see me…” Her voice trailed away, but her meaning was still in the air.
“As a beautiful woman I love to bed?” I asked. “No shame in that. You know you’re beautiful, baby.”
“I mean…as a prisoner.”
That’s what made the picture even sexier. “I know you can do it.” I grabbed her hips and tugged her toward me, forcing her bottom forward and her shoulders back. I yanked until her back was against the sheets, and her hair was spread out around her. I unclasped the crotch of her bodysuit and revealed her gorgeous pussy. My fingers rubbed her clit gently, moving in a circular motion as I stood over her. My cock was already hard in my jeans after taking her photo, but I knew she needed my touch to get ready for me. It was difficult for my cock to fit inside a woman unless she was soaked, so getting her wet was always necessary. If not, I’d have to break out the lube.
Her breathing filled the quiet room and became louder and louder. She stopped thinking about the painting I asked her to make and started to focus on the way my fingers made her feel. When I slipped two fingers inside her and rubbed her clit with my thumb, she breathed even louder.
When her arousal flooded my fingers, I knew she was ready.
I dropped my pants and boxers and positioned her at the edge of the bed. Her legs spread for me, and I slid my cock inside her, easily getting my length deep. I moved all the way inside until my balls hit her ass.
She released a quiet whimper and pressed her hand to my chest. “Too deep.”
I wanted to fuck her as deep as I wanted. If it hurt, I didn’t care. If she cried, that would just make me like it more. But the second she told me to stop, I listened. She didn’t say it to me often, so when she did, I knew she meant it. If she were anyone else, I probably wouldn’t care, but she earned so much of my respect that I couldn’t help but listen to her.
I thrust into her slowly, making sure I kept the last few inches out of her body, so I wouldn’t hit her cervix again. At this angle, I could get even deeper inside her. She took most of my length anyway, so it would be selfish to ask for more.
I gripped the backs of her legs and thrust into her at a slow pace, treasuring the way she looked on the bed underneath me. Her eyes were a little wet from my initial thrust, and it made her look even prettier.
I liked to see a beautiful woman cry.
She stopped pushing against my chest and started to tug on my shirt. She lifted it up my stomach, telling me she wanted it off.
I pulled it over my head and tossed it on the bed.
