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“Working,” I answered.
“Are you drawing up plays for us?” Dylan teased, walking around the room full of easels.
They trailed from one painting to the next until they stood behind me.
I realized they were about to see what I had painted. It bared my soul.
“Is that?” Isaac crossed his arms, taking it in.
I nodded. “Do you like it?” I’d never been so nervous about anyone critiquing my work before. But the painting wasn’t only about me. It was us.
“I’m not going to pretend to know anything about art, but it’s incredible.”
They were anchored on either side of me, staring at the painting. It was everything about us. Colors of passion. Expression of desire. Tangled and tossed in the wind, just like we were. Holding on for dear life. Grasping at each other to stay grounded in the ecstasy we craved under our skin.
“I didn’t know how else to explain us,” I whispered.
Isaac swept the hair from my neck as he lowered his lips to my throat. Dylan covered the other side, dropping to his knees.
They worked quickly, undressing me. Taking turns, handing me over while one worked a piece of clothing. Their movements were coordinated. Seamless.
I was wrapped in Dylan’s arms, his mouth hovering over mine, while Isaac spread a drop cloth on the floor.
“You like my art?” I purred. Dylan pulled one knee toward him, while Isaac gripped the other side and widened my left leg in his direction.
“Tell us about it, baby,” he dared me. “We’re listening.”
My breath was already erratic. But I loved having them in my studio. I wanted them to see the painting. I wanted them to know this side of me. The real Vanessa. Not the woman who paraded in the façade of being an owner. This was me. Vulnerable and artistic. Free and creative. A woman who loved colors and vibrancy. A woman who wanted her soul to dictate what she did—not other people.
My hands lingered over my head. They kissed my legs, inching slower toward my heat.
“I-I wanted you to see how I feel…ohh…” My head rolled back and forth. Isaac had pushed me toward Dylan so I was lying on my side facing him. He placed my foot on the floor, bending my knee and dove between my legs.
“Oh shit,” I hissed as he pried my velvety lips and began lapping at my clit.
“Keep going,” Isaac groaned. “We want to hear about the painting.”
I panted. My hips jutted forward. Dylan’s tongue swirled, making a figure-eight pattern around my swollen clit. It was on fire.
“I-I always express myself in my art.” I tried to breath. “And I had to put last night on paper with paint.”
Isaac sat forward, peeling the T-shirt from his chest before he aligned his body behind mine. He kissed my ear and my neck. His hands plucked my tits, rubbing my nipples until they perked under his command.
“Maybe we should paint you,” he growled.
“Do-do you paint?” I gasped.
Dylan came up for air from between my legs. “I certainly have a creative side, darlin’.” He reached up, taking one of the paint canisters and tossing it to Isaac. Isaac quickly unscrewed the lid, dipping his finger in the blue.
I stared in disbelief as he began to coat my nipples with the watercolors. I watched the paint droplets pool on my navel.
“Fuck, she’s gorgeous.”
“Do that again,” I breathed. I was mesmerized. Hypnotized by how erotic this was.
Dylan choose another color. This time pink. He tossed the cap on the floor as he began to paint streaks inside my thighs. His fingertips grazed my skin, as I shuddered. He crossed an X over my heat and grinned wickedly.
He grabbed more colors, dividing the jars with Isaac. They were relentless. Smearing and painting. Stroking my body as if I was their canvas. I arched my back. Rocked my hips. While they watched their masterpiece come to life under their hands.
