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“I think this is my favorite,” she whispered. “She’s sad, but I see the control and strength she has.”
Deacon sat next to her. He inhaled the shampoo from her hair as he brushed the strands away from her shoulder. He planted a kiss on her neck.
“I don’t think she looks sad,” he commented. “I think she looks serious.”
Abby shook her head. “No, she’s sad. Trapped almost.”
He tilted her chin toward him, grazing his lips against her mouth. She tasted like the sweetest honey, especially when he was between her legs.
“Do you still feel trapped?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered. “You freed me.”
He pressed his lips harder to hers, threading his tongue along hers. Twisting and licking. Sucking at her lips.
“You freed yourself, Abby.”
He moved around to the front of the bench, kneeling between her legs.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Going to make you come in front of this painting. You did say it’s your favorite.” He lowered her to the bench.
“But there are cameras everywhere,” she protested, pointing to the corners of the room.
“I don’t give a fuck.”
He ran a palm over the center of her feet, groaning when he felt the wet silkiness of her panties. He tucked a finger under the edge and massaged, nudging her clit until it was hard and peaked.
“Oh, Deac.” She ran her fingers through his hair.
Her sundress splayed around her as he lowered his face between her legs. She was sexy and ripe for him. He pushed her leg up, sliding her panties out fo the way as his tongue lapped at her folds.
She writhed on the bench. He swirled his tongue before dipping it inside her pussy. It was his slice of heaven. He fucking loved sucking her clit and pussy. She was so ready for it. Hot and eager. Her hips grinding with hunger for it. He pulsed his tongue inside her as she began to lose control.
He watched as she ran her hands over her breasts. She was slowly losing control. So was he. He’d never seen anything more beautiful. They were surrounded by some of the most amazing art in the world and the most stunning work was in his arms.
“Oh Deac, I want you. Please.” She lifted her head, locking her sultry gaze on him.
Deacon rose, shedding his pants. He shoved the boxer briefs to the museum floor as he stepped toward her. She opened her legs wide, inviting him in.
His bulging cock nestled at her entrance. He loved her pussy. For a second he waited, knowing the next sensation that would hit him would send him to heaven.
“Fuck,” he growled, sinking himself inside her. Sliding deep and slow, filling her with everything he had.
He began to pump in and out as she panted and rocked into him.
She trembled with sudden bursts as she began to come apart in his arms. It only made him want to bury himself in her deeper. He grunted as he fucked her as if these were his last breaths. His last seconds on Earth. He shot his release in her walls, coating her with his essence.
“Oh, Deacon.” She arched off the bench, absorbing everything he gave her.
“Fuck, Abby.” He pumped inside her until he had no energy. Until he collapsed on her chest.
“Oh my God. We just had sex in front of one of the most famous paintings in the world,” she gasped.
“Yes, we did. Want to try another?” He tried to catch his breath.
She giggled. “Do we have any lines we don’t cross?”
