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She pouts up at me, her moist, red lips almost enough for me to give in.Almost.
“After we paint, Sweetheart.”
She bats her eyelashes.
My dick twitches, enough that I’m certain she sees it. I groan again, tightening my hold on the paint bucket. “Trust me, Asra,” I lean forward and whisper in her ear before placing a light kiss on her neck, “there is no other place I’d rather be than buried deep inside you right now. But, I don’t want to wear you out too much before Brendan gets home.” We took turns last night, but I’m sure he wants more than that tonight. I kiss her neck a little lower, feeling her racing pulse underneath my lips. “Do you want just me now or both of us in you later?”
Her breath hitches. “Can’t I have both?”
I glance at the clock. It’s a little past one. I raise one eyebrow with a smirk. “Do you really think you can last five hours, then go all night with both of us?” I know I can’t last five hours straight, but I’d be more than happy to eat her out for that long.
A slight gasp escapes her parted lips. It’s enough for me to know her answer.
“Tonight, Sweetheart.” My dick is begging me to take her. Knowing she wants it just as bad doesn’t help. But, work first and I don’t want to wear her out too soon. Confident it’s the right decision, I hold out the bucket and brush.
Reluctantly, she takes them, then pouts as she turns and heads toward my room.
I can’t help but laugh. It’s adorable, even if it only adds to my blue balls. “It’ll go quickly,” I offer, grabbing the ceiling paint and mixing it up.Hopefully, it goes quickly.
Time does fly by. Unfortunately, I’m pretty much half-hard the entire time. The first time I check on Asra, she’s squatted down, cutting the bottom edge of the wall for the trim. I jerk to life, groaning as I walk away without a single word.
Half an hour later, she emerges from my closet. “You’re seriously not changing?” she asks, white paint streaking her shorts, arms, and a few splotches on her tiny tank top.
I glance down at my pink Henley and jeans. I’ve cut the entire ceiling without spilling a drop. “Nope.” If my clothes come off, so do hers. And they’re not going back on. Self-restraint is a bitch sometimes. “What can I get for you?”
“Um, more paint and a roller thingy.”
“Coming right up.” I replenish her supplies, text Brendan to pick up some paint for his room on his way home, then start on the ceiling in the living room.
Asra emerges from the bedroom coated in paint just as I’m finishing up the ceiling. “Where do you want everything?” She holds up her paint roller and tray.
“Careful,” I warn as the roller sways, landing on her head. I try not to laugh, but it still bubbles out as I hurry over to help her.
We get everything on the tarp in the center of the room. Then I grab a wet cloth from the kitchen and work on cleaning as much of the paint off of her hair and the side of her face as I can.
“It’s not funny,” she pouts, arms crossed.
I wipe a glob of half-dried paint out of her hair. “I’m not laughing.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
“Not laughing,” I counter, ringing the cloth out before cleaning more white paint from her hair, “smiling.”
“Same difference.”
“Not even close.” I bop her on the nose with the rag, then toss it in the sink. “I’m happy. This is fun.” I wash and dry my hands before grabbing two cups for water. “I don’t usually have a lot of fun during the day.”Ever.It’s all work and no play.
Something shimmers in her eyes, like a kindred spirit. “Well then, I’m glad I could be your entertainment for the day.”
I hand her a glass. “You’re more than just entertainment, Asra.”
The air turns thicker as we drink in silence. Like a thick fog, tension blankets us, the room growing smaller. Unnecessary words hang in the air, phrases neither of us are ready to utter.
“Um,” Asra clears her throat, setting her drink down, “what’s next?”
I set my glass beside hers and stand up straight. “Do you want to paint more?” I have more to finish, but I figured she’d need a break.
“Sure.” She shrugs.
