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And farther.
Until she’s forced to bend at the waist. I get her wrists to where I want them. “Keep them here. Just like you’re in your frame.”
Daphne nods. Fuck me, she’s sweet.
I nudge her feet apart with my toe. My little painter is breathing hard now.
“Pretty,” Will says.
“Gorgeous,” I say. “Look at this curve, here.” I point out the curve of her ass. The one on her inner thigh. “See how the shapes compliment each other? It’s exquisite work, Will. Be appreciative.”
“Let me see more, and I’ll tell you if I appreciate it.”
I spread her wider, exposing all her secrets to Will.
“Fuck,” he says.
“I know.”
“Did she cry when you bit her?”
“A little. She was already crying.”
“Did you make it better afterward?”
“I haven’t yet.”
We both watch her in silence for a moment. Daphne’s blush is spreading onto her back.
“You don’t get to touch a painting unless you own it,” I comment. “Unless you’re friends with the owner.”
“Are we?” Will asks. He has harassed me for so many years. He’s been an asshole for just as long. My brother refuses, almost entirely, to stop being a jackass. One who nonetheless frets about breaking society’s rules. He thinks my life could be fixed with the right amount of exposure therapy and I don’t know what the hell else. He thinks I could be different if I wanted to, but if I pressed him, he wouldn’t want me to be different now.
I’m not even sure it’s possible to be friends in any simple way with my brothers. My father might have ruined that for us years ago.
But…
Things are different, aren’t they? Will sits in my gallery with its pale blue walls, meant to compliment Daphne’s work. It’s meant to compliment Daphne herself. I can’t remember the last time I had such sustained eye contact with Will or a conversation that approached this level.
“We’re brothers,” I say finally.
Will is suspicious. “Don’t be a bastard, Em. Are we friends or not?”
Don’t play with him, he means. He doesn’t want this to be some fucked-up joke. He’s like Daphne in that way.
“Yes.” I pull Daphne upright. Oh god, she whispers as I arrange her in front of me. I press her wrists to her chest with one hand and slide the other under one of her knees. Then I coax it up and out so that her pussy is open for Will. He rubs his hand over his mouth. I know how Daphne looks. He’ll want his tongue on her. “I’m showing you my art.”
The gallery around us can’t absorb the tension. Daphne, panting in my hands. Will, staring between her legs. He gets a grip on himself and manages to look elsewhere—up her naked body, to her face. Another flicker of indecision.
“Is she still wet?”
I press her more firmly against me so she knows not to move and drag my fingers over her slit. Then I hold them up for Will’s inspection. Daphne makes an embarrassed noise low in her throat. “She’s making a mess of her thighs,” I say. “Look how the light catches there.” I paint around her nipples with wet fingers and angle her body, adjusting her slightly so Will can see the curves and shadows of her.
All of them.
I need to fuck her so badly I could scream. My chest is tight and hot with the urge, but I want to extend this for Daphne.
Even if it kills me.
