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I noticed camera equipment and shuddered all the way to my core. He’d told me that he wanted to have me painted. Somehow, I just never figured it would be my naked body as the canvas. I was excited and terrified at the same time, sucking in my breath.
“Welcome to an adventure.” He moved closer, two glasses of champagne in one hand. As he offered one to me, the look on his face could only be described as holding the intensity of a lion.
“I adore adventures,” I purred, taking a couple of sips of the bubbly. The fumes tickled my nose and I laughed, much to his delight. He took a step back, snapping a few pictures with one hand then tossing back half his glass.
“What are you doing?” I asked, inching closer.
“You are a model. Correct?” He snagged the glass from my hand, easing them both to one of the tables.
“Well, not any longer. Did I forget to mention I was fired?”
“Their loss,” he growled. “Off with your robe. I have painting to do.”
There was something so enigmatic about the sound of his voice, drawing me into a blissful vacuum. “Won’t it be wet, difficult to remove?”
“Special paint, my beautiful doll. It dries quickly, washes off with soap and water. And it glows in the blacklights.” He backed away into the shadows, but I could feel his heated gaze.
A series of vibrations coursed through me, ones so powerful that my chest heaved from the anticipation of what he was going to do. In all my years of modeling, I’d never done anything so provocative or enticing; the pulse in the side of my neck pumped wildly at the thought.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“Remove your robe and dance for me. Feel the music. Enjoy the powerful moment of sliding into the darkness of seduction. In other words, seduce me.”
“Mmm… Gladly.” I closed my eyes for a few seconds, paying closer attention to the dark vibes of the music. As I untied my robe, I drifted into another place, one where fantasies were always reality, where freedom was all about the mind. It was a joyous sensation, no longer feeling as if I was inhibited by societal determinations.
And I trusted the man completely, knowing this would bring us even closer together. As I allowed the material to fall to the floor,I shifted my hips back and forth, covering my breasts with my hands. Only then did I yank the robe from the floor, winking at him before tossing it aside. As I began to dance, allowing the tribal beat to influence every move, I was almost immediately pushed into a surreal space where the only thing that mattered was listening to the music.
Dancing was my freedom and had always been. Only seconds later, I became cognizant he was taking pictures, the slight sound of the shutter either imagined or heard over the roar of the music. I refused to allow any inhibitions to push me out of the comfortable moment, bending over and tossing my hair back and forth, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. When I dropped to the drop cloth, I tossed my head back, pursing my lips and growling.
The moment continued to be something dreams were made of as I crawled toward him, taking my time with every movement. And my lover, the man who owned me continued to capture almost every moment, moving from one side of the room to the other, switching the angles. I had no idea how long the spectacular moment lasted, but when he placed the camera on the tripod, taking a deep breath, I blew him another kiss.
“Stand up, beautiful doll. I need to create art.”
There was something so dark and deliciously ominous about his command, and I instantly obeyed, still swaying my hips back and forth after standing. He approached as if with caution, grabbing a larger brush, dipping it into his color of choice.
I lifted my hair, holding it in place as he allowed his heated gaze to fall ever so slowly from my face to my breasts, then to my smooth pussy and my long legs. As he took a deep breath, holding it, he flicked his piercing eyes in my direction oncemore. Dear God, the man was fully aroused, his cock pushing against his jeans.
I wanted nothing more than to rub my hands across his throbbing bulge, tempting him into madness. As he moved closer, I couldn’t help myself, breathing in deeply. He was wearing Obsession, my favorite men’s cologne, the scent fusing with the exotic one I’d selected, making the combined fragrance intoxicating, so much so I was lightheaded.
The moment he stroked the brush down my chest, painting in between my breasts, I issued a ragged moan. As he continued, grabbing brush after brush, I was amazed how deliberate he was in his actions, taking the time to stand back and admire his work, driving me crazy with what he was doing.
All time seemed to stop as he continued, moving around me in a complete circle, the tickling sensations deepening with every stroke of his arm. I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t see straight, but it wasn’t from the paint fumes, only the indulgence of what we were doing.
I had no idea how long he took, but I didn’t care. When I finally glanced down at myself, very little wasn’t covered in splashes of bold colors. Reds. Oranges. Purples. Lime green. And he was right, as he usually was, the blacklights making the paint glow in the dark.
After taking a deep breath, he spun his finger, forcing me to twirl more than once. As he approached again, I could tell he was finding it difficult to allow the paint to dry. Selecting a smaller brush, he dipped it into fuchsia paint, his expression turning carnal as he rolled the brush around one nipple, dipping again and repeating the action on the other. The sensations seemed magnified, my mind spinning almost out of control.
I was shocked that every sensation increased, the electric vibrations startling as hell.
“Open your legs for me, doll,” he instructed, his shoulders heaving from his heavy breathing. I did as I was told, fighting with everything I had to keep from touching him.
When he dared dip the brush into the paint again, I tensed more than I had before. As he started to paint my inner thighs, I shuddered to my very core, the heat coursing through me more explosive than I’d ever experienced. He was driving me crazy, accentuating the passionate moment. I suddenly couldn’t breathe, as if clawed fingers had been wrapped around my throat and it was from the raging desire sweeping through me.
As he’d done before, he moved behind me, only this time dropping to his knees to finish his project. Minutes later he pulled away, tossing the brush and replacing it with the camera.
“Dance, baby. Dance as if there’s nothing else you need to do but enjoy the moment.”
He didn’t need to ask me twice. I twirled and tossed my hair, the paint somehow managing to free the rest of my soul, allowing me to become the wild child he wanted. The pulsing music fit the moment perfectly, tribal and utterly out of control.
