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Her eyes widened like little moons. “You want me to take my top off in the middle of the sidewalk?”
He looked around the bustling crowd. If ever there was a time for her to go topless it would be now, but his possessive side suddenly roared to life, stomping over the impulsive urge. And hell no, he did not want her standing out there in her bra. “Not really, but I want to do this with you. It’s an experience we’ll never forget.” He scoped out the shops along the street. Holding her hand, he walked toward a clothing store. “We’ll buy you a tank top.”
“You seriously want to do this?” She was laughing now.
He pulled her against him and her smile was so big and so natural, he took a moment just to soak it in before saying, “I want to experience everything with you, summer girl.”
“How can I say no to that?”
Half an hour later, armed with paintbrushes, they stood among the sea of naked, painted bodies. Tiffany wore a new tank top and cheap cotton skirt so as not to ruin the nice skirt she’d worn. Dylan was shirtless, and getting more revved up by the second as he thought about painting Tiffany.
She licked her lips as she touched the paintbrush to his chest, looking mischievous and uninhibited. “I’m going to get paint in your chest hair.”
He dipped his paintbrush in a can of green paint and dragged it along her breastbone. “I’m going to get paint all over you, sweet girl, so you can feel free to paint as much of me as you’d like.”
She stepped closer, applying the cool paint down the center of his chest. “This feels naughty.”
“I like being naughty with you.”
Her cheeks pinked up, making him want to get even naughtier.
“Do you want to know what I’m painting?” He painted along her shoulder, trying not to get lost in the way she was eyeing him hungrily, or in the feel of the cool paint on his heated flesh.
“No. I want to see it after.”
He took his time, putting thought into painting what he felt represented the woman she was and the girl she’d been. He wanted to paint a dozen different pictures, to capture all of the aspects of her personality. Sensual, alluring, sharp, determined…When he reached the edge of her tank top, her nipple peaked against the tight fabric, and she lifted her eyes to his. Passion swam in them, drawing him closer. The nearer they stood, the hotter their connection burned. When she painted over his nipple, he got hard. All he could think about was stripping off her clothes and painting the rest of her gorgeous body. He wanted to paint the wordminebetween her legs andtread carefullyover her heart.
He couldn’t resist painting over the tank top, covering the curve of her breasts, sinking his brush into her cleavage. She was practically panting, holding his gaze as his brush circled each nipple, but she didn’t stop him, and that heightened the sexual tension between them. Every stroke brought a shallow or hitched breath. He drank in every gasp, every flicker of heat in her eyes. He painted every inch of her shirt, her arms, her neck, and they turned each other around and painted their backs. He’d paint her mouth if he could. It was one of his favorite things about her. Whether she was speaking sharply, sassily, or seductively didn’t matter. He was falling for everything about her.
They painted in silence for a long while, the sexual current between them so raw he was sure everyone around them could feel it. She painted his arms, his neck, his ribs.
“Babe?”
“Mm-hm.” Her brows knitted in concentration as she painted over his stomach muscles, and then her tongue slicked over her lower lip.
He couldn’t resist following it with his own.
She looked up at him and dragged the brush along the waist of his jeans, trapping her lower lip between her teeth as she did. She made a sexy little noise, and the darkness of her eyes told him she was just as hot as he was. They’d just fooled around a few hours ago, and it should have been enough to hold them over until tonight, but he needed hernow.
“We should have done this at home,” he ground out.
The corners of her lips rose and she grabbed his head with paint-laden hands just as he reached for her. Their mouths came together in an urgent, messy kiss.
“The paint,” she said between frantic kisses.
“Don’t care.” He lifted her into his arms and her legs wrapped around his waist. Her hands moved over his slippery skin as they kissed. He wanted to tear the tank top from her body and feel her naked skin against him. She moaned into the kiss, stealing his thoughts until nothing else existed except the feel of her in his arms and the taste of her mouth. Dylan had never felt so possessed, or so wanted, in all his life.
TIFFANY’S EYES OPENED as their mouths parted and the din of clapping filtered into her lust-addled brain. Dylan held her beneath her ass. Her thighs were pressed around his waist. He was looking up at her like she was the only thing that existed, and it made her heart swell. They both turned toward the clapping at the same time, and were met by about fifty or sixty sets of eyes on them and a loud round of applause. There was no room in her happiness for embarrassment. Dylan reached one hand up and cupped her cheek. She felt the slide of paint as he drew her mouth toward his.
“How about an encore, beautiful?”
They both laughed, and the crowd roared as their mouths came together again. Quicker this time, but every bit as hot. Everything after that was a blur of clapping, shouts about how cute they were, and, “Encore.” And then they were running along the sidewalk toward their apartment building, stumbling as they kissed and laughing more than she ever had.
“My place,” Dylan said as they tumbled into the elevator in each other’s arms. They made out on the way up, getting paint on the walls and all over each other.
In his apartment, he tossed the bag with Tiffany’s clean clothes and her purse on the floor and led her toward the master bedroom.
“We’ll ruin your sheets,” she said, and tugged him by the belt loop against her. “Kiss me again. I love kissing you so much.”
