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I watch with rapt attention as he strides across my studio to the wall of shelves, examining my stock of art supplies. When he gets to my vast collection of paints, he grabs a circular artist’s palette and squeezes a different color of paint into each well. I bite my lip in anticipation when he chooses a fan brush from a cup filled with paintbrushes.
I wonder what he plans on doing with that.
When he’s finished collecting his supplies, he sets them down next to me before standing at his full height, gazing down at me.
“Such a pretty canvas. What am I going to do with you?”
He better intend to do more than look because I’m all keyed up and need his hands on me soon. I’m entranced as he tugs off his tie and unbuttons his dress shirt and takes it off, offering me a front-row seat to his chiseled abs, leading down to his V-line.
I nibble my lip as he pulls his pants down, leaving him standing in a pair of black boxers. I know exactly what he’s packing underneath, and I won’t lie. I’m ready for it. He smirks at me as he steps out of his underwear, his cock proudly jutting out, pre-cum leaking from the tip.
I’m not the only one affected by this little game of his.
He tosses his clothes out of the way, and takes his glasses off, setting them on the closest shelf. When he faces me, he’s holding his tie up for me to see.
“I want to restrain your hands while we play. Is that okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes, I trust you.”
During our time together, he’s stripped me of all my defenses. He’s helped to reveal a part of me I never knew existed, and I’m enjoying exploring that side of myself with his help.
He kneels in front of me, bending forward to take hold of my wrists. He lifts them above my head, binding them with his tie. It’s loose enough that I can get it off if I want to, but why would I? There’s something intoxicating about being at this man’s mercy.
Dylan looks at me with an insatiable hunger in his eyes, appreciating his own handiwork.
He sits up to grab the paintbrush and dips it into the red paint. I gasp when the bristles touch my breast, the cold paint sending a shockwave through my system. He draws swirls until he gets to my nipple, stroking back and forth in a teasing motion.
Next, he dips his brush into the yellow paint, disregarding the tinge of red mixed in. He draws wavy lines on my other breast, slowly dragging the brush along the sides. He furrows his brow in concentration as he moves the brush to my chest, writing out words of affirmation as he whispers them one by one.
“Beautiful… kind… strong… courageous…” He glances up at me when he draws out one more word. “Mine.”
He tosses the brush to the ground and traces each word with his fingertip before gripping my hip, the paint from his hand smearing on my bare skin.
“You’re such a mess,” he murmurs. “A beautiful fucking mess.”
With his other hand he shoves three fingers inside my cunt, the crude sound of my arousal filling the room as I shamelessly grind against his palm.
“Oh, god.” I lift my hooded gaze to meet his heated stare.
“Damn, you’re fucking drenched.” He lowers his mouth to my ear. “Does getting dirty turn you on, messy girl?”
I whimper, unable to find my voice.
He pumps his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm while massaging my clit in languid circles. My body coils tighter with each thrust, a wave of euphoria washing over me. I beg with my eyes, a silent plea to pick up the pace. I’m frantic for him to move faster. I cry out when he unexpectedly yanks his fingers out of me.
“You’re such a greedy little thing,” Dylan goads me. “When you come, it’ll be around my dick.”
He takes hold of his cock, sliding it up and down, coating himself in my arousal. My breath quickens when he lines himself up with my core, impaling me in a single thrust. He doesn’t move, taking a moment to gaze down at us joined together, inhaling sharply when he takes in my body covered in his paint. I moan in delight, savoring the fact that I’m stuffed full of him.
I mold my mouth to his, and he grasps my jaw in his hand, deepening our kiss. Time seems to stand still as we’re wrapped in our private haven where there are no expectations, requirements, or worries. Just two people driven by a shared passion for each other.
“Dylan, I’m close,” I pant.
“Beg for it, sunshine.”
When I don’t respond fast enough, he slows down his pace, pushing into me in short, shallow strokes. I don’t miss his smug smile as I squirm against him, my body desperate for release.
“Beg. For. It.”
