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When they went to bed, I left them to cuddle Journey after our night in the mud. Even when I wanted to hold her against me and counteract Jericho's rough edges.
But I came here to paint my muse instead. Eager to relive our time together and immortalize it.
I nibble my lip, bringing my phone back out. “It's you,” the voice says.
“Me?” she asks breathlessly, inspecting my unmoving face.
My breath fans her neck when I move behind her, covering her back with my front. Yes. This is what I needed again. Her up against my body. The delicious way she shivers has my cock twitching in my jeans, aching to be between her legs again.
I'm hopeless.
“Yeah. You,” the phone says.
My hand falls to her hip, gently squeezing.
“Take the sheet off,” the voice demands.
With shaky fingers, Journey reaches forward and pulls the sheet from the canvas. Her entire body stiffens against mine. As I do the same.
“Shepp,” she breathes, dropping the sheet to the floor.
She visibly swallows hard. Her chest moves up and down rapidly. As her eyes cling on to the partial painting.
“It's…” she trails off, heaving a breath. “I…” Her tongue pokes out, licking her bottom lip.
My chest puffs out with pride as she takes in what I've done.
A hand around a throat. A mouth open in ecstasy as someone pounds her from behind. Tits out. Nipples hard. Head thrown back, lost to the lust.
My dick twitches more when she slowly swivels toward me, staring straight into my eyes. Her pupils dilate as her throat bobs.
“That's me?” she rasps, her voice dipping lower than normal.
Bravely, I run a finger down her cheek, tracing the red creeping up her flesh. I nod. I've ached to feel her under my touch for so long that it feels surreal to have her in front of me. I've watched from afar. Taken care of her when she needed someone to actually give a shit about her.
Here she is. Alive. Breathing. And staring at me like she wants to tear my clothes off.
I'd let her.
I’d lock her in this room and paint her for hours. Naked. With nothing between us. What a masterpiece that would be.
"You drew what happened last night?" Her brows rise, and more redness creeps onto her cheeks. Her fingers tremble when she grabs my wrists. "How do you remember?"
Remember? As if that's something difficult to retain. Every detail is stuck in my mind like a vivid image suspended for eternity. For now, anyway. I never want to lose the sight of my cum dripping from her face. A detail I'll add in soon.
I swallow hard, plucking the picture Arrow took from the bottom of the easel. Once I'm back at my full height, I hold the picture in front of her flushed face.
"Jesus," she breathes, squeezing her eyes shut. "He really took a picture."
I snort, digging my phone out. "You don't remember?" the voice asks.
She swallows a lump in her throat, shaking her head. "Vaguely," she murmurs, opening her eyes and examining the picture more thoroughly.
Last night was the most turned-on I've ever been. The prospect of chasing her through the woods with the intent to fuck her senseless so she never leaves again had my blood flowing straight to my cock. I never in all my years thought something like this could happen. How can I be so enamored by a woman I've only watched from the sidelines and have been barred from talking to? Until now, that is.
Now, she's ours forever.
"I still can't believe you three were the ones at the party," she whispers, almost in disbelief, like she remembers that small detail we revealed last night.
