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I nod, not thinking twice about lifting my shirt over my head and tossing it aside. Next, I shove my socks off and then my jeans and boxers, leaving me completely exposed in front of her.
Her greedy eyes take me in, getting her fill of me as I do what she asked and lie down on the tarp on the ground, intended to catch the paint I may drop.
“Shepp,” she breathes, crawling toward me with lust-filled eyes. “You’re absolutely beautiful.” Her fingers trail up and down my chest, toward my abdomen, drawing tiny circles around my belly button. My cock jumps for joy at her nearness. Sure, I got off last night by working myself over and coming on her face. But this is different.
This is just us.
No audience.
A small smile pulls at my lips. Beautiful. No one has ever looked into my eyes and called me something so poetic. Dangerous. Silent. Lethal. Now, those are all things people have shouted in my face. But they were on the wrong end. They were cowards tied to chairs, getting their fingers chopped off or their bowels removed as Arrow worked. Tears clouded their eyes.
But this.
She looks down at me with glazed-over eyes, high on lust. Exploring my body like I’m the piece of artwork she’s been craving.
Journey smiles, holding up a finger. “Stay there.” Not a question—a demand.
Precum glistens on the tip of my dick, boiling over when she saunters over toward my easel and grabs my colors in one hand and a singular brush in the other. She licks her lips when she stops at my side and drops to her knees.
“You painted over my imperfections,” she whispers with brows furrowing. “You took my scars and made them beautiful.”
“Because they are,” I rasp out, squeezing my eyes shut.
I did it without a thought. I spoke words like I did it every day and revealed myself to people.
But only for her, it seems, do I have the courage to speak out. For so long, people have taken that choice away from me. My father for cutting my tongue. Gabriel, for not bothering to stop the abuse my father handed down. My anxiety for holding me prisoner in front of my friends.
I tried. I fucking tried for years to get it to work, to no avail. Now, with my Tempest hovering above me while I’m naked and vulnerable while she stares down at me like I’m a masterpiece—I’ve come unglued.
Her breath stalls in her chest. “Oh, Shepp,” she murmurs, just as the cold end of my paintbrush travels down my pecs, right around the healing wound of our initiation. It bled for so long but never needed stitches. They never do. They’re not too deep, but not shallow, either. It’s meant to be a reminder of who you’re loyal to.
I don’t utter another word as she works the brush over my flesh, highlighting the wounds of my past. My ghosts hiding under my skin, eager to tell their history. I shiver, keeping my eyes closed, when it travels down directly under my eye, my cheek, and finally stops near my jaw.
“Now, the world will know what an ungrateful shit you are. I fed you. Clothed you. And you have the utter fucking audacity to tell my superiors some made-up stories. Like anyone would want to touch you. Now, I’ll make it so no one will,” my father slurs in my ear as he holds me down, slicing through my face with ease until blood wells on the wound and drips directly into my ear. “You’re a clown, Sheppard. One I hate to call my son.” He chuckles at that, playing in the wound like the sadistic bastard he is.
Fucker.
“All from your monster?” she whispers, running her thumb over my bottom lip and slightly dragging it around.
I nod. My voice freezes again.
“If he weren’t already dead, I’d kill him for you again,” she murmurs, running her fingers down my chin, over my bobbing throat, and trailing toward my throbbing cock. “You’re so excited for me,” she murmurs, wrapping her delicate fingers over my dick.
I groan when she moves her hand up and down my length with ease. My lips pop open as I suck in air, moaning when her lips meet my tip, and she gives it a small kiss. My fingers instinctively find her hair and wrap it around my fingers as she slowly goes down my length, taking me into the back of her throat.
“Journey,” I rasp in ecstasy when she gags, tightening around me. “You’re doing so fucking good, Little Tempest.” My balls nearly tighten when she moans around my cock.
Think of anything but this beautiful girl sucking you off, covered in paint, and humming around your dick. Anything at all. Football. Your mom’s face, for God’s sake. Anything other than the cum threatening to spill down her throat.
“Let me fuck you!” I grunt desperately, gasping for air when her lips pop off my dick.
My eyes slowly flutter open when her lips press against mine again.
“Did I do okay?” she asks with vulnerability.
My fingers clasp the back of her neck when her tongue sneaks into my mouth, swiping against nothing but empty space. I groan into her, forcing her to pull away.
“You did amazing,” I rasp out in a gravelly voice, causing her to smile.
