Abby
I look at myself in the mirror. I feel different. There’s a lightness inside me that I haven’t felt before. Lifting my hand I touch my nipples, they’re sensitive. I put my weight from one feet to another and there’s soreness between my legs. A giggle escapes from my throat.
I did it.
I had sex.
No.
I… fucked.
Touching the bruise on my hip, I smile. I didn’t even feel that he was rough enough to leave a mark. I caress the bite mark on my breast, he gave me that the second time… as I rode him.
My legs shake even from the memory of it.
I have never felt a pleasure close to this. I clench my thighs. Even though we’ve done it twice, I still want to do it again. He was right, sex isn’t painful.
Putting on an oversized t-shirt, I leave of my room to look for Brant. He was still sleeping when I left his room to take a shower. I don’t want him to think I ran away. The look on his face is still vivid in my mind when he found me trying to sneak out of his room this morning.
I softly open the door to his room, but he’s not sleeping. He’s standing in all his naked glory, painting. Leaning against the door frame I watch him. I can’t see what he’s painting, but with the brush in his hand and the focused expression on his face I know he’s so into it. I want to see the thing that captured him that much, but the moment I take a step toward him he notices me and covers the canvas.
“Look who showed up,” he says, pulling me close to his body.
“What are you painting?”
“Something for the exhibition.”
“Can I see?”
He shakes his head. “A strange superstition I have. I don’t show my paintings to anyone before they’re all done.”
I quirk my eyebrow, trying to find a way to convince him otherwise but he distracts me with his roaming hands. I lean back when he moves to kiss me. “You have paint on your face.”
“So?”
“You’ll make me dirty,” I whisper.
He doesn’t say anything, but I know he’s up to no good when I see the glimpse of mischief in his eyes. Picking me up, he puts me on the bed.
Rubbing his hands together, he grabs his palette and brush. “Let’s make a mess.”
Realization dawns on me. “Oh my. No. No. No, you’re not going to paint me.”
He gives me a wolfish grin. “Oh, trust me. I will.” Grabbing the hem of my t-shirt, he pushes it up. “Lift your arms, hold onto the bedpost.” When I do, he secures my wrists to the headpost using my t-shirt. It’s not tight and the knot isn’t really secure, but I’m excited to see what he’ll do to me I leave my arms the way he wants.
“Hmm, I have alizarin crimson here. Where should I put it? Abby, name a place on your body,” he says. Keeping the brush above my body, he straddles my knees.
I grimace with the thought of the mess we’re going to create, but I push it down deep. “My stomach.”
He leans down to lick my stomach. He uses his tongue like a brush and everywhere he touches tingles. Then he sits up. “You’ll be the most perfect canvas I’ve ever painted.”
The first touch of the brush tickles me. As he circles the paint around my belly button I suck in a breath, I feel it at the end of my spine. The cold paint causes goosebumps to erupt on my skin and it feels heavy as it dries on me.
“Magenta… where should I put it? The color would suit your eyes,” he says.
Knowing he’ll lick the skin before painting it, I make my decision. “My breasts.”
“Nope. Not breasts. Say tits.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t use that word.”
“You didn’t used to say fuck either, baby. Say tits.”
I blush, remembering the way I begged him. “Paint my tits,” I whisper.
Smirking at me, he dips his fingers into the color that looks like purple, a reddish purple. As I look at him, the shining excitement in his eyes, I think I can get used to this – being his canvas, being with him, getting messy with him. When he looks at me the way he does right now, with hunger, adoration, and something I can’t put my finger on I think he can get my trust even if I don’t know how to give it. I think he can have my heart even if it doesn’t know anything else but to pump blood.
I whimper when his lips wrap around my left nipple, sucking it into the heat of his mouth. His tongue caresses the sensitive bud back and forth, making me bite my lip to stop moaning. Releasing my nipple out of his mouth with a pop, he lifts his head, a frown sitting on his face.
“Looks like I’m fond of marking you,” he murmurs.
He runs his nose under my breast, where the bite mark he gave me is. “I like looking at those marks.”
He quirks his eyebrow. “Wild little minx,” he whispers and pulls the other nipple in his mouth, sucking it harder than the other.
I moan in protest when his lips leave my skin, but my moan turns into a groan as his paint covered fingers move on my breasts, teasing my areola and finally pinching my nipples. I suck in a sharp breath with the intense pain that shoots straight to my vagina and arch my back.
“I like magenta on you,” he whispers, sucking my neck as his fingers keep rolling my nipples in between. “Your eyes look even more breathtaking now.”
“Brant,” I breathe out. He’s so much, too much.
“Yes, baby?”
“I want you,” I pant, wriggling under him to get some friction between my legs.
He sits back on his heels. “Prussian blue used to be my favorite color, did you know that Abby?”
I shake my head.
“But it’s not anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because I found a new favorite.”
I don’t know if it’s the way he says it or the way my body is so in tune with his, but I blush. “What’s your new favorite?” I whisper.
He winks. “Spread your legs, Abby.”
My breath hitches in my throat, but I do as he says. He bites his bottom lip, his eyes are zeroed in between my legs.
“This is my new favorite color. The shade of pink of your pussy,” he says through his teeth. Leaning down, he blows on my vagina. I’m so wet, his breath only intensifies my need, causing a shiver to run through my body.
“Where do you think I’ll use this Prussian blue, Abby?” he asks.
Before I can answer, he licks me from my entry to my clitoris. I want to close my eyes, but his gaze is keeping me captive.
“Well…” he pushes, reminding me I should give him an answer.
“My vagina.”
He tsks. “Try again, baby.”
I swallow. I’ve never used that word.
“I’m getting impatient, Abby.”
“My pussy,” I breathe out.
“Pardon? I couldn’t hear that.”
“You’ll use that blue on my… pussy,” I finally say.
He grabs the brush, moving it around my… pussy, creating a kind of frame around it. With every soft touch of the brush I’m being pushed closer to the edge, but he doesn’t touch where I need him the most. I’m moaning loudly, panting as I keep wriggling under his paint.
“Now it looks even better. Pink, wet, swollen…”
I close my eyes, his words are too much for me to handle right now. My attempts at taking calming breaths are interrupted when he puts another set of color over my body. This time he doesn’t use brush. He creates an abstract piece as his hands move the color on my every curve, every inch of skin he can reach.
“Brant, please,” I moan when the sensation gets too much.
Finally, I feel his penis at my entry.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to fuck me,” I say. The word fuck comes out easier every time I say it.
He shakes his head. “Give me more detail, Abby.”
I frown. I don’t know what he means. I know he likes talking dirty and I like him saying those words to me, but I don’t know if I can do that. Still, I try. “I want your penis.”
He laughs. “Penis doesn’t work. Try another word.”
He keeps rocking on my… pussy and making me crazy with each contact on my clit. Taking a deep breath I groan. “I want your cock in my pussy, Brant. I want you to fuck me even harder than you did before!”
And even before I can finish my sentence he pushes into me. I remember his words…
If anyone will give you three orgasms, it’ll be me.
And he makes good on his promise. He gives me three orgasms before he comes inside me with my name on his lips.