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Another surge of arousal crashes through me at his demanding tone.
“Please let me come, Dylan, please,” I whine, urgently needing a reprieve.
“That’s my good girl,” he croons.
He pounds into me without restraint. All rational thinking is gone as the primal sound of flesh slapping against flesh resonates in the air. I fly higher into oblivion, digging my fingernails into my palms, relishing in the feel of my arms bound above me. I give him a look of lust-filled appreciation, sending my silent words through him with each push.
Thrust.
I’m yours
Thrust.
This is just the beginning.
Thrust.
I’m falling in love with you.
“Come, now.” Dylan’s command is irrefutable, and after a few strokes of my clit with his thumb, I detonate like a bomb. Tremors pulse through my body as my orgasm rips through me, and his guttural groan is a sign he’s found his release.
“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” Dylan murmurs as he gazes down at me. “My masterpiece.”
He leans forward to loosen the tie around my wrists and rubs them in a circular motion.
“You okay? Was that too much?”
“It was perfect,” I assure him with a sated smile. “I like your idea of painting very much.”
“Let’s get cleaned up, and then I’ll whip up something to eat.”
“That sounds nice.”
He lifts me into his arms, and I wrap my arms around his neck. As he carries me downstairs, I rest my cheek against his chest, inhaling the scent of mint and cedar, thinking this is what home must smell like.
I’ve had a silly grin on my face for the past two days. My night with Dylan was, hands down, the most erotic sexual experience I’ve ever had. There was something exhilarating about being filthy and on display for him as he rutted into me with abandon.
The time we’ve spent together has offered me a glimpse of what life would be like with him and Lola, leaving me with a sense of peace.
Lola’s play is tonight, and I couldn’t be more excited to celebrate her big moment on stage. Dylan had to go into the office, so he’ll meet us at the school tonight.
As luck would have it, the painting he bought at my exhibition was just delivered to his house. I met the delivery person and had them leave it in Dylan’s living room. It’ll look so good in here once it’s hung up and I know Lola will love it too once she sees what it is.
“Shoot,” I mutter to myself.
If I don’t leave now, I’m going to be late to pick her up from school. I put my shoes back on and jog over to my place to get Waffles. He’s waiting at the door, barking when I grab his leash and clip it to his collar.
“Come on, boy,” I usher him outside.
We’re halfway down the block when Gavin calls me.
“Hey, Gav. The painting was just delivered to Dylan’s house,” I inform him. “Thanks so much for shipping it back here.”
We’ve texted almost every day since my exhibition. He mostly wants status updates on Dylan and me and pesters me about doing another show. He was elated by the success of this last one and was disappointed when I told him I wasn’t planning on doing another exhibition for a while. I’ve been painting the last few weeks whenever inspiration strikes, not because of a looming deadline, and it’s been rejuvenating.
“That’s great, but it’s not why I’m calling,” he says impatiently.
“It’s not?”
