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“I like your voice,” she whispers, shimmying out of her pajama pants, discarding them to the side.
My cheeks heat at her compliment when she takes charge and straddles my thighs, keeping my rock-hard dick in her hands.
“I like it when you talk to me. Just us. You make me feel special.” Her cheeks turn bright red when she says that, and she raises up, lining me with her dripping pussy.
“Fuck. Fuck. Journey,” I gasp out when she finally sinks completely down on my dick, encasing me in her. “You feel so good,” I moan, running my fingers over her breasts and gently squeezing.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” she moans out, throwing her head back when I tweak her nipple.
“Ride me,” I demand, grabbing her hips. “I’m going to cum inside you. Paint your insides with my cum, and I won’t let a drop come out.”
She moans louder at my words, working her hips up and down until she has a steady rhythm going. Her fingers claw at my chest when I pound up into her at a steady speed, meeting her thrust for thrust.
“Journey!” I cry out when a fire licks my spine. My balls tighten. And I come with her name repeating over and over on my lips.
“Shepp,” she groans, grinding against me as she shudders, squeezing every ounce of my cum out with her orgasm.
Slowly, I sit up, keeping myself inside her and resting her forehead against mine. My fingers comb through her wild curls, gently massaging her scalp.
“You’re a piece of art, Little Tempest.”
“You’re a masterpiece,” she whispers to me, squeezing her eyes shut. “Who granted me a freedom I never thought I’d have.”
“I’ll give you every freedom you need. We all will,” I rasp, running my fingers up and down her back in a soothing manner.
“I’ve killed people, Shepp,” she confesses, stiffening against me and refusing to open her eyes. “He made me.”
“You’re not alone in that,” I murmur, gently kissing her cheek. “I’ve killed for men I didn’t want to, too. I hate blood. I hate it all. But I’d burn down the world for you. The others would, too.”
“Me too,” she laughs, furrowing her brows.
“You were missing for six months in high school.” Her eyes fly open, meeting mine, and she nods, confirming without saying a word. “Did he…”
“Yes. Something happened. Something bad with my sister, and he took me as punishment. He uses me, Shepp. He uses me,” she reiterates again, widening her eyes like she wants me to understand.
I nod. “That’ll never happen again. Not now. You’re with us. He can’t touch you,” I murmur.
She rolls her lips together with uncertainty crossing her face. “Okay.” But I hear the words she doesn’t want to say—I don’t believe you. How could she? This man has tormented her, left scars, and kidnapped her.
And that’s only the beginning of her tale she’s willing to share.
We’ll find out more.
Our breaths mingle together as we continue to sit on the floor of my art room. Most nights, I stay up, painting my life away. Well, only since she’s been in the picture. Now, I have my muse right where I need her. In front of me, naked and panting from our session together. Paint still highlights her skin and mine. Together, we’re art, showing off the pain from our years of abuse.
That ends now.
“Let's get you cleaned up,” I rasp, using my spent voice and trying to change the subject for her.
Her moss-green eyes take me in, stopping on the paint decorating my body.
“Your voice,” she murmurs, running her fingers over my throat. “Never stop using it.”
I swallow hard against her fingertips. “I'll try,” I say through a rough voice, still gravelly from lack of use.
I don't know what it is about her. Or why my anxieties slip into nothing when she's around, so vulnerable and raw.
“Can I keep you?” I rumble, lifting her off my hips and keeping her in my arms as I stand. My forearm rests under her bare ass, holding her tightly to me. I never want to give this moment up. I never want to forget the way she felt wrapped around me. Or the secrets she felt secure enough to tell.
