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I give myself over to her. Every thrust pulls a deep moan from her chest. I smear the pain over her body with my own, and as we fuck and writhe together, the canvas beneath us creates an intricate artwork of our movements. I fuck her hard, pounding as deep into her as I can reach. I never want to leave. I never want to stop tasting her lips or her skin. She smells like jasmine, soft and floral with a warm hint of cocoa and I can’t stop breathing her in. Pressing my face into her throat, I crush her against me and fuck her harder, driving her moans into screams as my hips pound harder still.
I want to imprint myself inside her so a part of me will always be there.
“Fuck!” Emma screams loudly and her entire body turns rigid beneath me. Both her hands cup my face and our mouths collide just for a second. “Caspian!”
Her face lights up when she orgasms. Tension ripples through her features, followed by an innocent peace. I’d soak it up for longer but her pussy clamps down around me like a vise and I am weak against my own pleasure. My orgasm follows a second later and I drive my cock deep inside her, making sure my cum is packed in as deeply as possible.
We’re suspended in pleasure for a few moments, then we collapse together, panting as limbs go weak and the aftershocks of pleasure tremble through our bodies.
“Holy…shit,” Emma gasps. “That was…” She licks her lips and I can’t resist another kiss. I chase her tongue back into her mouth and she moans softly.
“Good?” I ask, seeking her approval.
“So good,” Emma groans. “Is this how you do all your artwork?” Her green eyes lock onto me. “Sex to help re-center yourself.”
“It wasn’t my intention,” I admit, gently trying to remove a dot of yellow paint from her cheek but end up making the smear worse. “But it was indeed beautiful.”
“Fuck. I hope this paint is non-toxic.”
“Of course it is,” I chuckle, nudging my nose against her temple, then laying a kiss there. “You are safe with me.”
Weighted words that mean so much more than just in this moment. We lie together for a long time, quietly discussing the art around the studio while I study every beautiful inch of her face. Eventually, the tacky dryness of the paint forces us to move and as we stand, the artwork created by our fucking reveals itself.
“Wow,” Emma breathes as she redresses herself. “That looks so cool.”
“Indeed.” Pulling my jeans back on, I wince internally to see that Emma’s clothes did not escape the paint. “I have some overalls in the cupboard I think, if you’d prefer?”
She glances down at herself, then presses two paint-stained hands to her tank top and smirks when she leaves faint paint stains. “Nah, I like this. Thank you though, that was…” Her eyes meet mine and her smile is so wide that the corners crinkle. “That was amazing.”
“Likewise.” I reach out for her but noise from her phone steals her attention. She glances at it and frowns, then shoots me a bright smile.
“I’m sorry, I have to go. But—” She eyes me up and down and bites her lower lip in such a way that my soft cock stirs to life once again. “I’ll definitely come back to admire some more art.”
“Please do,” I reply as my throat tightens and another deep pulse of desire sweeps through me.
Then, Emma is gone, and I return to the quiet silence of my studio, broken only by the pounding rain and hum of the AC. Truthfully, I should discard the canvas because it stands as evidence of how many rules I just broke giving in to her.
But I’m not going to. Hauling the canvas from the floor, I pick up a black marker from the trolley and quickly sign my name. I’m going to frame this instead.
After one taste of Emma, I’m addicted and I want to cherish every moment.
10
EMMA
“Emma!” Ana’s voice carries through the crowd just as I reach the lecture hall. Turning, she comes sprinting up to me and drapes breathlessly over my shoulder. “Girl, where the hell have you been?”
Confusion rises in my chest and I wrack my brain for what on earth she could mean. “Huh?”
“I went to pick you up this morning and you weren’t there. I’ve been calling you non-stop.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. You didn’t turn up, so I thought you weren’t going today. I took an Uber because my car won’t be fixed until the weekend.”
“I texted you to tell you I was running late. Don’t you ever look at your phone?!”
“I do.” I insist, patting my pocket for my phone. “But I didn’t get any calls or?—”
I stop abruptly as patting my pockets brings up absolutely nothing in terms of my phone. Both skirt pockets are empty, as is my jacket pocket. As we walk into the lecture hall, I slide my bag from my shoulder and start rummaging through it in search of where it could be. By the time we reach our seats, I’m definitely phone-less.
