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Her heart raced as she blindly made the trek up the sidewalk to the front door of her quaint, mid-century rental. Re-counting steps in her brain and envisioning each crack and elevated step on the pathway she walked daily, she shuffled forward with a grin splitting her face as Jon held her hand leading the way.
“Okay, no peeking.” He covered her eyes with one hand, while the other held onto her hip leading her through her front door. Their steps were clumsy as they crossed the threshold and she laughed, leaning her head back against his shoulder.
“Jon, how are you going to surprise me with something in my own house?” She giggled.
“I still have a few tricks up my sleeve, little dragon,” he grunted, boots scuffing the floor as he tripped over her feet.
Her eyes rolled from where they were hidden behind his thick fingers and she cursed Yara for ever giving him the idea of that nickname.
“You better not be rolling your eyes at me already,” he rumbled into her ear. The deep tone and Northern burr of his voice against her ear made her shiver against him. His Daddy voice, she called it. Low and gentle, but commanding all the same. So it was that kind of surprise.
“Never. I’ve been very good today.”
He snorted, hearing her lie for what it was, but allowing it anyway. She pursed her lips, tucking away the fact he had chosen to be lenient this evening for later. His hands dropped from her eyes and he stepped to her side, tucking her body close to his with one arm. One hand splayed across her hip bone, solidifying their connection.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shifted from foot to foot. “Can I open now?”
“Yes. Open.” She could almost hear his eyes roll at her sarcasm. She bounced on her toes one more time for effect, jostling him and his grip on her hip in the process, before popping open her eyes.
He’d transformed her living room into a makeshift art studio. Her olive green couch was pushed against the wall and covered with a large white sheet. Drop cloths littered the rest of the room, protecting the warm hardwood floors and any odds and ends he hadn’t moved. A large, unstretched canvas was in the middle of the floor surrounded by different colored paints and size brushes. There was even an easel with another canvas staged by the window. Two of her barstools were near the easel, where she imagined the two of them could work on a painting together.
It was beautiful. She’d never had a date that was so…thoughtful. Months into their relationship, he found new ways to take her breath away and she cursed every night at the Red Keep when they danced around an introduction. If she had only known what was waiting for her after she broke the ice.
“Are you going to paint me like one of your French girls, Jon?” she teased, turning into him with a smile radiating across her face. “Those lessons with your Veterans group must really be paying off.”
He raised a brow at her. “Daenerys…”
“I always knew you’d have a talent. You have a look that screams ‘secretly paints naked girls’.”
He grabbed her jaw between his thumb and index finger, firm but not rough, raising her chin up to look at him. “Is that how you want to start this?”
“No, Daddy,” she swallowed around a dry tongue. His leniency was waning. He’d gotten good at this game.
“Then strip.” He released her and walked to one of the bar stools, sitting atop and leaning forward with his elbows against his knees. She posed herself some feet away near the collection of drop cloths. The middle of her living room her stage.
She’d never been particularly shy, but her heart raced faster as she began to strip for him. Her arms crossed over her waist to peel her tank top from her skin, rolling it up over her head where it combed back her hair. She tossed her tank top towards the door and shook out her hair, knowing he liked to see it a little messy and undone. She drew her fingers down her chest, stopping to swirl around her nipples.
“No playing without me, Dany,” he warned, a smile twitching at his lips.
She grinned, licking her fingers and returning them to pinch the tight, rosy buds and run her thumbs around them.
“Oh, Daenerys,” he cooed, unlacing his boots. “If only you would be good for me, this would have gone so much easier for you.”
She pursed her lips and dragged her thumbs down either side of her belly button to hook into her yoga pants. She was stubborn, but she enjoyed her lessons. She turned around and slowly shimmied her pants down her legs, shifting weight from foot to foot while her ass was in the air. She rolled up slowly, reaching for the waistband of her thong when warm hands covered hers.
“You take too fucking long, little girl,” he husked into her ear, pressing his chest to her back and reaching his hand to caress the outside of her clothed pussy.
She closed her eyes and melted against his body, reaching behind them to grab onto his peach of an ass. Taut and round, it was a masterpiece in her opinion. Perhaps she’d spend time painting its likeness. She groaned as his fingers grazed the outside of her and then dipped in between, pushing the thin, lacy fabric against her clit. He circled it slowly, the pressure teasing and causing her damp panties to stick to her. She dug her fingers into his butt, pushing his hips into hers when he stepped away.
“Panties,” he demanded with a firm smack to the bare flesh of her bum.
She yelped, feeling the smack run a shock straight between her legs. She hooked her thumbs in the side of her panties and peeled them from between her legs, sticky after a few minutes of his teasing. She rushed them on their descent and tossed them toward her other clothes before popping back up.
“Where do you want me?” She fluttered her lashes, eyeing the tarps and canvases at the edge of the room surrounded by paints and a new collection of brushes. The room was full of possibilities and textures and colors.
“On your knees.” He began to unbutton his pants and kick them off.
“I thought we were painting?” She whined as he pushed down against her shoulders.
“I am.”
She lowered to her knees, noting the pillow he’d placed there just for her. He’d thought of everything. Her impulsive wants and desires typically dominated every coupling they had, even as he dominated her. She would initiate and he would pick up from the hints or the demands she had made; the best improv partner she’d ever had.
This level of planning was new for her, making her as nervous as she’d been the first time they came together in his sterile kitchen. They were frantic and hungry to explore new desires. But for Jon, she could swallow down her nerves and hesitation to see what he had in store. Even if it meant she wouldn’t be swallowing all of him down shortly.
“You may want to tie your hair back, sweetling.” He carded a hand softly through her hair, pushing it back behind her ear while she tilted her head back enjoying the petting.
“Mmm, plan on making a mess of me, Daddy?”
He raked his hand through her hair again and she bit back a small mewl. “Yes.”
She sat back on her heels, eyeing his form while she tied her hair back. Strong legs leading up to where his tight black boxer briefs hugged his hard cock. His clothes were haphazardly strewn on the couch shoved against the wall. Dark hair smattering up his stomach and across his chest. A blend of tattoos and silvery scars decorating defined abs. If this was her game, she would be licking up and down his muscles and inked flesh, sinking her teeth into the bare spots to bring more color to the design of his abdomen.
But this was his game today, so she would attempt to play by different rules. She swept her fingertips up the side of his boxers letting her nails tickle at the hem and avoided grazing his cock altogether. His brows furrowed looking down at her in amusement as she proceeded to tease him through his briefs. He let out a small laugh when she finally dipped her fingers inside his briefs to caress bare skin and hook her thumbs in to draw them down his legs.
“Something funny, Daddy?” She asked sweetly, taking her time dragging his shorts down his legs. She rested her head against his thigh, hand clinging to the back of his leg as he kicked them off.
“I’m a patient man, baby. It’s cute when you try to tease me.” His hand found her ponytail, wrapping the ends of it around his fingers. He pulled down on it with just enough force to tilt her head up to look at him. “And a little funny when I think about how impatient you’ll be when it’s your turn on the canvas.” He grinned wickedly and she felt her stomach flip, her legs squeezing together at the threat. There had yet to be a promise made that he didn’t fulfill, and she already felt the ire of impatience.
Her mouth dropped open slightly and he guided her a few inches forward till her plush lips met the head of his cock. Her lashes fluttered, a picture of mock innocence as she mouthed around his head. They both knew better, but it didn’t stop her from playing her part when she knew it would be to her benefit. Perhaps he’d be softer on her if she played softer.
His breath faltered as she slid her tongue along the underside of his cock, slippery and snakelike as she wiggled it up and down the length of him. She wrapped her hand around the base of his penis and slowly moved her head forward to take more of him in her mouth. She could feel his leg flexing where she held it with her other hand.
Using his leg and where she held his cock in her hand to stabilize herself, she bobbed her head back and forth coating him till he was slick with her spit. Controlled and paced, she developed a steady rhythm to how she took him. Her pink lips wrapped around him in an ‘O’ she continued to tease him while still following his technical instructions.
She ran her fingers as gently as she could up and down the back of his thigh, punctuated by soft kisses and swirls of her tongue around the head of his penis. Soft, easy, and as comforting as the pillow below her knees. As comforting as the way he would soothe the areas he made sore any time they finished fucking. He’d never cum this way.
She had closed her eyes, losing herself to the sensual touches of her mouth against him. Hard where she was soft. Tastes of salt and pre-cum that she lapped at and mixed with her saliva that she coated his dick with when she moved forward for her first mild suck. His legs tensed again, and she wondered how patient he truly was. Especially when she was being such a good girl for him.
His hand stroked her head sweetly and she should have taken that as a foreboding sign. She would devour him when she was the one to prompt these games. Sucking hard, sucking sloppy, drool dripping down her chin while she ate him like her favorite meal. There were times when he was her favorite meal. But this was his game and she could be good, so she treated him like her favorite dessert. Savored for as long as possible before the finishing bite.
She chanced a look up at him as she hollowed her cheeks, moving closer to the base where her hand was wrapped. His eyes were half-lidded staring down at her, lips curled in amusement, cheeks occasionally twitching from her attentions.
“Your jaw is going to be sore at this rate, Daenerys,” he warned.
She made a show of languidly removing her mouth from his shaft and daintily wiping her lower lip with two of her fingers. “Are you not enjoying yourself, Daddy?” She tilted her head, blinking up at him while one hand moved to caress his balls.
He heaved out a groan before tightening his hand in a firm grip at the base of her ponytail. She moaned at the light sting on her scalp as he wrenched her head back to stare up at him. “You teasing me on purpose?” His northern accent was thick as it tended to be when he was turned on, tired, or drunk.
She rubbed her knees together as heat gathered between her legs at the treatment. She could always take him here; sometimes he just needed encouragement.
“Is it a tease if we both enjoyed it?” She bit back a smirk.
He huffed out a dry laugh, rolling stormy eyes before he settled them on her again. “I’m setting the pace now. If you need to stop, you tap my leg. Understood?”
Fuck. She nodded her head quickly, her smirk fading as the consequences began to set in. Nerves and desire bundled at the base of her core, and he had yet to turn his full attention to her.
Little pinpricks pulled at her scalp as his grip tightened in her hair. “I didn’t hear you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He made short work of setting the pace he desired. He moved his hand to wrap it around her ponytail and guided her mouth to meet his hips. She returned his enthusiasm with the same fervor. Sucking hard, sucking sloppy, drool dripping down her chin, she devoured him like her favorite meal. Her version of his game was over and his had truly begun.
Jon was relentless, cock thrusting in and out of her mouth while he used her ponytail to steer her when and where he wanted. Her eyes watered as she looked up at him and when he began softer motions in response, she dug her claws into the firm cheek of his ass to pull him closer to her.
“Fuck, baby,” he hissed. She squeezed his ass cheek again, hollowing her cheeks out as she sucked him down. “You’re so damn good at this. The most perfect mouth.”
She knew he was close from the way his hips stuttered and his cock twitched in her mouth. She moved her head faster to meet him, barely needing the grip on her ponytail to set the pace. Then he was gone. Stolen from her mouth with a pop while she blinked in confusion to see him jerking himself quickly, biting his bottom lip as he struggled to keep his eyes open.
Painting. Making a mess of her. She had forgotten his intention till it was hot and decorating her chest. White stripes creating a sticky, abstract pattern across the canvas of her rosy, pebbled tits. It dripped down into the black lines of the recently healed ink across her ribs. Her first graders were better at coloring in the lines than him, but she was intrigued all the same at the art he left behind.
He dropped to his knees across from her, pushing stray hairs that he had pulled out back behind her ears. Panting with a lopsided, easy grin on his face, he pulled her chin closer to him for a kiss. Sweet, but still hungry, he tasted her mouth with enthusiastic swipes of his tongue. She could feel his smile against her lips.
“You are so beautiful, you know?”
“Always? Or just painted in your cum?” She giggled between kisses.
“Always.” He appraised his work with a quick glance down her chest. “But especially when you’re messy,” he smirked.
She scratched her nails down his neck, eyeing the blank canvas laid across the floor behind him. “Any plans to paint the canvas behind you too?”
“That’s next,” he murmured.
“I think I’ll start.” She stood up and walked over to the blank canvas laid across tarps and drop cloths in the middle of the living room. If he wanted to paint, she would paint. She turned over her shoulder with a mischievous smile before she knelt by the canvas, pressing her chest and the cooling cum that adorned it into the material.
She felt the roughened tips of his fingers stroke her ass before she ever heard Jon move. She jumped at the feeling, rolling over to sit and stare at him with shocked eyes. She scooped the remainder of his jizz off her side and used her fingers to paint it onto different parts of the canvas. He watched her, unblinking and neutral, causing her to feel unsure about her actions.
“You’re a depraved little thing, you know that?”
“But beautiful too?”
“Always,” he smiled. “Now lay back on the canvas and close your eyes. It’s my turn again.”
She followed instructions, lying prone on the floor with her eyes closed, straining to listen to the sounds he made. Soft footsteps and the clatter of…something. Her kitchen faucet running. Footfalls again. Then silence.
“I didn’t think you liked it when I closed my eyes, Daddy,” she drawled.
“Typically, no.” He was close. Right next to her by the sound of his voice. “But this is different. Focus on what you feel. Not what you see. Think you can handle that?”
No. “Yes.”
Whatever it was, it was soft when she felt it. Smooth and silky, tiny in size, swirling circles around her ankle till it moved up to her calf and back down. The same pattern was taken to the opposite leg and back to the original before the journey was made again. This time she felt the fibers brush up through her inner thighs, eliciting chills down her legs and up through her center.
A paintbrush most likely. Could be about the size of her thumbnail, tracing up the inside of her thighs till it would stop at her bikini line and travel back down. She began to whine each time a pass would stop, centimeters from where she wanted it. Then it was gone. A clacking sound of something against her flooring and then a different sensation ran itself across her vulva.
This brush was softer, fluffier, and less dense. He swiped it across the outside of her, up and down her folds, but never between. Each swipe had her feeling hotter, clit beginning to throb in anticipation. It was too light of a feeling to take her near the edge or to truly tighten her stomach the way she craved, but she could already feel herself beginning to drip between her legs.
“Daddy,” she whined, digging her heels into the drop cloth.
“Yes, sweetling?” Another pass of the fluffy brush around her lips.
“You’re being cruel.”
“Did you think I would let your teasing go unpunished?” The brush finally swiped the center of her folds and she gasped, knees bending in response. “Hmm, that would make this easier. Place your feet flat.”
He assisted her with raising her knees up, so her feet were flat against the floor and her legs were now open to him and his instruments of torture. She wasn’t sure how many more careful caresses of a paintbrush she could take.
The next sensation was cold and wet. She wasn’t certain what type of brush this one was, only that he had dipped it in a water cup first before drawing it against her nipples. Already raised from the cold, the water served to harden them further. Drops of water trickled down her ribs and the brush tickled hardened peaks till bumps were left in their wake.
She squirmed, high-pitched whines leaving her as the wet brush returned to her skin repeating the actions again. The ache in her cunt for attention grew the longer it went ignored and she clenched her inner thighs wishing for traction.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” Jon murmured.
“Well enough for a reward?”
He was silent, which unnerved her more now that she couldn’t see his expression. Always so pensive and guarded, it didn’t usually matter. But sometimes his eyes crinkled or his lip would twitch and she would know he was ready to give in to her.
A brush returned to her cunt and she groaned at the tease. Sweeping in between her lips this time, touching down to her sensitive clit. The most gentle pressure had her crying for more.
“Is that the reward you wanted?” He flicked the brush back and forth across her clit and she shuddered.
“You know what I want,” she growled.
She heard a soft snort and then the fluffy brush was circling her entrance, gathering the essence she knew she’d been leaking. She scrunched her nose, a storm of impatience rolling its way up her spine when the brush was gone.
She felt pressure on the canvas about a foot away from her and turned her head to squint open an eye. Jon was painting. A small detail brush in his hand, but no color transferred to the canvas. Abstract lines of her own fluids joined where she had smeared in his cum.
“You’re depraved,” she murmured with a smirk.
His raised eyebrow made her tense, but she swallowed and held his gaze with her one open eye. “Did I say you could open your eyes?”
She frowned, closing her eyes and turning her head back to the ceiling.
“Roll over on your stomach,” he commanded.
Her stomach fluttered at the order and she scrambled to follow it. He adjusted her head so it lay off the canvas resting on the pillow. Little bolts of lightning ran up and down her legs as she anticipated his next move. Was he going to punish her for opening her eyes? Would the paintbrush be returning?
“Ass up, baby,” he said with two sharp spanks to her right cheek.
The ground was hard beneath her knees, but it was all starting to melt away at the urgent need she felt between her legs. The only focus she had was how alert and alive she felt under her skin, any touch eliciting a chill and a groan.
Thick fingers entered her quickly, curling forward and she threatened to lose her balance. “Is this the reward you were wanting?”
“Oh, fuck yes,” she gasped, fingers gripping the edge of the pillow.
He scissored two fingers inside her and her body was quick to accommodate. Already so slick from the teasing pets of the paintbrush, she felt like she was on the edge of something glorious.
Her cries carried through the room followed by Jon’s low, encouraging voice. Her body started to tense, center pulsing as it prepared to take her over the edge. And then she was empty. Jon’s fingers had disappeared a moment too soon and she cried even louder at the loss.
“Why?” She wailed, turning her head over her shoulder to glare at him hotly.
“Eyes, Daenerys.”
She growled, shoving her face back to the pillow and closing her eyes again. “I want to cum too,” she pouted.
“You will. When you’ve learned some patience.” He stroked her ass and the back of her thigh, calming the tremors leftover from her trip near the edge and back.
Fibers tickled her rear next and she whined into the pillow. Her knees ached from the rough canvas and time spent balancing on them. She pushed her weight further into her shoulders, butt arching higher in the air. The brush Jon applied was dense, at least two inches wide, and was wet upon application. Not water, but something thick. Likely paint from one of the different jars he had on display.
She wondered what color he chose to use on her ass. Green like the trees they would admire on their hikes. White, like the cum they had already smeared into the canvas. Red or pink like the handprints she loved for him to leave behind when she would goad him into bending her over his knee. Or purple, like the love bites she scattered up and down his neck and stomach, marking her territory.
The brush traced the sensitive skin on the back of one of her thighs. The sensation of the paint was almost cooling in comparison to the hairs of the paintbrush as he ran it up and down the back of her leg. The smells were rubbery and pungent, punctuated by the musky smell of both of their sex as she let her other senses take control of her body and her shoulders sank toward the pillow that cradled her head. She’d have to burn ten different candles before Marge came back from her vacation.
She squealed as the brush touched the bottom of her foot. A new form of torture devised by what she was sure was the most creative man she had ever met. Her wiggling feet were only met with a strong grip against her ankle as he finished the job.
His fingers stroked up and down her spine, as the brush relented. “Almost done. Did you feel everywhere I painted?”
“Mhmm,” she moaned against the pillow.
“I’m going to help you roll back against the canvas to press the paint in, then I’ll give you what you want, sweet girl.”
His hands pressed against her shoulder and knee, gently rolling her to her back so the paint that outlined her bottom, leg, and foot would push into the canvas. She dreamed about the obscene picture it would make till Jon’s fingers entered her again. She hiccuped in surprise, body tightening at the intrusion and her eyes flew open.
“Shhh. Stay still. We don’t want it to smear.” Asshole.
She did as told, laying back and using all of her willpower to stay still as his fingers twisted in and out of her opening. When his thumb brushed against her throbbing clit, tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “Please, Daddy,” she mumbled.
“Please Daddy what?” Merry eyes teased her and she wondered what she had done to deserve a man so blessedly merciless. A few grays in his beard stood out as the light reflected off them while he smirked, and she licked her lips, preparing to beg.
“Please let me cum!”
“You can cum baby girl. Just let go.”
She clamped down around his fingers as he kept the pace fucking two fingers in and circling her clit with his thumb. She came hard, a few stray tears streaming from her eyes as her body lit up with nerves and a strangled cry left her lips. Her chest heaved as she came down from her high, out of breath and trembling.
Jon’s fingers didn’t stop. He continued to fuck them in and out, curling against her g-spot till she screamed from overstimulation. She was lost in her head chanting, “Jon, Jon, Jon,” while he sped up the movement of his digits. Her cunt spasmed around him again, muscles weakening as she struggled to stay in her position.
“That’s right, I want to hear you say my name,” he rumbled.
Her next orgasm ripped through her, her toes flexed and her face felt numb as any consciousness flew from her body. It was like she was levitating, seeing the two of them, naked and covered in paint below her. She panted, breathless and thoughtless as she struggled to come back into her own body. Jon’s fingers strummed her through the last of the aftershocks, before leaving her empty to wipe her fluids onto another part of the canvas.
Her head lolled to the side as she blinked rejoining reality. “Do I get to paint you now?”
He coughed out a laugh. “Aye. You can paint me now.”
She rolled off the canvas, leftover paint sticking to her skin, and crawled toward the paint options he had out. Violet. The print of her bum and leg she had made on the canvas was violet, like her eyes.
She sauntered back with the paint in hand to Jon, who sat back on his heels by a blank part of the canvas. Kneeling across from him, she dipped two fingers from one hand in the gray paint and the other in a dark, foresty green. She took the gray paint dragging it down the side of his neck and onto his arm. The green she dotted on the mountains that covered his chest. He watched her hands work turning his body into her canvas till her gray- and green-stained fingers were dry.
“Is it to your liking?”
“Almost.” She reached for a brush and dipped it in a deep blue color. She painted over the green of her right hand till the entirety of her petite hand was covered in blue.
She hooked her left arm around his neck pulling him closer to her in a kiss. Her tongue swept over the soft curve of his lip and he came off his heels to kneel over her. His hands wrapped around her body, one trailing down to grip a fleshy ass cheek, crinkling the dried violet paint. They deepened the kiss with her neck craning toward him as she made every attempt to dominate his mouth. Nibbling at his lip, yanking at the curls that fell against his neck leaving behind streaks of gray paint, and pointing her tongue to fight his. He battled her at every moment, returning her bites and pulls with just as much force. A perfect distraction while her blue hand waited in anticipation of when his guard would come down.
The smacking sound resonated through her living area and kitchen, blue paint splattering up Jon’s back and drops flinging across the canvas behind them. He jumped at the force of her hand slapping against his ass, quickly breaking their kiss. “Gods damn it, Daenerys!”
Her eyes widened, biting back a laugh and fearing retaliation as he attempted to look over his shoulder at the perfectly shaped blue handprint she had left on his butt. She always liked the way he looked covered in her marks.
He narrowed his eyes at her and turned to smear green paint onto his fingers. She attempted to scoot away from him, but his reaction time was always so much faster than hers. She wondered what it would be like to truly be his prey. Nearly twenty years in the military had honed his reflexes and his senses, there would be no hiding from him. No running away.
He pounced on her, wrestling her face down and ass up again, green paint smearing into her arms and hips where he gripped her. Her laughs grew louder till they turned to squeals as he sought his revenge. Two hard swats to her rear, thick green paint flinging across the canvas and up her back to match the forest-colored handprints he left behind on each cheek.
She cackled as he roughly turned her over, pinning her hips with his own. His hard cock rubbed against her legs as she gave her best fight, twisting against him and kicking her legs where she could. She fell back against the canvas upon a dried mixture of their cum, breathless with a lazy smile on her face.
“You look better with some color on you, Daddy” she teased.
“So do you.” He reached over and dipped his fingers into more paint, swirling it around her nipples next. She looked down to see more of the blue color that she had chosen to leave marked on his ass. Squiggly lines ran from the tops of her breasts, around her nipples, and down her ribs.
She grinned, dragging him down for another kiss while thrusting up toward him. She was puffy and slick from their earlier activities and craved more. She’d never been so messy.
Blues and greens mixed to create new shades as they pressed their bodies together. Parts of their skin with dried paint stuck together till the sweat from their grinding created a slicker surface. She squirmed underneath him while his erection prodded her pussy, teasing her and enticing more of her juices to leak between them.
She pushed at his shoulders till he made enough room for her to roll over just far enough to gather more paint on her fingers. She dragged the violet shade down his back, purple claw marks left in her wake as he bit at the bare flesh of her neck and collar and rough thumbs pinched more blue paint onto her nipples.
“Oh, fuck me,” she panted at a particularly hard pinch against her nipples. It was agony all over again. Slippery and tense, her body racked with overstimulation, every movement of her breasts against him ached. Every grind of her hips against his inflamed her.
His cock slipped into her moments later. Thicker and longer than his fingers, she still felt a stretch as he entered her. She let out a silent cry as he thrust forward against her tender pussy.
“Gods, you look so pretty this way, baby,” he grunted.
She could barely keep her eyes open as he fucked her against the canvas. Little cries left her lips, but she couldn’t form words. She didn’t feel capable. Her senses were overwhelmed by the smells of paint and sweat and sex, and the feeling of him pressed against her. The mixture of paint and cum against the canvas created a mural all their own. Rich jewel tones of green, blue, and violet, complemented by areas sheered by various body fluids.
“You take me so well. So fucking good for me,” he groaned, head falling forward with another thrust. “Gonna make you cum one more time.”
“Gods, make me cum, Daddy,” she panted, using every bit of her will to string the words together in a coherent sentence.
He rolled them on their sides, never breaking contact with her body. When he stared into her eyes, it felt like he was seeing the real her, which was enough to make her tremble. It was special, now that she wasn’t limiting her sight. She could take in his dark curls with a few grays at the front. Smoky eyes that matched the gray paint she’d smeared across him never left hers while he ground against her. Skin to skin, she dragged her hands over every part of his body she could touch. Down firm sides, across peeling paint, across wet paint, gripping onto muscled thighs while he rocked her through the shakes.
“You ready to cum for me again, love?” Her nails dug into his shoulder as he hiked her leg higher over his hip. Each thrust hit deep within her walls and her stomach was taut as it tensed, preparing for an orgasm she wasn’t sure she’d be able to have.
She was so far gone she barely heard him call her ‘love’ but it replayed itself in her brain as she fell over the edge one more time with him. Shaking, walls trembling in slow, powerful pulls, she sucked him into her.
Love, love, love and he joined her in orgasm. His face twitched, a tremor of soft lips hidden behind his mustache, and he came inside her as she milked every drop from him. They stayed glued together after their finish, be it the sweat or the paint physically sticking them together. Or it could have been her need to never let him go because that might mean ruminating on a pet name said in the heat of the moment.
He touched his forehead to hers, perspiration chilling against her skin, and their breaths syncing in time with another. His hand rubbed up and down her hip while they both worked to catch their breath. They lay there in peace till she felt herself sticking to the canvas, clammy and covered in a rainbow of crinkled paint.
She parted first, peeling herself from Jon, then peeling herself from the canvas. His cum ran down her leg as she crawled to situate herself nearby. She was already a mess, paint and fluids streaking her from head to toe. He sat up next, sounds reminiscent of ripping apart pages of an old magazine that had been stuck together.
“Where are you going to hang it?” She tilted her head, sitting cross-legged on the drop cloth opposite the unstretched canvas.
It was quite the mural now that they were finished. Streaks of deep blues, greens, and violets complemented by soft spots of gray. There were areas where the paint was lighter in color or there were violent splatters of a certain color. Her favorite sections were the ones where the colors had mixed. Blue bleeding into a deeper violet. Green mingling with blue to create shades of turquoise unique in every iteration. All surrounding a smudged print of her damn ass.
He stood, tilting his head to study their creation. “Hmm, my Veterans group was looking for some original work to hang at the center.”
She nodded, pretending to consider the suggestion. “We could give it to Margaery for Christmas.” The perve would probably love it.
“The Red Keep could use some new artwork. They’ve had the same tin beer signs up since I used a fake to get in.” She snorted at the suggestion. Beer signs from before she was born, probably.
“We could have them hang it in the men’s room,” she deadpanned.
He smirked, recalling the hazy night of their meeting. “You’re always telling me my apartment looks like no one lives there. Originally, I had thought above the couch.”
She snickered, imagining his family visiting and seeing the erotic results of their depraved ideas mixed together. Would they know what provided texture to the canvas? What created each carefully smeared combination of colors? Surely, they would know whose ass he had mounted on the walls of his living room.
“You’re depraved.” She leaned her head against his leg, face sticking against a turquoise splotch.
“Aye,” he shrugged, reaching down to smooth her rumpled ponytail. “But you are too.”
Love, love, love, she didn’t think she’d meet anyone else that she would want to enter and explore the depths of her depravity with. And she was far from done coaxing out the darkest desires of his own depravity. But weren’t their shared sins the definition of lust?
She closed her eyes, melting further against Jon’s paint-splattered leg while he pet her scalp, short fingernails catching on spots of paint crusted into her blonde hair. She exhaled deeply, sated and bone-weary, consumed by the smells of rubber, their union, and the distinct woodsy scent of Jon. Love, love, love, maybe it was this part?