Chapter 41
DANIKA
Me: You know how you aren’t a fan of art?
I am positively giddy as I wait for his response.
Tommy: Yeah?
Me: I think I found something that might change your mind.
I can practically see him cringing while reading my text. The dots come and go twice before his reply shows up.
Tommy: What’s that?
Me: Come and see.
I set the phone on the dresser of my studio and stand in the middle of the room.
Tommy had the guest bed taken over to Mom and Gran’s place yesterday, so the room is now officially my studio.
I’ve laid out a heavy-duty drop cloth to cover all the carpet, though my supplies are all still stacked in a corner of the room.
I’ll get it sorted one of these days, but at the moment, I’ve got a much more enjoyable project in mind.
I’m standing in the middle of the room when Tommy rounds the corner. A fire ignites in his eyes the second he sees that I’m not wearing any clothes.
“What do we have here?” He stalks closer.
“I got some new paints I thought you might like to try.” I point my toes toward the set of edible finger paints off to the side.
“I got some brushes out for you, in case you prefer not to use your fingers.” After living with him for the past few weeks, I’ve noticed he washes his hands the second he gets anything on them.
It seems to be more of a texture thing than germ-based, but I haven’t had the opportunity to ask him about it. I figure there’s no rush.
His hungry gaze surveys my body as he circles me like a king touring his lands. “I see you’ve been digging in my things, as well.”
He’s spotted the scrunchie. I used the pink hair tie to secure my red waves in a messy bun on my head. I thought it’d be a fun touch.
“I hate to correct you, but I believe that was mine. And if we’re going to talk about hidden items, you’re welcome to explain the camera in that flower arrangement on the dresser.” My heart thrums with excitement.
Tommy stands behind me close enough that his clothes graze my sensitive skin. The teasing touch sends a wave of need crashing over me. Goose bumps blossom like spring flowers all down my arms and legs.
“You’re being rather belligerent, Mrs. Donati,” he says in a rakish purr close to my ear.
“I suppose that’s what you get for marrying the woman who broke into your house.
” I’m fighting a grin, feeling wickedly clever, when his fingers unexpectedly snake around to pinch my nipples.
Not too hard—the puckered flesh sings with a perfect mix of pleasure and pain that has me clenching my inner muscles in the need for more.
“Close your eyes,” he tells me in a husky whisper.
My lids clamp shut so fast I almost lose my balance. I strain to hear what he’s doing, and before long, he’s back at my side, telling me to sit. He’s placed the old wooden chair I use when I paint behind me. I feel it’s cool, hard seat against the back of my legs and lower myself to sit.
“Now, hands behind your back.”
Here I thought I was running this show, but I was clearly mistaken. Tommy has taken the reins. Ice-cold steel circles my wrists, and I grin at the memory of our night cuffed together.
“Oh, Dani. You are a vision.” His voice circles to my front. “Open your eyes.”
Tommy stands in front of me. He’s removed his shirt and stands in jeans hung low on his hips. My mouth goes dry as the Sahara.
“Spread your legs, little thief. No hiding yourself from me.”
I don’t know what it is about opening myself to him like that, but it makes me feel like a queen.
Like I possess the key to heaven and am gifting my husband with its glory.
I know. It sounds dramatic and maybe a little egomaniacal, but that’s what happens when Tommy’s worshipping gaze sets me high on his altar.
He picks up the red jar of paint and a brush.
Every inch of my skin tingles with the need to be his chosen canvas.
He starts at the base of my neck and paints a line down the middle of my chest all the way to the top of my slit.
I wonder if he’ll stray to my breasts next, but he doesn’t.
He uses the same red to paint lines from my knees up to the apex of my thighs.
Blue paint makes arced lines, tracing my ribs, then lines down my arms.
Every few strokes, he stands back and admires his work.
“You may be onto something. I had no idea art could be so … titillating.”
He drags the brush along the underside of my breast and slowly snakes from one side to the other before circling just outside my nipple, then repeating with the other breast. When he swaps out brushes to use a new color, I’m desperate to know where he’ll paint next.
My nipples are practically singing for his attention.
Thankfully, their chorus does not go unheard. He coats the new brush with yellow paint, then flicks my nipples in short, rapid strokes with the coarse bristles, igniting tiny fireworks of pleasure shooting from my chest to my core. By the time both peaks are bright yellow, I’m writhing with need.
“Tommy, I can’t take much more,” I admit breathlessly.
“You can. You just don’t want to. My wife has a greedy little pussy, doesn’t she?”
I nod, desperate for him to touch me and relieve the relentless ache.
“Greedy but also generous for offering herself as tribute. I suppose my little thief has earned a reward.” He sets down the brush and jar of paint, then gets on his knees before me, almost immediately hoisting my body forward to the edge of the chair until my butt is perched on the edge of the seat.
“Mmm … glistening and so perfectly fuckable.” He begins to feast, covering my entire slit with his mouth and sending my eyes rolling into the back of my head.
“ Yes , Tommy. So good.”
When my body starts to normalize the sensation, his fingers find my painted nipples, plucking and twisting until I swear my body will combust.
“That’s right, beautiful. Come on my face so you’re nice and wet and ready to ride my cock because I’m going to fuck you into next week.” He doubles down his efforts and sends me careening over the edge into an abyss of pleasure.
Tommy uncuffs me and scoops me into his arms. He takes me to the guest bathroom, where he starts the water running.
I’m still half sex drunk when he begins to wash the paint from my body, which does wonders to wake me up in all sorts of ways.
I lather my hands with soap and take my turn rubbing him down.
Up and down, and up and down. I make sure his rock-hard cock is very, very clean.
“Hands on the wall,” he orders coarsely, ending my playtime.
I give him a shy smile and do as he says. Tommy tugs on my hips to angle my butt out, and when I feel the head of his cock tease at my entrance, I lean even farther.
A resounding smack slices through the air as his palm connects with my right butt cheek. I yip at the unexpected sting and peer over my shoulder at him.
“So greedy. I’ll give you my cock when I’m ready.” His domineering words, honeyed with the promise of pleasure, send a wave of arousal dripping from my center.
Maybe that’s exactly what he intended because a heartbeat later, he’s easing himself inside me one thick inch at a time until I’m deliciously stretched to capacity. With my insides already sensitive and swollen from my orgasm, every minuscule movement of his feels incredible.
Tommy’s fingers dig into my hips as he increases his pace. I can’t help but meet him halfway, pushing back in the hunt for more—more pleasure, more friction, more Tommy.
He doesn’t object.
In a matter of minutes, he’s roaring his release. He pulls my body back against his as the sensations ebb, but he keeps his knees bent so that he can stay inside me as long as possible.
“This gave me an idea,” Tommy says, leisurely stroking my arm.
“About what?”
“Art I might like for the apartment.”
“Oh yeah?” I’m intrigued but too foggy with endorphins to connect the dots on my own.
“How would you feel about me commissioning someone to paint you? Not on you, but paint you . Naked.”
I turn in his arms and smile up at him. “You’re willing to let someone stare at my naked body for hours to paint me?”
“Ideally, I’d rather not share you like that, but I can deal with it, so long as it’s a straight woman or a gay man.”
“If you’re game, I think it would be incredible.” Not only would it be an honor, but I love that he’s exploring ways to enjoy something so important to me.
“ You’re incredible, and I can’t imagine a painting I’d love more than one of you.”
“Love you, Tommy.” The words are barely loud enough to hear over the spray of water. I’m so overcome with adoration and gratitude for this amazing man.
“Love you most, little thief.”