Chapter 6
Chapter Six
DOTTIE
I t’s been two days since I’ve painted, but it felt like an eternity.
Once I was showered, I stood in the bathroom wrapped in a towel, wondering where I put my oversized shirt, only to spy one of Damon’s hanging on the back of the door.
My fingers trace over the soft, black material, sliding along the neckline and down to the hem of the shirt. Damon was tall. 6’5 to be exact, so I knew his shirt would swim on me.
Should I wear it? Hell to the fucking no.
Will I wear? Fuck yes, I will.
Shoving it over my head his scent envelops me. It smells so fucking good.
Too fucking good.
Goosebumps pebble my skin, but I do not allow my mind to linger on that. Instead, I exit the bathroom and head to the loungeroom and sit with the glass of wine I poured earlier. Grabbing my phone, I throw myself on the lounge and put on musician mansion on YouTube .
I open our message thread to read the message I hadn’t got to earlier today when Arrie walked in on me.
I wanted to show you what you do to me, but I didn’t want to scare you away either. You are driving me crazy.
I type back.
I’m driving you crazy? Feeling’s mutual, punk.
I’m about to put my phone down when it vibrates in my hand.
You have no idea how bad I want to wrap my mouth around your nipple and tug on that piercing.
My nipples tingle in anticipation.
Oh yeah? Is that all you want to do?
I type, taking another sip of my wine and curling up on the couch.
I want to do so much more to you, Blossom, you have no fucking idea. I have knocked my walls down for you, broken my rules for you, and I think I’ll continue doing so until we meet.
You want to meet me?
When you’re ready, Blossom. For now, yeah for now this will do… But tell me something. What are you wearing ?
Glancing down at Uncle Damon’s shirt wrapped around my body, I find myself feeling like I’m betraying him which is fucking stupid as shit. Gnawing on my lip, I hop up and pour myself another glass of wine before sitting down on the couch.
Positioning his shirt so it’s just covering my naked pussy, I sit the glass between my legs, place one hand on my thigh, while the other snaps a photo. I send it with the caption ‘ thirsty?’
His response is immediate.
Touch yourself.
And if I don’t?
Do it now, Blossom. That’s an order.
The dominance rings loud and clear through the text, and I find myself obeying this faceless man that seems to temper my resolve and push me past my limits. I take another gulp of my drink before dipping my fingers in and letting my legs fall open.
I’m not surprised to find myself saturated and dripping all over Uncle Damon’s couch, but there is a part of me that revels in the fact, even if I’m the only one who will ever know.
My phone vibrates again, and I glance down to see another message from him.
Do you know how to make yourself feel good, Blossom? Would you do that for me, make yourself feel hot and needy?
I don’t bother with a reply but he’s right about one thing. I am hot and needy, and it isn’t only from his video or his words, it’s also because I’m sitting on my step-uncles couch, who I’ve fantasised about since I can remember, wrapped in his shirt, finger-fucking myself.
It’s hot .
Fucking volcanic.
Taboo.
But it only makes my body sing louder. I insert two fingers inside and curl them, my pussy stretching to accommodate them. Then I start moving. My hips grind into my hand, my fingers hooking up and feeling that squidgy spot, while my other volleys between pulling on my nipples and rubbing my clit.
My phone vibrates again.
Show me.
Two words. Two fucking words that have my body bowing off the couch, me rubbing my clit and fucking my pussy with my fingers until I orgasm and squirt all over Damon’s lounge.
I let out a cry, chanting fuck over and over again, before I remove my fingers, fix the shirt and grab my wine. This time, when I snap a picture, I position it a little higher. Not enough for him to see my pussy, but a hint of the landing strip I have there and evidence of my orgasm.
The dots appear immediately, and I find myself climbing again.
I need more.
That orgasm wasn’t nearly enough, and as Damon’s shirt rubs my sensitive nipples, I find myself lying back, spreading my legs and pulling the Satisfyer Pro from beside me.
Inserting the suction cap over my swollen clit, I turn it on and make myself come until I can barely see straight, and I’m too sensitive to come again.
I don’t know when I fell asleep, but when I wake up in the wet spot on Damon’s couch, a bout of embarrassment washes over me, and I groan into the dark room before throwing a towel over the lounge and grab my phone.
What am I going to do with you?
I smirk down at his message before replying with something reckless, border lining stupid and something I undeniably can’t promise him.
Whatever you like.
The next few days go much the same as the first day I started. Busy in the morning, dead in the afternoon, which is perfect for keeping my mind occupied after my visit to my parents, and radio silence from the Tin Man.
So, I’m currently sitting cross legged on the floor of the office, hunched over with my sketchpad in hand, working on a mural for the workshop office. I have a lot of ideas, but none have seemed to stick.
Chewing on the end of my graphite pencil, I ruminate over my recent sketch, until a knock on the door has my head popping up.
Glancing up to see who it is, I find Harry standing in the doorway looking sheepish, or is that nervousness?
Pulling the pencil from my mouth, I offer him a smile and wave him in.
He cups the back of his neck and steps in. He has that cute boy-next-door vibe: clean skin, shaggy hair and bright eyes full of innocence. Not badass at all, which unfortunately means even if he wants to pursue me, it will be fruitless.
“What can I do for you, Harry?” I ask, looking up at him from my spot on the floor.
Harry looks over his shoulder and I do the same, only to find a couple of the young guys trying to be inconspicuous as they watch him, watch us.
I arch a brow.
“Are you busy tonight?” he rushes.
My stomach drops. I try and muster a smile, but from the look on his face I’ve failed.
“Shit. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just not dating?”
“Did you mean that as a question?”
“I’m terrible at this stuff, Harry. I’m not looking for a boyfriend, but if you want to have a couple drinks as friends then no worries. I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.” I close my sketchpad and push off the floor.
“Damn! Way to rip out a bloke’s heart.” He jests, gripping his chest in a show of humour, but I see the hurt flickering in his eyes.
I shrug my shoulders.
“Like I said… I don’t want to lead you on. Not to mention, I’m only visiting and helping my cousin before I head back to Sydney.”
“It’s only four or so hours away.”
He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.
I force a tight smile.
“It is. Still doesn’t change my mind though.”
Harry nods.
I need to tread carefully with him. Something tells me a guy like Harry doesn’t like taking no for an answer when he has his mind set on something .
“I appreciate you being honest, Dottie. Maybe we can have some drinks sometime? Let me know when you’re free if you can’t make it tomorrow.”
He turns his back to me, and I must admit I feel a little bad.
“Harry?”
“Hmm?” he hums, turning around.
“Let me get this sketch sorted, and if I have it finished tomorrow, I’ll come out.”
His sour face morphs into a hopeful one before he waves goodbye.
Shaking my head, I move to the couch in the office and open my sketchpad. Glancing around the space, I try and picture what I could paint here, and then it hits me.
It’s perfect.
Hot Rods.
What car enthusiast and mechanic doesn’t like Hot Rods?
With my mind made up, I get to drawing. This is going to be epic.
It’s eight at night when I finally head upstairs and pour myself a glass of Damon’s whiskey. Grabbing some kabana from the fridge that I picked up the other day, I break it in half and head to the loungeroom where I have a portable easel and paint set up.
I’ve been looking at this blank canvas for days, but after sketching up a rough mural in the office, I’m ready to put paint to this damn canvas and see how it will turn out.
Stripping out of my clothes, I grab Damon’s shirt and slip it on before moving toward the canvas with my whiskey in hand. Crossing my legs, I sit on the couch and bring the easel a little closer so I can start painting.
Pulling the paintbrush from my messy bun, my hair tumbles down my back and I set up so I can begin. I get lost in the painting before me. With each brush stroke, I feel a piece of me meld back together, like a shattered vase that I keep gluing back together every time it breaks.
Three glasses of whiskey later, I’m sitting there looking at my painting with a crooked grin on my face.
It looks spectacular, and each time I move, Damon’s shirt brushes my sensitive nipples.
A wisp of his cologne blows through the apartment from the open window behind me.
I close my eyes, breathing in his scent right as my phone vibrates beside me.
I know who it is before even looking at the screen.
Tin Man.
I want to make him sweat after ghosting me for the past three days, but I’m wound so fucking tight that a flick of a finger could shatter me. My toxic coping mechanisms have been taking hold ever since I agreed to coming back and helping Arrie.
The drinking.
The porn.
The constant masturbating.
Painting until I can’t think or see straight.
Toxic.
But it helps fill the void inside of me, so that’s why I reach over and open his message.
Your last message has left me reeling, Blossom. I haven’t been ignoring you, I just needed some time to process before I did something stupid. Reckless. Something unlike me.
Maybe it’s time you were reckless, Tin Man.
Don’t tempt the devil.
I smirk. I can tell he’s not used to losing control, and for some reason, that really turns me the fuck on. Drinking the last of my whiskey, I lean back on the couch, grab my Satisfyer Pro, and with my paint covered fingers, I spread my pussy lips to play with myself.
I edge myself over and over like the porn movies I’ve watched, knowing that the more I do it, the more intense the orgasm will be when I finally give in and let myself come.
I don’t know how long I play, removing the suction from my clit, only to pinch and pull at my nipples with Damon’s shirt bunched up around my waist, but when my phone vibrates beside me, my needy cunt has other ideas.
Letting out a strangled moan and then a cry, I put the suction back to my clit and turn it up as high as it can go.
Bucking my hips upward to apply more pressure, my eyes roll to the back of my head as I come, and it’s with a keening cry and my body shaking.
Shockwaves pulse throughout, my body jerking as I slow the suction down, until finally turning it off.
I lay back on the couch with my hand still between my thighs and release a satisfied sigh.
That is until I sense someone else is here with me. The hair at the back of my nape stands to attention, my skin breaking out in goosebumps, and this time I know it isn’t from the opened window.
“Dottie? What the fuck is going on here?”