Chapter 10 #2
His hand slips from under my chin to the base of my neck, holding me there, not forcefully, not possessively, but with the steady confidence of a man who’s studied every angle of me, sketched every curve, and is now ready to explore the real thing.
His lips meet mine again, firmer now. Hungrier.
I feel the shift. From tenderness to urgency.
From admiration to possession. My dress is already gone, somewhere on the floor.
His fingers dip at the back of my bra, unclasping it, baring me completely to him.
The air is cool. My skin is hot. The contrast has me aching.
He leans back just enough to look at me. Really look. His hands trail over my ribs like he's cataloging me. Not in a way that makes me feel exposed, but worshipped. Remembered. One palm curves under my breast, lifting it slightly, thumb brushing across my nipple until it’s drawn tight and peaked.
“Yeah,” he breathes, almost reverently. “This is exactly how I’ll draw you.”
A bolt of need sparks through me.
I arch into his touch, legs parting on instinct, even though he hasn’t moved lower yet. His mouth returns to my neck, kissing his way down the slope of it and sucking just below my ear. The moan that escapes me is desperate. I clutch at his shirt, wanting to explore him as he is me.
He sinks to his knees in front of me, and now it’s me who’s breathless.
There’s something deeply decadent about watching a man that beautiful on his knees, framed by morning sunlight and smudged canvases, pushing his face into the soft silk of my panties.
He drags them down slowly. Licks his lips like he’s about to taste the rarest dessert.
“You’ve got no idea,” he murmurs, fingers teasing up my thighs. “How many times have I imagined this?”
Then he’s on me.
Tongue, lips, fingers.
Everywhere at once.
My hand flies to the edge of a nearby drafting table, gripping hard as the first flick of his tongue makes my legs tremble. The control I always possess is gone. Snapped as he laps at my lower lip.
A man starved.
“Oh, yes.”
My fingers move into his hair, dragging his face closer. Grinding into that carefree smile he always wears. I melt under the heat of his mouth and the unbearable rhythm he sets. He has a reputation. Everyone knows it. But damn if his skills aren’t elite.
I lean back, letting the hard table edge press into my butt when I widen my legs.
Giving him everything he wants and needs to finish me off.
He groans in satisfaction. His hand splays on my pelvic bone, pulling at the hood.
With nowhere to escape to, the intensity increases.
My grinding as well. He’s relentless. Sucking and licking.
Vibrating my clit with his groans and moans.
Two fingers slip past my drenched lips, curling inside me with such accuracy that I jolt when he finds that perfect spot. They stroke in flawless timing to his mouth. His eyes flicker up to mine, appreciation and full on lust in them. But it’s too much, too intense to think about.
My head lolls back. My eyes close. He’s tearing me apart. Slowly, sensually, and expertly.
His mouth, tongue, teeth, and fingers are a prayer and a curse. My orgasm builds with each lick and thrust. His shoulder presses into my thigh, demanding more room. I give it, spreading myself as wide as I can while still standing upright.
My focus narrows to him, everything he’s doing to draw me out.
Closer to him. My grip on his hair loosens when he bites my clit, sending me spinning into an orgasmic free fall.
My body slacks, sagging deeper onto his fingers and elevating my climactic bliss.
He doesn’t stop. Forces more and more from me in an impossible long release.
Longer than I can ever remember having. I fall to my elbows, the old wood creaking under my weight, until I’m boneless.
Unable and unwilling to stop the flood of wetness coming from me.
“Hollister.”
It’s a breath, not a word.
His mouth stills.
When I finally open my eyes again, he’s standing.
Fingers dragging from me. A string of cum glistens in the sunlight as it breaks between us.
He intentionally raises his hand to his mouth, licking and savoring each finger.
It’s the hottest thing I’ve seen in years.
The hungry look in his eyes says he’s not even close to done with me.
“Stay just like that. I want to remember exactly how you look. The flush of your cheeks. The hardness of your nipples. That pretty pink pussy, wet and waiting.”
He’s making love to my ears as much as he’s about to do to me. I’ll never regret this. Whatever happens. Come what may, I’ll never regret this weekend with him. I know that in my soul.
“Come here.”
It’s not a request. It’s a summons. It is a need for more.
To not be his muse, but to be his lover in every sense of the word.
His grin could split the sky. Then he’s lifting me, laying me flat on the wide old table.
Sunlight cuts through the wall of windows facing the sea.
The light casts gold across my body as I bend my leg.
My foot is flat on the wood to stabilize myself while the other dangles off the edge.
“Holy mother of sin.”
He shakes his head and licks his lips. I feel like a goddess. Worshipped and wanted. It’s a boost to my ego and self-esteem. A memory that will live forever in my mind and soul when I walk into the next charity event or gala, questioning my existence.
“I’d paint you right now if I could. Photograph you for sure, if you’d let me.”
His words startle me. He’s already sketched me in my gown, but nude like this? Not a chance.
“Another time. Now don’t make me beg, Hollister.”
“Fuck.”
He groans, practically ripping off his clothes.
His tattoos are a sight to behold. A canvas of flowers decorating his wrist and climbing up his arm, intersecting with the image of a female face from Roman times, if I’m guessing correctly.
On the other arm, an antique clock face leads to a landscape of an old town, all in grayscale, with endless meanings, I assume.
The heat between us causes them to glisten with a slight sheen of sweat.
His taut skin spreads over large muscles that dip and spread as fists his cock, long and veiny with a slight curve upward.
Stunning.
His word for me. Yet applicable to him. His chest is bare, either waxed or shaved, but everything about him is a work of art.
He opens a drawer of an antique desk adjacent to the table and pulls out a condom.
Something I hadn’t thought of but appreciate now.
I greedily watch him, my pussy pulsing with anticipation.
Wordlessly, he settles between my thighs, capturing my ankle and moving it to his shoulder, with a brush of his lips against the skin of my calf.
He hesitates for a second. His gaze roams over my body, open and available to him.
I can’t decide if it’s an artist’s eye memorizing my lines again or a man lusting after his lover.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to analyze this. I only want to feel. Feel him inside me. Something I’ve guiltily fantasized about in the nights after we played tennis. After going back and forth, scolding myself for wanting him when he confessed to wanting me.
With one long thrust, he’s pushing in. Past the resistance that lack of sex brings, until he’s fully seated. I shiver with goodness, feeling full and complete in the only way a man can make me feel. He groans and stills. His only movement is the thumb now on my clit, rubbing softly.
“You sure, Barbara?” he asks, voice tight with restraint.
Far too late.
His cock is already inside me. The taste of my cum is already swallowed down his throat. Asking for confirmation should have started way back at that airfield in Boston.
“I’m not sure I can stop if you aren’t.”
He begins to move, slowly in and gently back out.
“It’s a little late to be asking.”
For the first time in years, I stop thinking entirely. I smile, my hand running the length of my body, settling at my nipple.
He continues his slow strokes, deep and long.
Not enough to get me off, but definitely causing my lust to build.
He shakes his head. Eyes glued to where we meet.
Watching himself impale me painfully slow.
I pluck at my nipple, hoping to get him more excited, to speed things up.
It works when his rhythm falters, catching his eyes.
He drags his hand over mine, pulling it away to wet my crest with the cum from stroking my clit.
“I’ll always stop for you.”