Chapter 60
sixty
I text Rowan a quick “on my way” and jump into my Jeep.
When I get home, I find him standing in the middle of my loft, sexy as sin smirk in place, wearing nothing but one of my painting smocks.
Jars of what look like different colors of paint line the kitchen island counter.
“Hey there, Sunshine.”
A startled laugh leaves my lips. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Filming wrapped for the Lakeside schedule,” he shrugs. “Thought we could celebrate.”
“By painting?” I cross my arms. “You don’t paint.”
He slowly starts stalking my way. “Thought maybe you could help me practice.”
My heart ka-thumps. “I’m… out of canvases.”
He drags his gaze down my body and back up again. “Not… exactly.”
His meaning dawns on me, catching my breath in my throat.
Jeez, Louise, the heat radiating from his hazel eyes could melt glass.
“Ro,” I swallow hard, trying to maintain my usual snark despite the sudden, pooling of heat between my legs. “Are you telling me you bought body paint?”
“Edible body paint,” he corrects, prowling forward. He reaches out, large hands settling firmly on my hips. The rough, paint-stained smock brushes against me, and I can clearly feel the thick, hard ridge of his arousal.
Yep. Definitely naked underneath.
“I figured since I’m always admiring your art,” he murmurs, thumbs tracing the sliver of bare skin where my shirt is riding up, “it’s only fair I get to paint my own masterpiece.”
“Yeah, well. I’ve got some pretty high standards when it comes to art,” I murmur as my hands land on his solid chest, slipping just inside the edges of the smock to touch his smooth, hot skin.
“Good thing I’m a perfectionist.” He dips his head, brushing his lips up my neck to my ear. “Take your clothes off, Sunshine. Let me paint you.”
My pulse hammers a frantic beat in the divot of my throat as I take a few deliberate steps back. “Well,” I say, voice a husky whisper. “If it’s for the sake of art.”
Reaching for the hem of my shirt, I slowly pull it up and over my head, tossing it onto a nearby chair.
Jaw pulsing, Rowan tracks my every move, eyes flashing with wolfish intent. I kick off my shoes and shimmy out of my jeans, leaving myself standing before him in nothing but a scrap of lacy blue underwear.
I saunter over to the kitchen island, swaying my hips just enough to keep his hungry gaze glued to my body.
Scanning the lineup of little jars, I reach for the bright red one. “So you want to play with edible paint, huh?” I ask.
Popping off the lid, I drop it onto the counter with a soft thwack and tilt my head. “Use me as your canvas?”
He slowly stalks a step closer, voice dropping an octave. “Fuck, yes.”
Dipping my index finger into the thick, glossy liquid, I bring it to my lips. Sucking the tip into my mouth, I swirl my tongue, savoring its sweetness. “Mmmm. Strawberry. Not bad.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, pupils dilating as they track me slowly dragging my finger out of my mouth. But before he can make another move, I dip three fingers into the jar and lunge, swiping paint across his smug, sexy mouth.
Rowan freezes, blinking in shock, sticky red paint smeared across his lips and chiseled jaw.
I burst out laughing, dancing just out of reach. “Looks like your face is the canvas now, Hollywood.”
A mischievous smile slides across his face as a low, feral growl vibrates from his chest. “Oh, you are so going to pay for that, Sunshine.”
Lunging forward, he grabs me by my waist.
Letting out a breathless squeal, my hands grip his broad shoulders as he hoists me up onto the kitchen island.
The sound of my laughter bounces off the high ceilings, dying in my throat the second his playful grin vanishes, only to be replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated hunger.
Hazel eyes darken to the color of burnt sugar as he steps flush between the V of my legs. Quirking an eyebrow, he slowly, deliberately, swipes his tongue over the strawberry paint on his bottom lip as his gaze rakes over my naked skin.
“Mmm,” he hums, reaching over to twist the lids off the other two jars. The rich, decadent scent of dark chocolate and sweet strawberry fills the air.
“What. No paintbrush?” I ask, breath catching as I watch him dip two long fingers into one.
“No,” he replies, his voice a dark rumble. “I want to feel, touch and taste every inch of my canvas. And said canvas...” He flattens the palms of my hands against the counter. “...keeps her hands to herself.”
He lifts his coated fingers to my collarbone, drawing a slow, deliberate line of warm chocolate across my skin. The contrast between the coolness of the air, the paint, and the heat of his touch sends a violent shiver down my spine.
His eyelids hood as he traces the swell of my breasts, knuckles brushing over the sensitive peaks, pebbling them into tight, aching buds.
“Ro,” I gasp, gripping the edge of the island.
“Hold still,” he commands softly. He dips his fingers into the strawberry jar next, bringing the bright red paint down the center of my stomach, swirling it around my navel before dragging it dangerously close to the lacy edge of my panties.
My hips buck, seeking the friction of his thick ridge pressed between my thighs. He chuckles, a wicked, knowing sound as he hooks his fingers into the sides, dragging them down my legs and tossing them to the floor.
“Time for the critique,” he whispers.
Dropping to his knees, he palms my thighs, spreading them wide. Mouth on my stomach, his hot, wet tongue licks the swipe of strawberry paint from my skin, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core.
Working his way up, he licks the chocolate off my breasts, teeth grazing over my nipple before sucking it deep into his mouth, all while his hands grip my thighs tight, holding me in place.
Then, gently but firmly, he pushes me back with one hand until I’m lying flat, pinching a nipple as he reaches for the last jar on the counter.
“What flavor is that?” I barely manage to ask, voice weak and breathless.
“Blueberry,” he murmurs.
His eyes gleam wickedly as he drizzles thick, sticky paint over my ribs and stomach. The liquid pools in my belly button before he pours a slow, agonizing line further south. I watch, completely mesmerized, as the vibrant blue trail stops dangerously close to my aching pussy.
“So fucking good,” he whispers reverently.
Leaning over me, using the blistering heat of his mouth, he kisses and licks his way down my quivering stomach, lapping up the sweet blue paint. Every drag of his tongue sends a fresh jolt of electricity straight to my core.
My legs flex, begging him to close what’s left of the distance between us. “Oh my god, Ro. Please,” I moan.
He takes his sweet, agonizing time, savoring me as if I’m a Michelin-star meal, until he finally reaches the apex of my thighs. His large hands grip my hips, anchoring me to the counter as he dives in, swiping his hot, wet tongue through my slick, swollen pussy.
“Fuck!” I shriek, my fingers instantly tangling in his hair.
He hums in response, the deep vibration buzzing over my clit. But he doesn’t stop. His tongue is relentless, lapping sweeping strokes from my entrance back up to my clit before sucking it between his lips.
Growling, he alternates between suckling my sensitive ball of nerves and swirling his tongue with firm, rhythmic pressure, making my vision blur before he plunges two thick fingers deep inside my cunt.
A strangled scream rips from my throat, my back arching as my inner walls instantly clamp around his thick digits.
“Fuck, you’re so perfectly wet for me, Sunshine,” he growls, his voice a filthy, gravelly rumble against my soaking flesh.
He pumps his fingers in and out in brutal thrusts, his thumb resuming its relentless assault on my clit.
“Such a good, needy little canvas. You like how my fingers feel inside your tight little pussy?”
“Yes,” I sob, my heels digging into his lower back as I thrash against his iron grip. My brain is practically melting out of my ears. “Please...”
“Please, what?” he taunts, curling his fingers to drag across that elusive sweet spot, making my entire body convulse in response. “Tell me exactly what you need me to do to you. Tell me how bad you want it.”
The absolute devotion of his mouth between my legs is pushing me dangerously close to the edge as I dig my nails into his scalp, every muscle in my body pulling tight as a bowstring.
“Ro, please,” I whimper, full of raw, desperate need. “I’m on the edge.”
“Tell me.”
“Fuck me,” I beg, my usual snark completely obliterated by the sheer, devastating force of his mouth and hands. “I want your cock. Give it to me.”
“Let go for me first, Sunshine,” he demands, his voice a dark, rough rumble against my soaking wet folds. “Come on my tongue.”
He flicks his tongue hard and fast over my swollen bud, and my entire world shatters.
Screaming his name, my back arches violently as wave after wave of intense, blinding pleasure crashes through me.
My thighs tremble, clamping down around his head, and he takes it all, drinking down my climax with greedy, unapologetic laps of his tongue.
I’m so wet I can actually hear the sound of him pulling his fingers out.
Chest heaving, he rises to his full height as the final aftershocks ripple through me. Lips stained with a combination of blue paint and my cum, he’s looking at me like I’m the only masterpiece he’ll ever see.