Carrie
Genny’s voice traveled up from the door to the attic. Setting down my paint brush, I walked closer to the stairs and hung over the half wall that separated the rest of the room from the staircase.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Genny stood at the bottom of the stairs looking adorably rumpled. We’d had a very sexy shower then fell into my bed for another round. Genny had promptly passed out, exhausted from our hike, but I’d been too keyed up to take a nap. Finally I’d slipped out and came upstairs to paint for a while.
“Can I come up?”
I glanced between the easel that was up in front of the window and the stairs, calculating.
I’d never let anyone see my paintings before, not even my sister.
Not because it sucked. I was pretty good at this.
But my art was personal. Private. I poured my deepest emotions onto the canvas. It made me feel exposed.
And yet, Genny was the woman I loved. She was only here for a short time. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to share this one thing with her?
“Okay, but don’t expect too much.”
She popped up the stairs with the ease of someone who didn’t have forty year old knees, then stopped on the landing, waiting for permission.
“Go ahead and look around.”
The attic was finished, although not very well.
It was flag shaped, one long hallway opening into the square room where the ceilings sloped in on either side.
When I first moved in I’d replaced the tiny original windows with larger ones and had skylights installed to make the room seem light and airy.
Completed paintings were propped up against every wall, some stack three or four high.
Genny started with the closest painting, one that was leaning against the wall close to the stairs. One by one she examined the paintings, shrewd eyes missing nothing. I held my breath, her opinion meaning more to me than I cared to analyze.
“You have a talent for using color,” she said.
I didn’t respond. I just watched her as she slowly circled the room, taking in every painting that I’d done. I’d kept them all. The good. The bad. The ones that I wasn’t quite done with but wasn’t sure how to complete. She studied each like they were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.
“Your work is good,” she said finally, and I knew she meant it. “You should show your work somewhere.”
I shook my head. “My art is just for me.”
“But you give some to your family, right?”
“No.”
She raised her eyebrow in a question that I pretended I didn’t see.
I couldn’t give her an answer. As close as I was to my family, I’d always wanted to keep this to myself.
It wasn’t insecurity. I knew they’d love that I painted and would appreciate that I had at least a modicum of talent.
But I wanted it to be my secret. Well, and Genny’s now.
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” she said softly, still looking through my canvases. “It means a lot.”
Finally she made her way to the easel, her eyes widening as she studied the scene I was working on – two figures reclining on a rock, staring out at the valley below.
“Is this us?” she asked. “From earlier?”
I nodded, unable to trust my voice.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Truly.”
“There’s still a lot of work to do on it.”
“Do it,” she said, but there was something in her voice that made me pause. Something mischievous.
“You want to watch me paint?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
She stood behind me, a little off to the side, and after glancing over my shoulder I picked up my brush and dipped it in some blue paint.
“Will it mess you up if I come closer?” she asked softly.
“No one’s ever watched me paint before,” I said, feeling the tiniest bit vulnerable.
She stepped close enough to me that I could feel the heat of her body against my back. “No one?”
Why did this suddenly feel like a seduction? And why did it suddenly feel so hot in here?
“No.”
She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing close as she rubbed herself against me.
“Don’t stop.”
I dabbed some more paint onto my brush, nearly dropping it when one of her hands slid up to cup my breast.
I tried to concentrate on painting a corner of the sky, but it was hard with her little hand kneading my breast. I could feel my nipple hardening beneath her palm.
Suddenly Genny shifted again.
“Don’t stop,” she repeated, this time with a stern demand in her voice that made me shiver just a little.
Her hands went to my jeans, unbuttoning the top, then sliding my zipper down as I tried to focus on what I was doing.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she whispered. “You keep painting like a good girl, and I’ll reward you with an orgasm.”
I’d never thought of painting as an erotic experience before, but I was wrong. Determined to follow this to the end, I continued painting. My movements stuttered as I felt Genny slide my jeans down to my knees, my panties following.
“Paint.”
I picked up a little bit of white paint to add depth to the sky, painting a wisp of a cloud while Genny slid her fingers in between my lower lips, sliding back and forth, spreading my arousal. When she circled my opening, I stiffened.
“Genny…”
“Paint.”
When I resumed painting she whispered, “Good girl,” and lowered her chin onto my shoulder, watching me work while stroking my pussy almost lazily. If I’d been in my right mind I might have been embarrassed by how I was dripping with arousal, but I was already too far gone to care.
Keeping one arm banded tightly around my waist, she inserted a finger inside me, pumping in and out at a pace that was driving me crazy. And yet I kept working on the sky, muscle memory helping me paint in a way that my frazzled mind would never be able to do.
“Such a beautiful cloud,” she whispered.
She slid a second finger inside me, and in the quiet of the room I could hear just how wet I was. Genny picked up the pace, fucking me harder now, and my hips moved of their own volition, trying to suck her fingers deeper inside me.
She turned her hand slightly, then her thumb was pressing against my clit.
“Oh my God,” I keened.
“Keep going,”
I slid the brush along the edge of the canvas, while Genny thrust her fingers in and out of my body and stroked my clit with her thumb. I could feel little zaps of electricity moving down my spine and my vision turned fuzzy, telling me that I was about to lose control.
“I’m close,” I gasped, smearing the paint a little too thick and immediately smoothing it out.
She tilted her head, using her mouth to slide the fabric of my tank top to the side, then she was kissing my shoulder. My paintbrush stilled, fingers so tight on the handle I was surprised that I didn’t snap the thing right in half.
“Paint.”
I half-heartedly moved the brush, too far gone to pay attention to anything besides the fullness in my core and the sensation of Genny’s fingers working me over.
Then she caught the skin of my shoulder between her teeth, biting down hard enough that I knew she’d leave a mark.
The bite of pain tipped me right over the edge.
“Genny!” I cried, dropping the paint brush and throwing my head back as a powerful orgasm crashed through me.
I shook against her hold, moaning loudly. The only thing that was keeping me upright was her arm around my waist. She continued to tease me with her fingers, finally gentling her touch as I came down with a long sigh, my body still shaking with aftershocks.
My knees gave out and I sank down to the floor, Genny coming with me.
She pressed her fingers against my lips.
“Clean off my fingers,” she ordered. “And taste how delicious your cum is.”
My body jolted and I swear I came again, just a little, as I sucked my arousal off her fingers. It was one of the hottest things that I’d ever experienced.
Turning my head, I met her lips in a kiss that was unbearably sweet. When we pulled away, all I could do was stare at her.
“That was…” I stopped, unsure what words to use.
All I knew was that I’d never look at my painting studio – or this particular painting – the same way again.
“Yeah, it was.”
I scooted around to face her, my pants still tangled around my legs, and lifted my hand to cup her cheek.
Genny leaned against my palm, her gaze tender, and in that moment I knew that she felt the same way that I did.
I didn’t say the words, and neither did she, and maybe that was for the best. It would make it easier for both of us when we had to separate.