Brush Strokes
This part is really, honestly, not safe for work. Or an area where kids may be. It's...you know...dirty....
I slid the key to my temporary apartment/ studio into the lock and led Louis inside. I set my bag down and studied his stride as he walked around the living space, observing the widows and lighting, the furniture, and my easel which supported a work in progress. I walked over to him and looked at the painting with him. He took a breath and said, “You are very good.”
I blushed again and looked at him. His eyes were on mine, and suddenly, I couldn’t think of anything coherent to say. This man was stirring things inside me that had never been touched before, and to be quite honest, I didn’t think I liked it.
He drew his breath again and backed off slightly, giving space between our tensing bodies. “So… what did you have in mind for me?” he asked, glancing over my head to avoid my eyes.
I shook my head and cleared my throat, then said, “Well, um…” and picked up a sketch pad and pencil. I drew his outline and spoke as my pencil stroked the paper with purpose, “I have several ideas… here’s a vague one…” outstretching the pad to him.
He took it from me and looked at it carefully. “I’m dressed,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
I laughed and said, “What made you think you’d be undressed?”
He grinned sheepishly, replying, “I don’t know… I just figured all models were naked these days.”
“Pfft. Not mine. I don’t really like looking at naked people, and I know you personally, so I think that would be somewhat… uncomfortable.”
“Oh. Ok,” he said, shrugging.
“I just… need to get a decent sketch started. Could you go over by the window? I’ll get you a book or something so you’re not bored.”
“Sure,” he answered, walking over to the window and sitting in the chair. I looked through the mess on the coffee table, trying to find something other than Maggie’s fashion magazines, and finally fumbled my way to a book of short stories.
“Um…” I said, turning to him, “All I have is a book of short stories; it’s mine, so it’s not romance or anything like that…”
He smiled and reached a hand for the book. “What are they, then?” he asked interestedly.
“Just a generic horror collection,” I said, handing him the book.
“Ok,” he said, and rested back against the chair.
I took a seat on the floor with my pad and paper. This angle of him made him seem larger than me, but he still kept the sweet gentility about him, making the overall picture one of comfort and beauty. He had such a natural way about him; I was still waiting for flaws as I worked, my eyes flickering from the paper to the curves of his face, the easy rise and fall of his chest, down his arms, all the way to his feet. After about 20 minutes, I stood. He raised his head and smiled again. “Is now the naked part?”
I rolled my eyes and laughed, answering, “No, it’s not. I’m just moving and getting the paints together. Keep your shirt on, jeez.”
He chuckled and went back to reading as I got a fresh canvas and pulled my paints together. I sat down at the easel and placed the brush to the canvas, dabbing on the first shade of his skin. He sat patiently for a while, and I realized he wasn’t looking around or moving at all. I giggled and said, “You can move, you don’t have to be a statue.”
He breathed a sigh of relief and started fidgeting a bit, crossing his legs and staring out the window from time to time. I worked quietly, capturing the shadows playing across his face, the light shimmering off his hair, the wrinkles of his shirt… I couldn’t help but remember that it was situations like this that got me into painting in the first place. I got to stare at men’s bodies for hours on end, and no one thought I was strange. It was, after all, done in the name of art. And what normal man didn’t want to be immortalized in some way? But after years of studying the human form, I’d seen many different types and I had become somewhat jaded of the body. I hadn’t painted a body in months; no body I’d run across had interested me. Louis, however, definitely did interest me, and the more paint I dabbed on the canvas, the more interesting it was becoming to me. I couldn’t help but imagine what was under his t-shirt, I wanted to see the way his lower back curved into his ass, I could picture what his cock would look like at full mast; oh, fuck, I’d just made myself wet with my lusty thoughts.
I took a deep breath and shook my head to clear it. I’d almost forgotten that Louis was sitting there while I was painting and daydreaming; my attention was drawn back to him when his voice cut through my mind with a concerned, “You are alright, zoet?”
I snapped my eyes up to his and smiled lightly. “I’m fine. Are you?” I asked, trying to keep my racing pulse out of my voice.
He flashed a smile at me and stood up, setting the book aside and walking over to me. “Can I see?” he asked, waiting for permission. It was very polite of him, and I appreciated that. I nodded my head and shifted so he could walk around the easel and look at what I’d done in the hour and a half he’d been sitting there.
He stood there, inspecting the painting scrupulously. I watched his face; his eyes narrowed and he tilted his head slightly, and I catalogued that expression for future sketches.
He looked up finally and smiled brightly. “It’s wonderful,” he said, then screwed up his face in confused thought, “Wait; does that make me conceited?”
I laughed and answered, “Depends. Is it you that you’re finding wonderful, or the painting?”
“The painting, definitely,” he said with a grin on his lips.
I blushed and glanced away, but Louis did something I didn’t expect. He raised his hand to my face and turned it back to his. He licked his lips and leaned down to me, covering my mouth with his. My lips tingled at his softness, and my body responded hotly, leaning into him and standing. I don’t know how I stood- my knees felt like jello and I couldn’t feel my feet, but I stood and I pressed our bodies closer, reaching up to his hair and deepening the kiss.
He pulled away from me and looked down into my eyes, licking his lips. His thumb brushed across my cheek and I nuzzled into his palm, locking my gaze on his. He took a deep breath and stepped back, dropping his hands and avoiding my eyes again.
“So,” he said abruptly, “Should I sit back down and continue?”
My head was still spinning, I could still taste him on my lips; there was no way I was going to be able to work now. I made a snap decision and shook my head. I stepped over to him and wound my arms around his waist and pulled him down to me for another hungry kiss. I’ve never been the proactive one when it came to sex and this was all new to me, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed him.
Judging by his reaction, he needed me, too. He pulled me closer to him and tangled his hands in the ends of my hair, tugging gently to turn my face to his more. I felt the heat flushing between my legs, followed by the inevitable wetness in my panties. He pulled away and looked at me, and I could see question in his eyes before he said, “Am I supposed to be straight forward here, too?”
I nodded, too breathless to say anything, and he responded, “I want you to paint me nude.”
I could only stare at him for a minute before I was able to get my bearings, then I ripped his t-shirt off and unbuckled his pants. I heard him groan quietly when his pants fell away and I could see his erection straining against his underwear. I looked up at him again while I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his shorts and slid them down his hips and over his turgid member. Keeping his gaze locked, I kneeled down and took him in my mouth. He inhaled sharply and his eyes closed in pleasure while my tongue licked and lapped at his cock, my hands traveling over his body to cup his ass then back down his legs and spread his thighs. My fingertips grazed his balls and I watched his head fall back. I slid my fingers back toward his hole and he gasped, his hands grabbing my hair. I continued the swirling of my tongue along his shaft, eliciting pleasured moans from him. I watched his face as I pleasured him, I delighted in his ragged breathing, I inhaled the scent of him, salty and masculine. His hands fisted tightly in my hair and I felt his muscles tense. His eyes closed as the waves of his pleasure washed through him, making him even more beautiful, standing there in his natural beauty. His essence shot through my mouth and I swallowed him down, lapping greedily at everything he gave me. And still, I wanted more.
I pulled my mouth away from his member and looked up at him. His eyes caught mine, and I was taken aback at the dark lust and unfulfilled need that filled them. He smiled slightly at me and pulled me to my feet. He held me close to him, panting heavily, then worked my shirt up over my head and kissed me roughly. He ran his hands over my skin, sending waves of sensation over me. He reached around and unhooked my bra and made fiery trails with his lips down to my breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and making me gasp sharply. I felt him smile against me, and one hand left my body. I opened my eyes to see him grinning down at me half a second before I felt the thick texture of my oil paint and the rough bristles of a brush make contact with my torso. “Since you’re worried about painting me nude, I’m going to help you by painting you nude,” he mumbled, running the brush across my belly. Lust lit my eyes and I stumbled back, touching my painting stool and lying down on the floor. He kneeled over me, unzipping my pants and yanking them down with my soaked panties. He tossed them aside and went back to playing the paintbrush across my body. He leaned over me, kissed a spot, then followed the light kiss quickly with a stroke of paint. The feel of the brush traveling over my skin so lightly sent my nerve endings into overdrive, and suddenly I could feel everything, from the thickness of the paint to Louis’ light breaths over me. I couldn’t hold my eyes open; the pleasure was too great. Every stroke was preceeded with a touch of lips to skin, moving southward to my sex. He swiped the brush over my thigh, circling around my sensitive spots, and I felt the handle of the brush sliding over my clit, parting my folds, then sliding inside me. I gasped; having the brush use me was a very new sensation. I heard Louis chuckle, then felt the handle slide from my body. I opened my eyes, panting harshly, silently begging him to touch me, kiss me... I needed him to do something; I felt on the point of explosion and his teases were thinning my patience. Licking his lips slowly, he nodded, then ducked his head between my legs and his tongue made contact with my clit. I cried out mindlessly, all of my coherent thought had fled my mind and I could only feel his rough tongue against my sex. My back arched off the floor and I grabbed his hair, forcing his face closer, smothering his breaths with my sex and wetness. His response was to shove his tongue inside me, licking my inside walls and the tip of his tongue finding my sweet spot.
"Louis!" I gasped, my legs tensing, trapping his head.
He hummed into me, vibrating my insides and shocking me into orgasm. I bucked against him, writhing wildly, riding the waves of ecstasy coursing through me. His fingers pinched my thighs as his tongue continued inside of me until I was breathless and pulling away from him before his ministrations turned painful. His eyes flew to mine, questioning,
"I...just...whoa," I said, trying to catch my breath. He smiled shyly and sat up, his gaze locked on mine for an instant, then traveling down my body. I'd yet to fully see Louis; though we'd been without clothes for a while, I hadn't had the opportunity to look him over. I was surprised to find long scars and what looked like burns in his skin, random patterns of a harsh life hidden under his clothes. My eyes widened and I sat up to trail my fingers along his skin, but as I reached for him, he grabbed my wrist in his and said, "Don't..."
I looked up to him, curiosity and concern in my eyes, and he smiled slightly again as he raised my fingers to his lips. "We...don't...need... to talk about that right now," he said, punctuating each word with a kiss to my fingertips, "Right now, we need to get me inside you."
I felt my lubrication pooling again on the floor, then became aware of the hidden request in his words. Quickly, I stood, pulling him with me. "Oh, the bed! It's in here," I said, motioning to the bedroom.
He stood and walked closely behind me, and closed the bedroom door behind him. He caught me by the arm, pulling me back to him firmly and planting his lips on mine. His arms wound around my waist and held me to him, his length rubbing against my thigh, hardening again. He moaned, then whispered, "Jacqueline..."
I turned in his arms and pressed our lips together. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled my legs around him, walking to the bed. I felt the bed under me, Louis pressing hotly on top of me. His lips crashed against mine, his tongue searching along mine. His hands traced along my painted sides. His hips turned just a bit, nudging my legs open wider. A sharp gasp escaped me as his cock grazed the inside of my thigh and up, brushing against my clit. Louis chuckled lightly and pushed half an inch, rubbing me again. I couldn't stop the scream of pleasure.
His lips moved down to my neck, leaving a tingling trail in their wake. I wrapped my legs around him, begging for him, needing him.
"Can I..." he started.
"Yes!" I replied enthusiastically, and heard his light chuckle again.
He sat up and gripped my hips. He stared into my eyes as he lifted me lightly and placed the tip of his cock at the opening between my legs. I reached around him, placing both my hands on his tight ass, and pushed emphatically, shoving him inside me. His eyes opened wide, his mouth slackened, then his eyes closed. "Please, Louis, please move," I begged breathlessly, desperately needing to feel the friction of our movements.
Slowly, he began to push himself in further, his hands grazing gently over my hips, my torso, my breasts, and back down. I arched my back, filled with the pleasure of his size inside me, my fingers tangling in the sheets beneath me. I could barely register his moans, his voice mumbling my name as he sped his thrusts, hitting deeper and deeper inside me; my breaths were getting shorter and more rapid with each thrust, my pleasure rising, coming to a peak. My hands flew to grip Louis' arms, my fingers gripping tightly as I cried his name with the wave of pleasure washing from my head through my toes.
I felt him thrust harder, then pause, his face contorted in rapture, his hand pulling my hips closer to his. With a final grunt, he fell over me, his head burying in my hair while we caught our breath.
"Wow, Jacqueline...that was..." he said, kissing the side of my head, my neck.
I smiled, then looked down where my hands still gripped his forearms. Little half-moon indentations had left their marks where my fingernails dug in at the height of my pleasure. I sighed with another smile.
"Yeah, it was," I said.
He leaned up, readjusting himself to rest on his elbows so he could look at me. His eyes were sated, his grin lazy. "Sorry I interrupted your painting."
"I'm sorry I pinched you."
He drew his eyebrows in. "Pinched me?"
I motioned to his arms, where the marks I had left were already starting to fade. "Oh. Well, they're not bad. A reminder that I was here," he said with a laugh.
He looked back into my eyes again, the amusement returning to his face. "You are a very eager individual."
I blushed, thinking of the way I begged and shoved...then I grinned. "Totally worth it. You were going too slow."
He laughed wholeheartedly, a sound that was thoroughly happy, a sound that made me grin wider. He leaned over to my side and collapsed on the bed, pulling his arms around me and hugging me tightly to his naked and delectable body. "Does this count as billable hours?" he asked teasingly.
"Ha! I wasn't aware the original arrangement was a paid one," I answered, poking him in his side. The skin beneath my fingers was rough, rougher than skin should be, and I looked down to see one of several burn scars on his ribs. I looked closer and saw the fine lines of scarred cuts, healed long ago, but stretching over his torso, and crisscrossing the tops of his arms. I could barely control the gasp I could feel in my lungs, but I couldn't keep the curiosity from my face. I looked up, questions forming in my mind, but stopping myself from asking them when I saw the look in his eyes.
I took a breath and said, "Wanna go again?" as I climbed over him, rubbing his spent cock on the softness between my legs.
****************************
Finally. Sheesh. BTW, I hate where they put the spell check button.
I slid the key to my temporary apartment/ studio into the lock and led Louis inside. I set my bag down and studied his stride as he walked around the living space, observing the widows and lighting, the furniture, and my easel which supported a work in progress. I walked over to him and looked at the painting with him. He took a breath and said, “You are very good.”
I blushed again and looked at him. His eyes were on mine, and suddenly, I couldn’t think of anything coherent to say. This man was stirring things inside me that had never been touched before, and to be quite honest, I didn’t think I liked it.
He drew his breath again and backed off slightly, giving space between our tensing bodies. “So… what did you have in mind for me?” he asked, glancing over my head to avoid my eyes.
I shook my head and cleared my throat, then said, “Well, um…” and picked up a sketch pad and pencil. I drew his outline and spoke as my pencil stroked the paper with purpose, “I have several ideas… here’s a vague one…” outstretching the pad to him.
He took it from me and looked at it carefully. “I’m dressed,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
I laughed and said, “What made you think you’d be undressed?”
He grinned sheepishly, replying, “I don’t know… I just figured all models were naked these days.”
“Pfft. Not mine. I don’t really like looking at naked people, and I know you personally, so I think that would be somewhat… uncomfortable.”
“Oh. Ok,” he said, shrugging.
“I just… need to get a decent sketch started. Could you go over by the window? I’ll get you a book or something so you’re not bored.”
“Sure,” he answered, walking over to the window and sitting in the chair. I looked through the mess on the coffee table, trying to find something other than Maggie’s fashion magazines, and finally fumbled my way to a book of short stories.
“Um…” I said, turning to him, “All I have is a book of short stories; it’s mine, so it’s not romance or anything like that…”
He smiled and reached a hand for the book. “What are they, then?” he asked interestedly.
“Just a generic horror collection,” I said, handing him the book.
“Ok,” he said, and rested back against the chair.
I took a seat on the floor with my pad and paper. This angle of him made him seem larger than me, but he still kept the sweet gentility about him, making the overall picture one of comfort and beauty. He had such a natural way about him; I was still waiting for flaws as I worked, my eyes flickering from the paper to the curves of his face, the easy rise and fall of his chest, down his arms, all the way to his feet. After about 20 minutes, I stood. He raised his head and smiled again. “Is now the naked part?”
I rolled my eyes and laughed, answering, “No, it’s not. I’m just moving and getting the paints together. Keep your shirt on, jeez.”
He chuckled and went back to reading as I got a fresh canvas and pulled my paints together. I sat down at the easel and placed the brush to the canvas, dabbing on the first shade of his skin. He sat patiently for a while, and I realized he wasn’t looking around or moving at all. I giggled and said, “You can move, you don’t have to be a statue.”
He breathed a sigh of relief and started fidgeting a bit, crossing his legs and staring out the window from time to time. I worked quietly, capturing the shadows playing across his face, the light shimmering off his hair, the wrinkles of his shirt… I couldn’t help but remember that it was situations like this that got me into painting in the first place. I got to stare at men’s bodies for hours on end, and no one thought I was strange. It was, after all, done in the name of art. And what normal man didn’t want to be immortalized in some way? But after years of studying the human form, I’d seen many different types and I had become somewhat jaded of the body. I hadn’t painted a body in months; no body I’d run across had interested me. Louis, however, definitely did interest me, and the more paint I dabbed on the canvas, the more interesting it was becoming to me. I couldn’t help but imagine what was under his t-shirt, I wanted to see the way his lower back curved into his ass, I could picture what his cock would look like at full mast; oh, fuck, I’d just made myself wet with my lusty thoughts.
I took a deep breath and shook my head to clear it. I’d almost forgotten that Louis was sitting there while I was painting and daydreaming; my attention was drawn back to him when his voice cut through my mind with a concerned, “You are alright, zoet?”
I snapped my eyes up to his and smiled lightly. “I’m fine. Are you?” I asked, trying to keep my racing pulse out of my voice.
He flashed a smile at me and stood up, setting the book aside and walking over to me. “Can I see?” he asked, waiting for permission. It was very polite of him, and I appreciated that. I nodded my head and shifted so he could walk around the easel and look at what I’d done in the hour and a half he’d been sitting there.
He stood there, inspecting the painting scrupulously. I watched his face; his eyes narrowed and he tilted his head slightly, and I catalogued that expression for future sketches.
He looked up finally and smiled brightly. “It’s wonderful,” he said, then screwed up his face in confused thought, “Wait; does that make me conceited?”
I laughed and answered, “Depends. Is it you that you’re finding wonderful, or the painting?”
“The painting, definitely,” he said with a grin on his lips.
I blushed and glanced away, but Louis did something I didn’t expect. He raised his hand to my face and turned it back to his. He licked his lips and leaned down to me, covering my mouth with his. My lips tingled at his softness, and my body responded hotly, leaning into him and standing. I don’t know how I stood- my knees felt like jello and I couldn’t feel my feet, but I stood and I pressed our bodies closer, reaching up to his hair and deepening the kiss.
He pulled away from me and looked down into my eyes, licking his lips. His thumb brushed across my cheek and I nuzzled into his palm, locking my gaze on his. He took a deep breath and stepped back, dropping his hands and avoiding my eyes again.
“So,” he said abruptly, “Should I sit back down and continue?”
My head was still spinning, I could still taste him on my lips; there was no way I was going to be able to work now. I made a snap decision and shook my head. I stepped over to him and wound my arms around his waist and pulled him down to me for another hungry kiss. I’ve never been the proactive one when it came to sex and this was all new to me, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed him.
Judging by his reaction, he needed me, too. He pulled me closer to him and tangled his hands in the ends of my hair, tugging gently to turn my face to his more. I felt the heat flushing between my legs, followed by the inevitable wetness in my panties. He pulled away and looked at me, and I could see question in his eyes before he said, “Am I supposed to be straight forward here, too?”
I nodded, too breathless to say anything, and he responded, “I want you to paint me nude.”
I could only stare at him for a minute before I was able to get my bearings, then I ripped his t-shirt off and unbuckled his pants. I heard him groan quietly when his pants fell away and I could see his erection straining against his underwear. I looked up at him again while I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his shorts and slid them down his hips and over his turgid member. Keeping his gaze locked, I kneeled down and took him in my mouth. He inhaled sharply and his eyes closed in pleasure while my tongue licked and lapped at his cock, my hands traveling over his body to cup his ass then back down his legs and spread his thighs. My fingertips grazed his balls and I watched his head fall back. I slid my fingers back toward his hole and he gasped, his hands grabbing my hair. I continued the swirling of my tongue along his shaft, eliciting pleasured moans from him. I watched his face as I pleasured him, I delighted in his ragged breathing, I inhaled the scent of him, salty and masculine. His hands fisted tightly in my hair and I felt his muscles tense. His eyes closed as the waves of his pleasure washed through him, making him even more beautiful, standing there in his natural beauty. His essence shot through my mouth and I swallowed him down, lapping greedily at everything he gave me. And still, I wanted more.
I pulled my mouth away from his member and looked up at him. His eyes caught mine, and I was taken aback at the dark lust and unfulfilled need that filled them. He smiled slightly at me and pulled me to my feet. He held me close to him, panting heavily, then worked my shirt up over my head and kissed me roughly. He ran his hands over my skin, sending waves of sensation over me. He reached around and unhooked my bra and made fiery trails with his lips down to my breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and making me gasp sharply. I felt him smile against me, and one hand left my body. I opened my eyes to see him grinning down at me half a second before I felt the thick texture of my oil paint and the rough bristles of a brush make contact with my torso. “Since you’re worried about painting me nude, I’m going to help you by painting you nude,” he mumbled, running the brush across my belly. Lust lit my eyes and I stumbled back, touching my painting stool and lying down on the floor. He kneeled over me, unzipping my pants and yanking them down with my soaked panties. He tossed them aside and went back to playing the paintbrush across my body. He leaned over me, kissed a spot, then followed the light kiss quickly with a stroke of paint. The feel of the brush traveling over my skin so lightly sent my nerve endings into overdrive, and suddenly I could feel everything, from the thickness of the paint to Louis’ light breaths over me. I couldn’t hold my eyes open; the pleasure was too great. Every stroke was preceeded with a touch of lips to skin, moving southward to my sex. He swiped the brush over my thigh, circling around my sensitive spots, and I felt the handle of the brush sliding over my clit, parting my folds, then sliding inside me. I gasped; having the brush use me was a very new sensation. I heard Louis chuckle, then felt the handle slide from my body. I opened my eyes, panting harshly, silently begging him to touch me, kiss me... I needed him to do something; I felt on the point of explosion and his teases were thinning my patience. Licking his lips slowly, he nodded, then ducked his head between my legs and his tongue made contact with my clit. I cried out mindlessly, all of my coherent thought had fled my mind and I could only feel his rough tongue against my sex. My back arched off the floor and I grabbed his hair, forcing his face closer, smothering his breaths with my sex and wetness. His response was to shove his tongue inside me, licking my inside walls and the tip of his tongue finding my sweet spot.
"Louis!" I gasped, my legs tensing, trapping his head.
He hummed into me, vibrating my insides and shocking me into orgasm. I bucked against him, writhing wildly, riding the waves of ecstasy coursing through me. His fingers pinched my thighs as his tongue continued inside of me until I was breathless and pulling away from him before his ministrations turned painful. His eyes flew to mine, questioning,
"I...just...whoa," I said, trying to catch my breath. He smiled shyly and sat up, his gaze locked on mine for an instant, then traveling down my body. I'd yet to fully see Louis; though we'd been without clothes for a while, I hadn't had the opportunity to look him over. I was surprised to find long scars and what looked like burns in his skin, random patterns of a harsh life hidden under his clothes. My eyes widened and I sat up to trail my fingers along his skin, but as I reached for him, he grabbed my wrist in his and said, "Don't..."
I looked up to him, curiosity and concern in my eyes, and he smiled slightly again as he raised my fingers to his lips. "We...don't...need... to talk about that right now," he said, punctuating each word with a kiss to my fingertips, "Right now, we need to get me inside you."
I felt my lubrication pooling again on the floor, then became aware of the hidden request in his words. Quickly, I stood, pulling him with me. "Oh, the bed! It's in here," I said, motioning to the bedroom.
He stood and walked closely behind me, and closed the bedroom door behind him. He caught me by the arm, pulling me back to him firmly and planting his lips on mine. His arms wound around my waist and held me to him, his length rubbing against my thigh, hardening again. He moaned, then whispered, "Jacqueline..."
I turned in his arms and pressed our lips together. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled my legs around him, walking to the bed. I felt the bed under me, Louis pressing hotly on top of me. His lips crashed against mine, his tongue searching along mine. His hands traced along my painted sides. His hips turned just a bit, nudging my legs open wider. A sharp gasp escaped me as his cock grazed the inside of my thigh and up, brushing against my clit. Louis chuckled lightly and pushed half an inch, rubbing me again. I couldn't stop the scream of pleasure.
His lips moved down to my neck, leaving a tingling trail in their wake. I wrapped my legs around him, begging for him, needing him.
"Can I..." he started.
"Yes!" I replied enthusiastically, and heard his light chuckle again.
He sat up and gripped my hips. He stared into my eyes as he lifted me lightly and placed the tip of his cock at the opening between my legs. I reached around him, placing both my hands on his tight ass, and pushed emphatically, shoving him inside me. His eyes opened wide, his mouth slackened, then his eyes closed. "Please, Louis, please move," I begged breathlessly, desperately needing to feel the friction of our movements.
Slowly, he began to push himself in further, his hands grazing gently over my hips, my torso, my breasts, and back down. I arched my back, filled with the pleasure of his size inside me, my fingers tangling in the sheets beneath me. I could barely register his moans, his voice mumbling my name as he sped his thrusts, hitting deeper and deeper inside me; my breaths were getting shorter and more rapid with each thrust, my pleasure rising, coming to a peak. My hands flew to grip Louis' arms, my fingers gripping tightly as I cried his name with the wave of pleasure washing from my head through my toes.
I felt him thrust harder, then pause, his face contorted in rapture, his hand pulling my hips closer to his. With a final grunt, he fell over me, his head burying in my hair while we caught our breath.
"Wow, Jacqueline...that was..." he said, kissing the side of my head, my neck.
I smiled, then looked down where my hands still gripped his forearms. Little half-moon indentations had left their marks where my fingernails dug in at the height of my pleasure. I sighed with another smile.
"Yeah, it was," I said.
He leaned up, readjusting himself to rest on his elbows so he could look at me. His eyes were sated, his grin lazy. "Sorry I interrupted your painting."
"I'm sorry I pinched you."
He drew his eyebrows in. "Pinched me?"
I motioned to his arms, where the marks I had left were already starting to fade. "Oh. Well, they're not bad. A reminder that I was here," he said with a laugh.
He looked back into my eyes again, the amusement returning to his face. "You are a very eager individual."
I blushed, thinking of the way I begged and shoved...then I grinned. "Totally worth it. You were going too slow."
He laughed wholeheartedly, a sound that was thoroughly happy, a sound that made me grin wider. He leaned over to my side and collapsed on the bed, pulling his arms around me and hugging me tightly to his naked and delectable body. "Does this count as billable hours?" he asked teasingly.
"Ha! I wasn't aware the original arrangement was a paid one," I answered, poking him in his side. The skin beneath my fingers was rough, rougher than skin should be, and I looked down to see one of several burn scars on his ribs. I looked closer and saw the fine lines of scarred cuts, healed long ago, but stretching over his torso, and crisscrossing the tops of his arms. I could barely control the gasp I could feel in my lungs, but I couldn't keep the curiosity from my face. I looked up, questions forming in my mind, but stopping myself from asking them when I saw the look in his eyes.
I took a breath and said, "Wanna go again?" as I climbed over him, rubbing his spent cock on the softness between my legs.
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Finally. Sheesh. BTW, I hate where they put the spell check button.