His strong hands moved back to my arms, pinning me down. “I told you. Don’t move.”
“Yes, sir,” I shot back, only half-joking. I didn’t want to move. I wanted to be clay in his hands—moving whatever way he wanted me to.
He circled each breast with his lips before kissing down my torso, spreading a wildfire of need wherever he went. No matter how hard I tried to stay still, I couldn’t stop myself from writhing against the cushions. I was so desperate for more and more andmore.
Of course then he gave me just that, and I realized it didn’t help matters any when it came to me staying still. His head dropped between my thighs, and just one long sweep of his tongue across my folds made me feel like I was going to melt into nothingness.
He sucked me in and licked and lapped me up until I really felt like nothing more than a puddle—used-up paint, like what was splattered along my skirt from earlier. He kept going and going until I hit a wall and then burst straight through—exploding against his mouth until everything was blurry and dark, and I was too dizzy to stand or move. He got what he asked for, at least. I was finally limp and incapable of moving, even if I wanted to.
But then I glanced up and saw one very important piece to this puzzle that I had missed before. Everything happened so fast, I had neglected to fully take in the sight of his cock—long, thick, and throbbing. I licked my lips as I reached out for it, smoothing the skin back and forth as he shuddered in my hand.
I tried to murmur something about needing him inside of me, but I was too excited to tell if it ever really came out. Whether it did or not, he knowingly climbed on top of me and hooked his arms under my legs—yanking me into the position he wanted me in.
With one thrust, he filled me up in an exquisite, stretching thrill. I was overcome with a new rush of pleasure, and he wasted no time in pounding into me with a steady rhythm. He moved in and out, hitting me harder each time. All I could do was dig my nails into his skin and lose myself in the sensation.
“Oh god, Dawson,” I whimpered as he thrusted faster, harder.
The scent of him mixed with his groans and grunts sent me over the edge. I was seeing stars again as my body buckled underneath him from the force of a second orgasm ripping through me. The timing was perfect as I felt him burst inside of me before burying his face in my hair.
We were both quiet and still, him still slowly moving inside of me while we tried to catch our breath. The studio fell dark as the sun went the rest of the way down. All I could do was trail my fingers through the back of his hair as he rested against me…and try not to freak out over everything that had just happened.
13
Dawson
Isabella and I drifted off to sleep on the lounge chair and didn’t open our eyes until the bright sun was bursting through the studio again. By the time I woke up, she was already standing by the window—putting her clothes back on. She looked awkward and alarmed when she caught me staring at her.
“Oh, hello,” she chirped. “I, uh, tried to make coffee. But you didn’t appear to have any?” She looked beautiful standing in the sun. Her red hair caught fire in the light as she buttoned up her shirt.
“Oh, yeah,” I smirked, sitting up and scratching my eyes. “I normally go around the corner for coffee every morning.”
“Well, I can’t start the day without coffee. So, I guess I’ll be going then,” she shrugged nonchalantly.
“We can take a walk and get coffee together,” I suggested. “I know a great spot nearby for breakfast.”
She laughed. “No offense but I’ve seen what kind of spots you frequent, and I think I’ll have to pass.”
My heart sank with the realization that whatever inspired her to sleep with me the afternoon before had since passed. I climbed out of bed and slid into my pants and a t-shirt before walking over to her and forcing her to stop long enough to face me.
“So, what now?” I asked.
“What do you mean? I’m leaving, of course. Like I said.”
“No, I mean after this,” I replied. “When am I going to see you again?”
She laughed again, only this time it stung even more than before. “You might not. I don’t know. We’ve been running into each other left and right. Who knows when that will happen again. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
I hung my head with a tight smile. The difference in her was night and day, and I didn’t appreciate the sudden change.
“So that’s it then?” I turned to ask.
She slid back into her skirt, despite the stain, then quickly put on her heels. When she looked up from her feet, she was confronted with the painting I did of her—staring her straight in the face. She stood up and walked over to it, studying it with an unreadable expression. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw some of yesterday’s tenderness return—as if she was remembering just how good it all felt. But she quickly rolled it off.
“You better hide that,” she said, pointing to the painting. “You wouldn’t want to have to explain it to Richard if he ever noticed it. And most men do tend to look when they catch sight of a naked woman in the corner of their eye, even if she is only in a painting.”
“I assure you, Richard doesn’t come here. Ever. He’s never seen the place. I don’t expect that to change any time soon. Even if he did, I say let him see it. Has he seen you naked yet?”
“That’s none of your business,” she scoffed.
