“Any other questions, sweetheart?” Riff asked.
I slowly moved my head left to right.
He wanted me to paint while he pleasured me.
“What am I supposed to paint?” I asked.
“Whatever the fuck comes to mind, Fi,” he growled. “I don’t give a fuck if you just make random lines. Got it?”
My teeth actually chattered for a second or two.
Oh… my… Riff…
His finger began to pull at the t-shirt, inching it up my legs.
When I felt his fingertips touch my bare skin, I sucked in a breath.
“Now, Fi,” he growled into my ear.
My hand started to shake again and I reached my paintbrush for a color.
Any color.
I smacked the bristles into a glob of pink paint.
Pink? Really?
I touched the canvas.
Riff moved his fingers up my legs with force.
His middle fingertip pressed against my clit as I pressed the paintbrush to the canvas.
I shut my eyes and groaned.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered.
I slid the paintbrush down the canvas.
I pulled it away.
Riff dug his finger with a little more force.
My hips bucked a little.
I thought I was going to launch myself off the stool.
Nope.
Riff’s left hand prevented that.
Holding onto my hip, keeping me in place.
His fingers touched curves that I didn’t exactly approve of on my body.
Standing and having him touch my hips was a much different thing than when I sat down.
But this was Riff.
