A now-nude Finn.
My pace slows as I take in the lean muscles and surreal etches before me. The v accentuating his hips is phenomenal, as if someone hand-carved his beautiful body.
“Wow,” I murmur. He’s like a Rodin sculpture come-to-life, full of ferocious emotion, in need of no decoration. An x-rated work of art, of course. There’s a monumental difference in genitalia.
“Where do you want me?” he says, in a throaty voice.
Inside me, but patience is a virtue. “Um...” I glance around the room and this is bad, but I can’t ruin the furniture with stray paint splatters. I need my deposit back to use toward the next place. “Standing is good.”
I spread the towel out and drop down, one knee and then the other, before him.
He fists his cock, stroking. “This is so fucking sexy.”
God, it is. But he’s a wild card who might choose to have sex on top of the chair. With moving out looming over my head, I need to carefully consider which parts to paint. Most of the furnishings belong to June, and I’m not sure she’d appreciate heathen body smears all over it.
While I ponder where to start my masterpiece, it’s hard to look away from the sensual movement of his hand and the way he’s enjoying it. My heart bangs against my chest as I squeeze paint onto the palette and dip my brush in blue. Where to start? I study him and decide to paint his manscaped balls. Not only do they seem least problematic, they’re an erogenous zone.
“Oh, yeah,” he says, when the brush touches him. It’s hard to concentrate on what I’m doing as he tugs at his dick. The way he grips the thickness, stroking from root to tip, is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. His well-defined thighs clench as he pleasures himself to my artistry.
When I swirl a red s onto the blue base, he hisses and jerks off at a rapid pace.
“Fuck, I need inside you.”
The brush falls from my hand as he raises me from my kneeling position. In a blur of Superman balls, he flies to the shorts folded on the table and removes a condom. It’s rolled on faster than I can blink. He stalks back, and again lifts me.
I cling to his broad shoulders. “Against the wall,” I plead, equals parts aroused and afraid he’ll go for the couch.
My request is granted. The head of his cock eases in, and ah, God. We groan together as I acclimate to his size. His forehead drops to mine.
With a hand braced on the wall, he pumps into me.
“You’re so tight,” he says.
Over and over.
And over.
In varying forms as he takes me to the clouds—
“You’re so tight, Chloe.”
“Damn, you’re tight.”
“Tight as fuck.”
“So. Tight.”
To make it stop, I kiss him. I’m soaring to my destination, faster than the speed of light. I’m on cruise control.
“Feel good, babe?”
“Yes,” I whimper. He’s bendy and has stamina, ramming in and out, until I’m a quivering mass of limbs.
“Come on me,” he demands when my orgasm can no longer be contained.
It’s glorious, and breathtaking, and my first from penetration. Finn’s release quickly follows mine with an exquisite jerk of his body.
He doesn’t stay over afterward, but he leaves me with a kiss and a promise to call. I’m not necessarily smitten, but I’m damn sure satisfied, and isn’t that a good place to start?
Seven
“Is Finn lost?” Charlotte asks.
“Just running late. Busy Saturday at the gym,” I say, dropping my phone into my handbag. “He’s in the parking lot.”
While we wait for him to join us, people move around us in droves at the Spring Thing Bazaar. It’s the craft fair of the season, and I should know—I’m a craft fair whore.
Charlotte’s brown eyes hold a hint of laughter. “I still can’t believe you painted his balls. They’re the least sexy part. Like, what guy wants his balls painted?”
As all best friends do, I filled Charlotte in on the pertinent details of my afternoon tryst with Finn. To respect his privacy, I should have left out that minor detail, but it turned into a major thing. In my haste to pleasure him, I didn’t really take into consideration the paint removal process. When Finn called later that night to ask how to remove it without also removing his delicate skin, panic ensued. To his credit, he was a good sport and said blue balls were accurate until the next time he was with me.
“In his defense, he just said paint him. I picked his balls.”
Smiling, she moves to a steel column and studies the location directory of the one hundred-plus vendors. “Think Finn has the stamina for the craft fair?”
The better question is, do I? The bazaar is an open style warehouse, covering an acre of land. Under normal circumstances, you pretty much have to haul me out of here. Today, they may have to do it on a stretcher.
“Honestly, I can barely walk.” It’s been three days since our sexcapades, and I’m still not recovered.
“I’m going to tell my fiancé we need to christen every wall in our new house.”
“Do it at your own risk. I think wall sex broke me.”
A cough interrupts our discussion. “I uh...got kettle corn,” Austin says.
The sudden whoosh of blood pounding in my ears silences the chatter of the crowd around us. How much of our conversation did he hear? I’d like to crawl under the display table of colorful gnomes, but I force my lips upward and pretend nothing is amiss.
“Oh, yum.” I take a piece and pop it in my mouth. It’s no big deal he overheard us talking about sex. First of all, I wasn’t bragging. Or exaggerating. My legs are so sore, it was excruciating slipping on my jeans and boots today. Second of all, I’m over him—or working towards it. But it’s always good to distract...
“Did you know, at one time, the wealthy would hire people to be ornamental hermits that lived in their
