He just gave me the saddest smile with an infinitesimal shake of his head.
Then his camera rose. The shutter clicked, capturing me forever.
My skin was hypersensitive, my heart a smoking mess, but some reason, I had the unbearable urge to cry. This felt like goodbye. A permanent farewell to all my dreamings of us.
Why would he need photos when I had no intention of leaving...unless, he planned to push me away and never look back.
His eyes glistened with grief but his voice still teased with need. Taking photos with one hand, his other dropped to his jeans. Rubbing himself, he groaned, “I’m so fucking hard for you.”
I lived on the threshold of a release just from his voice. “And I’m wet for you.”
He shuddered, his gaze trailing over my body. His teeth sank into his bottom lips as his face once again glowed with creation. Creation that had no rhyme or reason when it struck. Creation that couldn’t be ignored.
Swaying, he put the camera down.
His hands went to his T-shirt hem, yanking it over his head. His belly pulsed with breath, the ridges of muscle making my mouth dry and pussy wet.
I fought the snarling, sensual spindle of thick desire. “Gil...”
His hands unbuckled his belt, unzipped his jeans, and removed both his trousers and underwear in one swipe, just like last time. With a kick of his boots and tug of clothing, he stood beautifully naked and utterly sinful before me.
I drank him in, goosebumps prickling at his powerful perfection. I stepped toward him as a trickle of lust dampened my underwear.
“No.” He bared his teeth, stopping me from going to him. “I want to see you. Every inch.” His paint-smeared hand went to his cock, heavy and hard between his legs.
He didn’t care yellow still trickled down his chest or that black, pink, and blue streaked his fingers, marring his erection the longer he pumped.
He didn’t see anything but me.
He didn’t want anything else but me.
And that was the headiest, most potent aphrodisiac.
With shaky hands, I unclipped my garter belt and let it fall. My skin glowed pink from paint and hot with needy blush.
He smirked with tight lips and turbulent eyes, fisting himself. His forearm pulsed with corded muscle as he granted pleasure I wanted to give. “Keep going.”
I flushed. Sweat prickled beneath the colours and I wobbled as I slowly rolled a stocking down my leg, never taking my eyes off his.
He groaned long and low as I reached my foot and stepped daintily from the sheer garment. “Fuck, I could come just watching you.”
A full body quake hinted how close I was to an orgasm myself. I could come from nothing else but his eyes and breath. Eyes that drank me, ate me, devoured me. And breaths that spoke the truth. That he couldn’t survive without having me. Even though he’d survived for years without me by his side.
Removing my other stocking, I stood as elegantly as I could and hooked my fingers in my underwear. If I did this, he’d see how desperate I was. How wet. How needy.
But I wasn’t the only one. His cock jutted out, thick and engorged. His thumb pressed into the slit at the top, his jaw locked and body rippling with yearning.
With a quick inhale, I slipped my knickers down, almost embarrassed by the glisten of desire on the fabric. But a guttural, curse-filled groan came from Gil, and I was no longer embarrassed.
I was pleased.
Thankful that he knew just how much I wanted him. Wanted him for most of my life.
Without tearing his eyes from my nakedness, he marched to the trestle table holding more paint. Grabbing a few bottles, he marched toward me, his cock bouncing between his legs with each ground-eating stride.
Standing at the base of the podium, he passed me the colours, his eyes lingering on my body. Hesitatingly, I took them from him as he backed up with visible hardship.
“What do you want me to do?” My voice mixed air with need.
“Paint.” He swallowed hard. “You’re the one who wanted to waste my supplies.” He bowed mockingly. “So play.”
Placing the bottles by my feet, I selected a royal purple with glitter flecks. “Is it safe...for, um, personal places?”
He chuckled with a strained groan. “Yes.” His skin flushed as I uncapped the lid and held out my arm. Wincing against the coolness, I locked eyes with Gil as purple cascaded over my forearm and fell in glittering droplets to the floor.
Stepping in the mess, I smeared my toes, covering my feet with purple just like my arm rained in it.
A long ago melody of elegance and ballet nudged awake muscles that’d been torn and stitched in the accident.
This was a dance.
A dance of colours and need.
And I didn’t fight the flow of sensuality as I tipped the bottle again, standing on tiptoes, moving to the silent beat of my heart. My arms soared upward, losing myself in the magic of movement. Purple drizzled from above.
“Fucking hell.” Gil froze. The camera remained forgotten by his feet as he stood transfixed, hypnotised by the paint and my nakedness.
By the private dance I gave him.
Twinges reminded me I wasn’t the perfect ballerina anymore. Healed scars restricted certain skills. But my audience didn’t care. His hand found his cock again, squeezing brutally hard.
My core clenched with every heartbeat, imploring him to stop wasting time and join me.
I no longer wanted to dance alone.
I wanted a partner.
Everlasting.
My heart raced faster and faster, sending blood and oxygen through my veins as well as colour. Bending as swan-like and regal as my back would allow, I selected another bottle from the stage.
Metallic silver.
So perfect and luminescent it looked like pure starlight.
This was too special to waste. The colour too pure.
But Gil looked like he stood in Hell, all while I teased him from Heaven. And I wanted to erase the misery inside him. I embraced debauchery and tipped the silver starlight over my breasts.
Sterling perfection rivered over me, pebbling my nipples as it turned my skin from pink to priceless.
I followed its path with my fingers, biting my lip as it trickled through my trimmed pubic hair, dripping lazily down my thighs to my feet. It tickled and teased, more erotic than anything I’d ever done.
“Gil...” I moaned as my finger strayed between my legs, touching how hot I was, how drenched. I flinched at the sensitivity, turned on to the point of pain.
He snapped.
In one leap, he cleared the step, grabbed me, and swung me off my feet.
A second later, he sat on the stage, moved me until my thighs were spread over his lap, then fisted a hand in my hair. Yanking my head back, he kissed me before I could speak.
He kissed me savagely, deeply, forcing my every sense to lock onto him.
While his lips corrupted me, his other hand dove between us. He thrust two fingers inside me, testing, making sure I was ready.
I convulsed in his arms.
With a feral groan, he withdrew, grabbed his cock and angled it at my entrance. He stopped kissing me, sucking in air and pressing his forehead to mine. Our eyes snapped together, wild and wanting.
Our souls spoke. Our bodies commanded.
He never looked away as he thrust inside me, plunging deep, taking everything.
I cried out.
He snarled, his chest rumbling with vicious greed, spreading me, taking me.
My mouth opened wide beneath his as he kissed me again and again. My body stretched and yielded to his sudden invasion. I moaned as he thrust upward, pushing my body onto his.