He finally introduced himself to me this time. He has such a simple name for being so critical of things he doesn’t understand.
I’ve seen him a few times, silently judging and muttering useless nothings under his breath. He was a man who seemed to have a lot to say. He got under my skin every time I saw him walk into the gallery. I could guarantee you he wouldn’t be able to draw a stickman if his life depended on it. He came in today, late on a Thursday evening, about an hour before close. Another painting had been delivered from an up-and-coming artist in Wales. It was a woman hunched over a bright red bowl of soup. Her hair, wild and matted. The colours were starkly contrasted against one another. It was appealing. But I guess Upcomers can’t impress everyone. Especially not the 6’4 man who had a brewing opinion on it.
“I don’t see the point of this.” His declaration cut through the other voices, catching my attention. I wanted to approach him. To tell him to keep his mouth shut. He did this every time. Didn’t he get tired of using that voice? Because I got tired of hearing it. That husky, nonchalant, evenly measured voice. He didn’t even speak with enthusiasm, but with a languid confidence that spoke volumes in its restraint.
“I’m telling you, just because you sell art doesn’t mean you know how to interpret it.” I watched him carefully, hoping that he didn’t notice the smug look on my face. Liam peered at me, his brows furrowing.
“Do interpretations matter?” He said gruffly, seemingly disinterested in my reply.
“Of course they do.” I began, but he was quick to dismiss me. My mouth parted slightly as my eyes settled on his lips, which were pursed in an unimpressed line. The art exhibit was bustling with bodies who ached to see the pieces strung up on the wall. The sounds of soft chatter echoed in my ears as his voice slowly faded out. I was staring at him, willing myself to keep my face blank, refusing to let my emotions betray the hunger building inside me. Every fibre of my being longed for him, but I fought to maintain control, masking the desire that threatened to spill over with each passing second. The very thing that drew me to him seemed to be the source of my torment, a tantalizing agony that left me both yearning and tortured by my own resolve.
He touched my shoulder, jolting me back to reality. I shook my head, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. A shiver raced up my spine at his fingertips grazing my skin with an almost unbearable softness. My body ached for those delicate fingertips to venture beyond the confines of my shoulder, to explore and map out every curve and crevice with a desperate, consuming need. Each caress felt like an electric current, igniting a hunger that demanded more, craving his touch in places that promised a deeper, more intoxicating pleasure.
“I’m willing to show you what I mean.” I cooed, while my eyes narrowed in determination. Liam took a measured breath and looked me up and down. He knew what I meant, but I rephrased it, just in case. “In case you need a little clarification…” I pushed forward, so we were chest to chest, and I peered up at him through my lashes. It was time to crush this overwhelming sexual tension. My hand brushed against the bulge in his jeans before pulling away. A smug grin flashed over his face before he nodded twice and looked away. I could have slapped him—God, how I hated that grin almost as much as I craved it.
Desperation consumed me, and I found myself bringing him back to my house. I was determined to show Liam Salvatore what art truly was and how to experience it fully. I led him into my room, our fingers brushing together in an intimate, electric connection. I guided him to my bed with a sense of urgency. As he sat down, his gaze locked with mine, I felt a thrill of anticipation. The room seemed to pulse with a heady mix of tension and desire, each breath we took drawing us closer to tipping over the edge we’d been fighting to deny.
He looked up at me.
“So,” he asked, raising an eyebrow, “what do you want to show me?”
I stayed quiet while I reached for the small purple box underneath my bed. Inside revealed all sorts of gadgets that I use to create my own particular style of art. I pulled out a black silk bandanna and toyed with it between my fingers.
“What’s that for?” He questioned, but I quickly shushed him and gently placed it over his eyes, tying a small, neat bow. “How am I supposed to experience art with my eyes covered?” I silenced him once more, pressing my finger to his parted lips.
I slowly walked in front of him and traced my hands down his chest until I reached the bottom of his shirt. I tugged it and pulled it over his head, tossing it on the ground. Tattoos covered his chest and arms, and my eyes widened in surprise as I leaned down to get a closer look. I had to admit they were rather beautiful. An angel adorned his right shoulder, her bare breasts exposed—a subtle foreshadowing of what I had in store for him. The ink seemed to tell its own story, but I was about to add a new chapter. I found myself making my way to unbuttoning his trousers. As my fingers fiddled with his belt, my nipples started to bud with excitement. Exhaling softly, I pushed him back with just my fingertips, so I was able to slip his trousers and pants off with ease.
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Now Liam Salvatore lay helpless on my bed, stricken bare, like a Greek statue.
As I made my way to the windowsill, I picked up one of my books. I got comfortable and settled in while I read a few pages. I wanted him to be there blindfolded and anticipate me. All he could hear was the stiff turning of my pages. I looked over at him for a few seconds to watch his chest rise and fall.
“I want you to lie still and not move, Liam,” I whispered. “You’re going to wait patiently for me; if you’re patient enough, I’ll fuck you.” I paused momentarily before continuing, “I’m going to touch you so softly that your body will ache for more. Today you’ll be obeying me, understood?” Just the thought of fitting him inside me was making me so horny.
For a moment, he sat up, his hands twisting together on his lap as if wrestling with restlessness. I slid off my black trousers, revealing the delicate white lace of my thong. Keeping my blouse on, I rolled up the sleeves and began unbuttoning it slowly. As I traced my fingers down my soft skin and over my already-sensitive nipples, each touch heightened the need.
I watched how the lighting reflected off his body. Fuck, how it gets me going. Ah, of course, his body was a masterpiece—like Michelangelo personally sculpted him just to mock the rest of us mere mortals. How subtle. As slowly as I could bear, I parted my legs, my hand slipping down my stomach and perching perfectly above my clit. I was already wet. My fingers easily glided up and down my labia. Carefully, I dipped them into my entrance to test if I was ready for him. As I rubbed my pulsing pink hood, I rolled my hips into my touch. The pressure of my fingertips was intoxicating; I could only imagine what Liam’s cock would feel like. I wanted to be wet for him. I wanted to be ready. Soft moans pushed out from my lips, filling the room with a quiet melody.
My gaze remained locked on him; something about him being unable to see me drove me mad. Calmly, I got up from the windowsill and made my way towards him. I climbed onto the bed and gently started kissing his nape. He tasted like warm oak and cinnamon, making it even easier to devour him. My hands traced his neck and shoulders slowly. I wanted to make sure he could feel me and how much I wanted him. My fingertips traced across his soft, tattooed skin. I could feel the little bumps from where the needles entered him. I watched as the hair on his arms rose under my touch. He wanted me. With each pass of my hands, I grew rougher, edging closer to his cock, teasing him just enough to make him squirm. I wanted to feel him leap into my touch, to crave it. Slowly, I increased the pressure, until I finally wrapped my fist around him, feeling the heat radiating as he twitched in anticipation. His cock stiffened in my palm, and the dampness between my thighs mirrored the intensity of his growing need. My lips pressed against his neck in time with every stroke, tasting his skin as his breathing became ragged. I quickened my pace, my fingers curling tighter around his length. His moans deepened, growing louder with each squeeze, the tension building with every deliberate stroke.
“Fuck—” He jutted while he leaned into my touch. He seemed to want more, so I decided to give it. I pressed my hand against his sternum to steady him.
“Stay like this,” I whispered as he lay there on his back, cock standing to attention, saluting me. His breathing was uneven, and his body moved against my hand as I cupped his cock and messaged him. Carefully, I touched my lips to his tip; after a few moments, I inched my way further down his shaft. The sounds he made turned me on, making my pussy wetter with each suck.
As I leaned over him, his fingers worked their way across my ass and tugged at my thong. I looked back and watched him attempt to fiddle with me. My back arched instinctively as I allowed him to slip his two fingers against my labia. I exhaled as I pushed back and stifled my soft moans against his cock. He licked his fingers and returned them to my cunt. My eyes rolled back slightly as the added moisture aided the wetness I was secreting. I winced as his thick finger slipped into my wet cunt and fished around for my G spot. A wave of shivers overcame me, and I paused to moan.
“Time to get these off.” I cooed and guided his hand toward the band of my panties. I watched him hook his fingers over the elastic and slowly start to tug them down. I slipped off my undergarments completely and gently rubbed my hand across them. They were so wet, all because of him. I slowly dragged my damp pants across his chest, causing his body to lurch up, and a soft whimper escape his lips. Grinning, I let him savour the sensation of the damp cloth as it lingered just a bit longer, drawing the moment out before deliberately pulling away.
Now it was time to show him real art. I straddled him and pressed my wet cunt on top of his hard shaft. As slowly as I could bear, I dragged myself along it, enveloping him with the warm, glistening embrace of my wet desire. I ground my hips as he wiggled underneath me. He couldn’t help himself. He craved me as much as I craved him. He wanted to make art. He was the perfect canvas for me to paint with my cum.
His hands traced up my body, and it was electrifying. I could tell he wanted me to pick up my speed, but I was determined to make him unable to resist. I wouldn’t let him have what he wanted just yet.
“Fuck—” he stammered as I leaned down to kiss him. His lips were soft like satin, pink like peonies, and tasted like cigars. I could taste the hints of soft oak and warm earth. It lingered on my tongue like a sultry sweetness. I leaned in again to taste more.
Again, I shushed him, but I had an even better idea. I crawled up his body and pressed my pussy to his lips. The roughness of his beard against my delicate flesh was ticklish, but the harder I pushed against him, the deeper his tongue slid into me. I whined and tilted my head back. As I felt his tongue lick deeply inside me and along my clit, my breath hitched, and I leaned back to glide my wet pussy against him. After I deemed the moment finished, I crawled off.
I watched as his mouth parted, and he licked up my cum from his lips—oh, those perfect lips.
At last, I mounted him. The pressure inside me built up as his cock seemed to separate me. My lips parted, and his length filled me, completing me like the finishing touches on a painting. The feeling was soul-consuming. For a moment, I peeked at him. He remained under his erotic blindfold, unable to see me. But I could tell by the way his lips quivered that he was enjoying himself. I watched as his nostrils flared in an attempt to catch his breath. My lips curled into a grin as I rolled my hips in rhythm with our burning bodies.
His body was sticky beneath mine, both of us, the heat surged with a passion on the verge of spilling over, or spill in. I shifted my weight and hovered over him, my neck craning as I continued rolling my hips against his cock. I kissed his tattooed skin; his flesh was warm and damp. I moved my lips to his neck, keeping my eyes closed to imagine how he felt. The softness of my touch, the fervour of my hole. I shuddered at the thought as his palms ran up my thighs and rested on my ass.
His hands took a firm grip on me and pushed me down harder onto him. I gasped as my body seemed to automatically recoil upwards, only to fall and meet his pelvis with a hard slap. His long legs pushed out beneath me in pleasure. I ran my fingers up his chest and face catching the black satin that covered his eyes. With a small yank, his blindfold came off, and his pupils were large black saucers dripping with pleasure. That look terrified me and drew me in, like the blackness of space and time—the darkness of nothing and everything all at once. Might I dare say there was a twinkle in Liam’s eye? He pulled me close; we were chest to chest now. Our souls pounded against each other. His hands rested on the small of my back, and his fingertips pressed into my skin. He left his prints behind, marking me. His hands traced up my body and settled on the side of my jaw. I focused on his gaze; it was lulling and gentle. But that look compelled me to increase my speed, causing his lip to curl.
“Yes, that’s it,” I whispered as I tilted my chin up in silent command.
The large man removed himself from me. “Turn around,” he directed.
I listened.
He rolled me onto my back and pushed himself in between my legs. My body jerked as his soft lips met my aching flesh. He left small kiss trails across my sternum, breasts, and just below my belly button. Each peck felt like a jolt of electricity, akin to the crackling static of an old TV—him trying to make me tune into his frequency. I did. My eyes followed his face as his mouth met my pussy. His dark eyes remained unwavering on mine as his tongue rolled out of his mouth and curled around my clit. My brows knitted together while my hips pushed against his mouth. I noticed a small grin on his lips while he devoured me. I needed to rest my head against the pillow for a moment in an attempt to catch my breath. This was something I wasn’t expecting. But it was welcomed.
Liam’s tongue abandoned its post and ventured up my stomach, planting gentle kisses as he went. It was as if he had a meticulous map and refused to leave any spot unmarked. Soon, his large body slid beside me, and his strong hands positioned me onto my side. Liam’s fingers eagerly parted my thighs, slipping inside with practised precision. It seemed his map had led him to this exact destination. It didn’t take long for him to trade his probing fingers for the exploring curiosity of his cock. He held me tight as he pushed inside. His eyes focused on the expressions my face offered him. Every glance of his, every breath, spoke only of desire. I was delighted by the pleasure he was gifting me. His fingers continued to traverse my skin. His heavy grip rested on my breast, giving it a gentle squeeze.
With ease, his pace quickened. His cock plummeted into my body, causing mine to reflect off of his. Liam’s grunts and groans filled the room as he put all his energy into pleasuring me. In turn, my moans soared, a melodic echo of his relentless rhythm. I couldn’t help myself, and neither could he. I knew I was going to finish soon—telltale static was building in my brain, coercing my body to let go and fall into my impending climax. It grew and grew until it finally broke, spiralling me into a cascade of pure, unrestrained ecstasy. Liam’s body shuddered as he let out his final groan, his strength fading like the last strokes of a painter’s brush. He curled around me with the intimacy of an artist’s final flourish, his tender kiss on my cheek the final, soft signature of our shared masterpiece.
The End
Read all about the wonderful author: Schuyler Graves
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