Page 11 of The Painter and His Poet

I feel the warmth radiating off his skin, and that strange pull between us tightening as the tip of his nose brushes against mine. He angles his head to the side, his breath soft as his lips trail over my cheek. My heart thunders, racing to a beat that appears to match his own as I press my palm against his chest.

“You’re wet,” I say, the dampness of his hoodie seeping into my skin. It’s a stupid statement, and it’s not as if I hadn’t already noticed.

“Got caught in the rain,” he explains, his lips lingering on my cheek.

“Shouldn’t you take it off… So you don’t catch a chill?” I add quickly, likely ruining the moment.

He nods, then pulls back, eyeing me as he reaches for the hem of his hoodie pulling it, and the t-shirt he’s wearing, off in one go. “There,” he says, dropping them both to the floor with a wet slap.

My eyes drop to his chest, to his sculpted pecs and six pack, and his smooth, lightly tanned skin. God, he’s even more beautiful naked. Well, almost naked. It has me wondering just what the rest of him looks like. Without even thinking about what I’m doing, I press my hand against the centre of his chest, and say, “Wow.”

“You like what you see?” he asks, and there isn’t an ounce of flirting as he says the words. It’s simply a question, as though he doesn’t realise just how attractive he is.

“From where I’m standing, you’re pretty perfect.”

He frowns as he steps back into my space, placing his hands where they were moments before stripping off. “Pretty sure I’m not.”

I open my mouth to protest, but his thumb captures my bottom lip as his fingers caress my cheek once more. Warmth coils deep and low in my stomach, arousal blooming outwards. I have to bite down on a whimper.

“So this is happening,” I blurt out instead, feeling like a teenager who’s never been kissed before, let alone fucked. I really should shut up now.

“Yes,” he mutters, and moments later his lips meet mine.

I expect softness, a kiss that’s exploratory even, but what I get instead is a knee-trembling intensity. His lips are firm, his kiss verging on desperate, and I fall into it headfirst as my lips part and his tongue licks brazenly into my mouth.

Oh…

Damn…

I feel his desire and lust resonating deep within my chest as he plunders my mouth with his tongue. His kiss is passionate, commanding, and sexy. Yet I feel his damage, a strange kind of brokenness too. Is that weird? That I can feel his pain as much as his lust? I don’t get to linger on that thought for long, because my body is reacting in a way I’ve never truly experienced before, and I’m lost to the taste of him, the feel of him, his… I don’t know. His essence, his aura? Something undefinable.

Christ, whatever it is, all I know is that Sterling can kiss. I feel his need, and my own intense desire, scattering down my spine as our tongues twine. It spreads out to all my extremities, pulsing through my veins, zoning in on my clit.

Throb.

Throb.

Throb.

My panties are drenched in seconds.

A guttural moan rises up his chest as his fingers dig into my hair, yanking at the strands still caught in my hair tie. There’s this potent kind of electricity snapping between us as he crowds my body with his and we stumble backwards against the wall, or at least that’s how it feels to me.

I imagine sparks flying in the air between us, zipping and zapping as we kiss and kiss and kiss.

Is this what being kissed should feel like? Because I can with certainty say that I have never been kissed like this before. Everything feels heightened, and I can’t seem to fathom why that is. He’s a stranger. I don’t know this man, and he doesn’t know me, and yet this energy between us, this attraction, feels extraordinary. Maybe that’s the point of one night stands, the not knowing a person, just acting on instinct, on basic human needs, pushing aside all rational thought and justfeeling.

All I know is that I don’t want him to stop. Ineedto see this through.

I’m a puddle of lust, moaning into his mouth as he grinds his hips against mine. I don’t recognise myself as I grasp at him, my palm sliding upwards, cupping his face before sliding my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.

Who the hell am I?

Oh, that’s right, tonight I’m Friday Love, and I’m doing something reckless, something Harlow Richards would never do. It makes me feel empowered, and I ignore that nagging voice in my head to push him away and return to my monotonous life as Harlow, living in the shadow of her mother’s spotlight.

We kiss for what seems like an eternity, and God, it’s like lightning and starlight bursting behind my eyes. It’soverwhelming, exhilarating. My mind is a whirl of random, disjointed thoughts, but my body? My body is definitely leading the way, ignoring every warning that rushes through my mind and fizzles out before I can even make sense of them.

“Off,” he growls against my mouth, his hands sliding between us as he tugs at the buttons of my jacket. “Now.”

---