Page 117 of The Painter and His Poet

“Golden yellow,” I murmur, staring into her hazel eyes.

“What?” she replies, her cheeks flushing a pretty blush pink.

“That’s the colour I see swirling around your nipples right now, Harlow,” I explain.

“You still see the colours even though I’ve stopped singing?” she questions softly, her mouth parting on a whimper as I move the paintbrush across her chest, swirling it around her other nipple.

“They linger for a while afterwards, yes, and right now you’re doused in colour. It’s intoxicating. You’re intoxicating,” I rasp out, so fucking overcome with love for this beautiful woman.

“Describe them to me,” she breathes, her fingers moving between her legs, the sound of her arousal making my cock thicken once again.

I gaze down at her, my heart swelling with love and gratitude, my gaze filled with a plethora of colours that douse her skin in a breathtaking display of light and shade. “The yellow is like warm rays of sunlight on an early summer’s day,” I say, using the paintbrush to swirl the colour across her breasts. “And here,” I say, stroking the paintbrush across her clavicle and throat, “It merges with sunset pink.”

“Sunset pink?” she muses, her voice soft as I lower my mouth to her lips, kissing her reverently.

“Yes, just like the kind of pink you might see as the sun slips past the horizon,” I explain. “And your lips, they’re a deep rose red,” I add, pulling back as I drag the paintbrush down the long column of her neck and between her breasts, tracing the curve of her ribcage.

“What do you see now?” she asks, her chest heaving.

Swirling the soft bristles over her skin, I paint ever decreasing circles over her stomach, stirring up more colour. “And here, it’s a warm ochre.”

“My God, Sterling, what you see, it’s incredible,” she whispers, as I trail the paintbrush lower.

Nudging her hand out of the way, I stroke the soft bristles over her clit. “Still berry red,” I say, my cock twitching at the glistening wetness.

She shudders beneath me, her hips rocking as I swipe the brush through her folds over and over again, making the bristles sticky with her arousal. Her breath comes in short soft pants, her back arching in pleasure.

“Please, Sterling,” she begs.

Twisting the paintbrush in my hand, I place the thick handle against her entrance, tentatively rimming her hole with the rounded tip, wanting to make sure she’s okay with this.

Her eyes snap open as she lifts up onto her elbows.

“Is this okay?” I ask.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, watching as I slide the smooth wooden handle of the paintbrush into her slick heat, gently fucking her with it.

Her gaze is transfixed on the handle disappearing and reappearing from her tight cunt. Her body shudders with every thrust, her breathing ragged as she cries out in both pleasure and surprise.

“Faster, Sterling," she begs, her fingers digging into the sheets beneath her.

I comply instantly, increasing my pace, the handle slipping in and out of her in a steady rhythm. It’s so fucking erotic that my jaw slackens with need, and when I press my thumb against her clit, adding just the right amount of pressure, she drops back to the bed, a groan releasing from her plump lips.

“Sterling, I'm going to…” she gasps, her face flushed and eyes glassy.

“Then come for me, Harlow,” I urge, watching as she reaches the peak of pleasure, her back arching and her stomach muscles clenching.

“Sterling,” she cries, her eyes rolling back as an orgasm washes over her, her pussy pulsing around the handle. Her hands grab my wrists, her fingernails digging into my skin as I hold the paintbrush there, and she rides out the final waves of her orgasm.

Slowly her body relaxes as her breathing begins to regulate, and I gently remove the paintbrush, placing it on the bed beside her hip. Adjusting my body over hers, I brace my forearms by the side of her head and kiss her tenderly, my aching cock slipping between her parted folds.

“I’m not done,” I say, nipping on her lower lip before sliding my tongue inside her mouth.

As we kiss, tongues languid and searching, the crown of my dick presses against her entrance. Slowly I slide inside of her inch by inch until I’m fully sheathed. Her legs wrap around my arse, and she tangles her fingers in my hair, her whimpers against my lips fucking music to my ears.

“Harlow,” I groan, so turned on that I’m already close to coming again.

She moans, her eyes locked on mine as I move within her, her walls tightening, our bodies moving in perfect synchronicity, each thrust bringing us both closer to the edge.

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