Page 123 of The Painter and His Poet

“How are you forcing his hand?” she asks, her gaze flickering with a sudden unease that makes my throat constrict with panic.

“Fuck,” I exclaim.

“Sterling, how?” she insists.

“I sent him a photo of that painting,” I say in a rush of breath, pointing to the painting that has captured Harlow in pure ecstasy. The one where her head is thrown back in surrender, her mouth parted on a moan, her beautiful face surrounded by an array of colours that represent the intensity of our first time together. It’s an incredibly personal piece that I never intended for anyone else to see, least of all that cunt, but I also knew that it was the only one that would ignite a reaction from him, and finally draw him out of hiding.

Harlow gasps, her hands dropping from my cheeks as she takes a step back, processing my words. For a moment I think she’s going to walk away, and I wouldn’t blame her, but instead she lifts her eyes to meet mine, pulls back her shoulders and nods.

“I trust you, Sterling. I trust that you’re doing what you think is best to protect us,” she says firmly, determination and gritty resolve shining in her eyes.

I feel a surge of gratitude and love for Harlow at that moment. Despite my reckless actions and questionable decision, she trusts me with this and that means so fucking much to me. Without hesitation, I bridge the gap between us, pull her into my arms and slam my lips against hers.

The second our lips meet, a current of electricity shoots through me, igniting a crazed kind of passion that has Harlow responding with equal fervour. Her hands grip my shoulders as our bodies press together with a powerful connection that cannot be contained. Everything that has happened tonight is eclipsed by our feelings for each other, and in its place is a raw, wild kind of need that drives us closer together. Harlow’s hands slide into my hair as I lift her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around my waist as we continue to kiss. Carrying her to the table, our kisses become frantic as I lean over and swipe my arm across the surface, knocking paintbrushes and tubes of oilpaint to the floor. Our fingers race over one another, fumbling with buttons and zippers as we strip off our clothes until there’s nothing left but skin on skin. I devour her with hungry kisses, nipping and licking her skin as I trace the curve of her neck and the swell of her breast before clamping my mouth around her nipple and sucking hard.

“Sterling!” she hisses, arching into me, her voice begging for more. I oblige without hesitation, drawing her nipple deeper into my mouth.

Our moans fill the room, mingling together in a frantic cacophony of sound whilst the air around us thickens with palpable heat. The faint scent of her arousal mixes with spilled paint creating an erotic cocktail that only serves to turn me on more. My hands roam over her body, tracing the curve of her hips and the softness of her thighs as I push them apart, my fingers finding her wet and wanting.

Smashing my lips back against hers, I slide two fingers inside of her slick pussy whilst she clings to me, her nails digging into my skin. Her moans intensify and my cock drips with pre-cum, begging me to drive the thick shaft inside of her.

“I need you, Harlow. I need you so fucking much,” I rasp out as I remove my fingers and grip my dick, her slickness coating my shaft as I fist myself.

Her eyes seek mine, heady with lust and love. “Fuck me, Sterling. Please, just fuck me!” she cries.

Reaching up, I press my palm against the middle of her chest, urging her back against the table, then I line my cock up with her entrance, wrap my fingers around her throat, and slam into her with one firm thirst. My cock drives home, slipping effortlessly into her wet heat.

She gasps, the force of my entrance shoving her across the table, causing my fingers to slip from her throat. So I reach for her hips, holding her in place with a bruising grasp as I rut intoher. There’s a desperate edge to our fucking, a culmination of so many pent-up emotions, and I feel them all. There’s frustration and fear, need and longing, desire and love. It churns within my chest, around us both, thickening the air and stealing the oxygen from my lungs. This isn’t just two people fucking, this is a claiming, an intense declaration of our undeniable connection.

“Goddamn it,” I roar as her legs tighten around my arse and I thrust deeper, slamming into her at a frenzied pace.

“Harder,” she hisses, as her hands grasp my back, holding on tight. She needs this as much as I do.

I oblige, each stroke eliciting a high-pitched moan from Harlow that only fuels my need to chase the intense orgasm that’s coiling around the base of my spine. The pleasure builds with every thrust, my moans turning to grunts as every last thread of my control snaps.

“Sterling!” Her voice is a breathy plea and I respond by folding myself over her, each slide of my cock an aggressive claim on her body and soul. Harlow claims me right back, her internal muscles squeezing me tight from her oncoming orgasm.

“Mine!” I grunt, slamming into her. “Mine. Mine. Mine! You’re mine!”

With one last final thrust, I empty inside of her with a roar, my cum coating her internal walls. “Yours!” she screams in response, her body tensing and shuddering with her own powerful orgasm.

Pure pleasure washes over me as I shudder inside of her, riding out the last waves of my orgasm until I can’t hold myself up any longer, and collapse against her chest, spent and utterly satisfied.

It takes a while for us both to find the strength to get dressed, but we do so quietly. I help her to pull on her jeans, my touch gentle as I graze the bruises blooming on her hips from my grip.

“I’m sorry,” I apologise.

“I’m not,” she replies, pressing a chaste kiss against my lips.

“Are you certain that you’re okay with all of this?” I ask, as she pulls on her t-shirt and jumper.

“I am. I want this to be over so that we can finally be together.”

“Me too, but if I’m going to keep you safe, I don’t want you anywhere near the viewing. I want to deal with that bastard alone.”

“Do you honestly think this plan will work?” she asks softly. “Do you think he’ll actually attend the viewing?”

“I’m certain of it,” I reply, hoping to fuck I’m right.

---