Page 85 of The Painter and His Poet

Bending over, I drag her nipple into my mouth, sucking on it until her whimpers beg me for more. “I’ve dreamt about sucking on your nipples and making you so wet that when I finally get my mouth on your pussy it’s dripping for me,” I reply before coasting my mouth to her other breast.

“Is that so?” she questions, her chest heaving as I drag her other nipple into my mouth, causing her to moan once more.

“Are you wet for me, Harlow?” I ask, every word teased with a lick of my tongue.

“Why don’t you find out?” she throws back, placing her hands on my shoulders as though urging me to crouch before her, but I have other plans.

Reaching between us, I cup her mound. Her gaze flashes with heat, and she adjusts her stance a little so that her legs part. “Fuck, Harlow. You’re dripping,” I exclaim, my middlefinger slipping between her folds. I gather up the slick heat and smother it over her clit.

“Sterling…”

Her mouth parts and I claim it, licking my tongue into her mouth, swallowing her moans as I gently stroke her clit. She throws her arms around my neck hauling me closer, so that my arm is trapped between our bodies.

“You want more?” I tease, smiling wickedly against her mouth.

“God, yes,” she pants. “I want it all.”

With my gaze locked onto hers, and our lips millimetres apart, I slide two fingers deep inside of her with one swift motion, pressing the heel of my palm against her clit as I do. She cries out, her hands dropping to my shoulders as she rises on her tiptoes, the wet, slippery sounds of her arousal making my cock thicken painfully. The intrusion is verging on rough, yet she doesn’t tell me to stop, in fact she just drops to her feet, forcing my fingers deeper inside of her dripping cunt.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” she hisses, spreading her legs wider as I pull my fingers almost all of the way out, and then spear them back inside of her in one steady thrust. Her tits bounce from the force as she throws her head back.

“You want me to finger-fuck you like this?” I repeat, lifting up my free hand and cupping her throat as I pull my fingers out of her, then shove them deep inside her pussy once again.

“Yes, I want to feel…” she moans, her voice trailing off as her eyes flicker shut, giving me a moment to study her beautiful face that is currently doused in soft sunset colours.

“You want to feel what, Harlow?” I demand, my hand between her legs stilling, whilst the one around her throat tightens a little.

Her eyes snap open, her mouth parting as she looks at me. The way her pupils enlarge and she presses her thighs back together around my hand tells me all I need to know. She’s as turned on by this as I am. So she likes it a little rough? Mydirtylittle poet.

“Tell me,” I insist, releasing her throat a little, my own desire making my head swim with lust and my body fucking tremble with the need to be inside of her.

“I want you to overwhelm me, Sterling,” she whispers back, licking her lips as her gaze darts from my eyes to my lips and back again.

“Overwhelm you?” I ask, my voice rough as I start to pump my fingers inside of her once again.

“Yes,” she moans. “I want to feel so desired that you can’t stop, that you can’t control yourself.”

“Like this?” I ask, shunting my fingers inside of her, my gaze fixed on her face as her fingers curl into my shoulders and she groans. “You want it hard, Harlow? You want me to prove to you how much I fucking want you. Is that it, huh?”

“Yes. I want that. I want that so much. I want you to ravish me, Sterling.”

Ravish? That word conjures up visions of a long haired villain stepping into a virgin’s room, tying her to the bed under a pale moonlight and having his wicked way with her. It reminds me of the night I crossed a line and coerced an orgasm from Harlow’s sleeping form.

Fuck, that memory just makes me harder.

“Then that’s what you’re going to get. Now sit your arse on the lid of the piano, and spread your fucking legs,” I command, pumping my fingers into her pussy three more times before dropping my hands and stepping back.

“You want me to sit on the piano?” she asks, stumbling a little.

“You heard me. Up!” I demand, grasping her hips to steady her briefly, before picking up the stool that I’d knocked over earlier and setting it back on its feet.

“But–”

“I won’t ask you again,” I growl, then grasp her elbow in my slick hand. “On. The. Piano.”

She nods, her throat bobbing up and down as she steps onto the stool, her hands pressing against the shiny lid of the piano. I adjust my hands, taking the opportunity to coast them over her arse as she kneels onto the fallboard. She leans forward and briefly gives me a stunning view of her slit from behind, before she twists around and turns to face me.

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