Page 15 of The Painter and His Poet

My whole body is covered in goosebumps, the uniqueness of her voice tapping into something deep inside of me as Ifeelher voice coasting along my skin. It’s like an invisible caress that simultaneously turns me on, and ignites another cascade of colour that ebbs and flows with every beautiful, enchanting note that leaves her parted lips.

It takes me long moments to even hear the words she’s singing, but when I do, I gasp. She’s singingIrisby the Goo Goo Dolls in her own inimitable style, and every word is like a declaration of her intentions tonight, and maybe even an insight into the woman she is. She sings softly, the pitch perfectly emotional, and there’s a wistfulness that washes over her as she sways her body.

Enraptured, I notice how she begins to relax as she shares such an intimate part of herself with me, because that’s exactly what she’s doing. Every heartfelt word, every perfect note is a gift bestowed upon me, and I can do nothing more than absorb all that she is. Each colour becomes more intense with every second that passes, so startlingly bright that my heart beats faster and my fingers grasp at an invisible brush, painting imaginary strokes as I watch her.

A familiar magic rushes through my veins as she continues to sing, igniting my creativity. A large part of me wants to rush to my studio to paint, but an even bigger part wants to pull this expressive woman into my arms and lose myself so completely inher.

There’s something so enchanting about Friday. She’s beautiful in a way that’s understated, as though she’s hiding her true self from the world, and fuck knows that someone with a voice like hers should be centre stage singing to thousands ofscreaming fans, not performing in some dingy club hidden in the back streets of Brooklyn.

“You’re incredible,” I choke out. My need to paint, and my need to bury myself inside of her is tangling up inside of me, making me fucking tremble, making me so god damn hard.

As she sings the last line, slowly opening her eyes to meet mine, the notes quiver in the air between us, thick and potent, and before I can even contemplate what I’m about to do, I’m on my feet. I simply act on instinct as I rush towards her, ducking a little as I place my hands on her hips and lift her upwards. She lets out a surprised gasp as she wraps her legs around my waist.

“Sterling!” She laughs, and the joy she expresses, and the colour that feathers around her is so fucking exquisite that all I can do is be brutally, truthfully honest.

“You’re a work of art, and damn, Friday, I want you. I want you so bad I think I might fucking die if I don’t,” I say, my words harsh, breathless, as I twist on my feet and carry her towards my bed.

She clings onto me, her cheeks blazing, her eyes smiling as I carry her up the few steps to the raised platform my bed sits on, and lower her onto the mattress.

“I need to see you naked. I want to see all of you, every single part.”

What I don’t say is that I want her naked not just because I want to bury myself inside of her, but so that I can imprint the form of her body into my memory, and later, paint her every curve into a vibrant masterpiece on canvas, because she deserves nothing less.

“Then I guess this will be another first for me,” she replies, lifting her arms upwards so that I can pull her t-shirt over her head.

“Another first?” I question, confused a little by her response.

“On the few occasions I’ve had sex before, I’ve never actually been fully naked,” she explains, wincing.

What the actual fuck?I think.

“You’re joking?” I question instead.

She shakes her head as I drop her t-shirt to the floor.

“Let’s just say, the men I’ve slept with have only ever really been interested in their own pleasure, and I guess seeing me completely naked hasn’t ever really been that high on their list of things to do.”

“Damn,” I mutter, my gaze dropping to the plain black cotton bra covering her beautiful breasts. There’s nothing fancy or seductive about it, and yet that piece of material is as alluring as she is. Perhaps because she’s the one wearing it. “How could anyone not want to see you naked? Those men were fools.”

“This isn’t exactly sexy. I haven’t dressed for the occasion. Sorry about that,” she says with a depreciating laugh, shrugging off my remark as I finger the strap of her bra.

“Well, I want to seeyou. All of you. Take it off,” I grind out, blinking back the fog of lust that seems to shroud me every time I look at her.

She nods, reaching behind her back and unclipping the fastening with shaking fingers. The straps loosen around her shoulders, and I reach forward, sliding them off her arms until she’s bare. Her breasts are a perfect handful, with pink, rosy buds that make my cock leak and my mouth water to taste.

“You’re exquisite.”

“I’m not even fully undressed yet,” she retorts softly.

“Then please do me the honour of showing me everything that you are,” I say, meeting her soft brown gaze once more. “Stand up.”

She laughs, taking my proffered hand and moving to her feet, standing before me. “You’re kind of bossy.”

“Not usually. I apologise.”

“Don’t. I like it.”

“Good,” I say, releasing her hand and dropping to my knees, my eyes level with her navel.

---