Page 19 of The Painter and His Poet

“Please, Sterling,” she begs, and there’s something vulnerable in her tone that speaks of a deep wound inside of her.

“Then relax, let me in,” I say, overwhelmed by how tightly her pussy grips my dick.

She nods, her mouth parting as she relaxes.

My restraint snaps, and I slam into her with one hard thrust.

She cries out, eyes fixed on mine as her arms fly above her head and she presses her palms into the headboard to prevent her body being shunted upwards.

I pound into her over and over and over again, desperate to ease the ache in my chest, and heal the wound in hers.

Hard. Fast. Feral. Mindless.

I let it all go. I give in.

My fingers curl into her hair, my elbows pressing into the mattress either side of her head as I give her what she needs, never once unlocking my gaze from hers, and with every thrustof my hips, colour billows outwards like an angry storm cloud begging for my attention.

We’re bathed in colour, she and I.

It licks over our skin, seeps into our flesh, coats us in arousal.

Yet, despite the incredible display of colour, I’m wholeheartedly focused on Friday.

I feel hereverywhere.

Beneath my body. Pulsing in my veins. Clenching me tight as I fuck her.

Sensation heightens with every slip and slide of our bodies, with the tightening and loosening of our muscles. Every moan of ecstasy is tormented bliss, and there isn’t a single part of me that isn’t overwhelmed by Friday. Her soft pants, her skin hot against mine, the perfect velvet fist of her pussy clutching me tight, the way she stares deep into my eyes as though she can see into the very depths of my soul.

I’m anchored to her in a way I’ve never felt before, my body a willing prisoner to hers. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve never fucked a woman whilst in the midst of a synesthesia episode, if this is just pure, undiluted physical attraction to Friday, or a recognition of mutual pain, all I know is that I don’t want this to end.

“Fuck!” I groan, pulling back a little so I can grip one of her thighs and throw it over my shoulder, needing to go deeper, needing to feel her come around my cock.

“Sterling, I… Oh, GOD!” she cries as I slam my mouth against hers, devouring her cries of pleasure, absorbing everything about her, tattooing this moment into my memory.

She doesn’t realise it, but she’s drawing something out of me, a part of me that I only allow to take control in the midst of creating my art.

It’s the feeling of complete and utterobsession.

And as that thought buries itself deep into my psyche, another orgasm wracks her body. Her internal muscles ripple then grip me so tightly it’s as though she’s claiming me as much as I’m claiming her.

“FRIDAY!” I roar, unable to hold back a second longer as my own orgasm fires through me, rushing upwards from the base of my spine, and surging through my dick as I empty myself inside of her.

I come so damn hard that for a moment there is nothing but the feeling of bliss as her body wrings out every last drop of cum, her leg on my shoulder falling beneath us.

In that moment, as my body collapses on top of hers, utterly spent, my mind drifts off to some faraway place before I can stop it. It’s a place filled with colour that shifts and reforms into shadow and light, into sharp edges and soft curves as images slowly begin to form.

I see the crook of Friday’s elbow, the soft curve of her stomach, the mound of her breasts, her rounded hips where a few silver stretch marks pattern her skin, the shell of her ear, the arch of her foot, the sharp line of her jaw, the shape of her mouth opened in an expressive ‘o’.

IseeFriday, every intricate, detailed part. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Sterling?” Friday whispers, her faraway voice dragging me back to reality.

“Sorry,” I mumble, my mouth pressed against the fluttering pulse in her neck as I drag myself back into the present moment and lift upwards onto my elbows.

“Are you okay?” she asks, gently running her fingers up and down my spine, her touch soothing me as I bow my head and press my forehead against hers.

“Yes,” I manage to croak, then with great effort, I gently pull out of her, settling onto my side.

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