Page 66 of The Painter and His Poet

I let out a soft breath, my clit pulsing as slide my leg back under the duvet and try to make sense of what I’m feeling. With tentative fingers, I feel between my slightly parted legs and gasp when wetness greets me.

“Oh,” I whisper, as a zing of pleasure cascades down my spine from that gentle, yet explorative touch.

For a moment I keep my fingers pressed against my mound, trying to understand why I’ve woken up in such a state of arousal. Perhaps I had a dirty dream? That must be it.

Pressing my eyes shut, I try to recall if I have, and as I lie still waiting for the memory of that dream to appear in my consciousness, a strange feeling of something out of the ordinary flickers at the edge of my consciousness. Something that makes my nipples tighten and my clit flutter. Something that makes me feelneedy, desperate somehow. And theonlythought that enters my head at that moment is Sterling.

“Oh God,” I mutter, my clit pulsing at the memory of the passionate kisses we’ve shared, making me wetter, making my hips rock against my hand.

I know that I should be shutting thoughts of Sterling down, that entertaining them, even if they are just private fantasies, won’t do me any good in the long run. But, I can’t seem to stop images of him from fluttering across my mind as I tentatively toy with my clit, gasping at how sensitive it is, how aroused I am, how much I wish it was him touching me right now.

Sterling and his startling blue eyes.

Sterling and his chiselled jaw, and perfect body.

Sterling and his thick fingers and beautiful cock.

Sterling and the way he looks at me like I’m the only woman who exists in the world.

“It’s just a fantasy,” I whisper, trying to rationalise my feelings. “Nothing can come of it. Nothing.”

But that doesn’t stop me from adding more pressure to my clit, rubbing against it in the way I like. I’m only human, I can’t just switch off my attraction to him, and right now I don’t even want to. Biting gently on my lip, I reach for my opening, gathering the wetness to lubricate my puffy clit, the slippery sounds only adding to my arousal.

Masturbation is something that I rarely allow myself the pleasure of. Not because I think it’s dirty or wrong, but because I’ve never really had anyone that I’ve fantasised about enough to want to get off.

But this morning…

This morning I’m teetering on the edge of an orgasm just thinking about the man I cannot have, and even though there’s a small voice in the back of my head warning me not to indulge, that it will only make things worse, my body isn’t listening, it’s reacting, and I don’t have the strength to fight it.

Tentatively, I slip my finger inside my core, pumping it slowly in and out, and whilst it’s pleasurable, it’s not enough to make me come. I can’t angle my hand the right way and keep pressure on my clit, so I roll onto my stomach. My tight nipples pressing into the cotton sheet, the slight friction only adding to the intensity of the moment.

“Oh fuck, yes,” I hiss as I press my hips against the mattress trapping my hand between my pussy and the bed, allowing me to finger my hole and also stimulate my clit with the heel of my hand. I don’t allow myself to think about what I must look like. I just give in to my desire and with my cheek pressed against the pillow, and my hair covering my heated cheeks, I allow my mind to wander. With every second that passes, sensation builds, merging with every memory I have of Sterling and us together.

His hand cupping my jaw, his nose brushing my cheek.

His mouth on mine, his tongue brazenly licking the seam of my lips.

His head between my legs, my core pulsing as he sucks my clit into his wicked mouth.

His hand squeezing my breast, his saliva coating my nipples.

His cock pushing inside of me, my muscles squeezing him tight.

I let my thoughts spiral, my memories tumbling into fantasy as I imagine his body laying over mine so heavy that I almost can’t breathe. I imagine his chest pressed against my back, his arm hooked beneath my body, whilst his fingers wrap around my throat, squeezing. I imagine gasping for air as he positions himself between my parted thighs and enters me from behind with one hard thrust.

“Oh God,” I moan, my fingers jabbing into my entrance, frantic for release as I press my hips harder into the mattress, my palm and fingers slippery with arousal.

“Please…”

Something flickers in my memory.

“Please…”I beg, the word slipping from my mouth once again as my body tightens and my fantasy twists into something else.

That word, it’s triggering something I don’t understand, but I’m too caught up in sensation to truly grasp what that is, too tightly coiled with pleasure, too overwhelmed with need.

It’s as though I’m on the precipice of something. Something that sits between wakefulness and dreams. Something that my body reacts to and my mind has trouble understanding.

A dark room.

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