Page 48 of Sinful Skulls
The way my head drops and I look away in embarrassment has him chuckling with determination. He pops the button on his jeans, slowly sliding the zipper down.
“I thought we were keeping our hands to ourselves the rest of today?”
His hand slides down the front of his pants. “I am keeping my hands to myself.”
The whimper that leaves my lips is nothing short of embarrassing.
He continues to pleasure himself, not the least bit uneasy about it. “Tell me, my little flower, how do you make yourself come?” he asks.
I can literally feel that my cheeks are on fire. My head dips, and I continue to draw, my fingers stained with charcoal as I blend, and shade.
“Do you use your hand? Or do you have toys?”
“Brody.” I glance up, almost passing out because he’s shoved his pants down and his beautiful cock is on full display the tip glistening in the sunlight.
My thighs squeeze together, and I shift in my chair.
“Answer,” he demands.
“Both,” I whisper.
He groans, and the way he begins to stroke himself has me choking on air. I set my sketchbook aside to go to him, but he stops me.
“No. You keep right on sketching. You said I could do whatever I wanted. I want to fuck myself while watching you in your element.”
I sit back in the chair, admiring the pleasure on his face. This is a form of torture I didn’t know was possible.
My creative side is intrigued. My hand brushes across the page while my gaze bounces between it and the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed. He manages to drag it out for longer than I thought possible before he tips his head back and grabs himself more roughly. His hand slides up and down while twisting at the same time. His muscles tense, and holy fuck, I think I might come too.
His cum splashes over his stomach, and I set my tablet down mesmerized by everything about him. He’s different from anyone I’ve ever met, and I love that he’s picked me to share his time with.
He drops his head, locking eyes with me. His gaze is dark and promising. “Lick it off,” he orders.
My stomach jumps before I do. I walk over and straddle his legs. Slowly, without looking away from him, I lick up every fucking drop.
This. This is what I crave. It has nothing to do with the implements upstairs. It’s the way he is with me. I love the way he dominates me with his presence. He’s slow and steady, yet unpredictable and exciting.
My soul is sighing by the time I’ve finished.
“Did you see the chair upstairs?” he asks, tucking himself in his pants.
I nod.
“Would you like to try it?”
Again, I nod.
“You sure? ‘Cause it might not be as pleasant as you imagine.”
“I have my safe word.”
“That’s right. You do, and I expect you to use it if you need to.”
His words have me climbing off him, ready for whatever I’m about to experience.
“Let me see the sketch.”
My enthusiasm deflates. “Now?”
