Page 11 of Ruthless Desires: Vol. Two
“Please,” she whispers. “Do whatever you want to me.”
That’s all it takes. Grabbing her, I spin her around and press her back to my front. We’re standing so we’re right in front of the painting she pointed out earlier, which is exactly how I want her.
“Oh god, oh god,right here?”she squeaks out. “But the security cam—cameras—oh,oohhhhnever mind.” Wren’s head falls back onto my shoulder as I brush my fingertips over her nipples.
“Look at the painting, love. Tell me what you see.” As I say it, I undo her jeans. The texture of her panties isn’t the soft cotton I was expecting. She’s wearing something lacy, and the thought makes me groan.
“It’s… beautiful,” she gasps as I run a finger over the fabric.
“Go on.” I dip my fingers into her panties.
Her body melts from the lightest stroke against her clit. “Ell, god.”
“What do you see, Wren?”
“The sky is so colorful,” she manages. “Pinks and purples and blues.”
“A little orange, too,” I add.
“Y-yeah.”
As I circle her clit, I nip at her neck. “What else do you see?”
“There’s—fuck. What if someone comes in?”
“I’m watching.” I pause my finger. “Unless you want me to stop?”
She lets out a tortured whine and shakes her head. “Please keep going.”
“Then keep describing the painting to me.”
I can see it for myself—of course I can. But exploring the minds of Oliver and Rhett has always been one of my favorite pastimes. The same is true for Wren. There’s so much to learn about her—about all three of them—and it’s my lifelong goal to never stop diving deeper into who they are.
“You can do it, love.” I want to see the painting through her eyes. I want to know what parts stand out to her, what she appreciates the most.
Inhaling deeply, she continues. “The artist added in some purples and pinks to the snow on the mountaintop. Like it’s—” Her breath hitches as I start moving my finger again, “—like it’s reflecting the sky. It makes the whole thing so much fuller.”
Gazing at the painting, I realize she’s right. “I hadn’t noticed that.”
“They did the same thing with the water. Just in parts of it.” The last sentence comes out as a whisper. Her breaths are heavier than they were a minute ago, and it makes me smile.
Trailing kisses down her neck, I ask, “What’s your favorite part?”
She whimpers. “The… the angle, I think.”
“Oh?” I circle my finger faster, making her jerk against me.
“Most paintings of lakes and mountains are from below, at eye level,” she explains. “But this one is from above, like we’re looking at it from another mountain. I like the different perspective.”
“Interesting.”
She tenses. “Is that not what you were expecting me to say?”
“I was expecting you to say whatever you thought, love. Is that what you did?”
“Yes.”
“Goodgirl,” I say lowly in her ear.
