Page 91 of My Sweetest Agony
I want to feel.
So, I say the only thing I can. “Yes.”
The word lives in the air between us, thickening it more and more each second that ticks past, and I wonder if he actually heard me say it. Then, as if he’s made some decision that flicked a switch somewhere inside him, his eyes darken and his mouth crashes onto mine so quickly and so fiercely that I yelp against his lips and stagger back slightly.
But one of his strong arms wraps around me, pulling me up against him fully, and his hard cock strains between us, pressing deep into my belly as he devours my mouth, kissing and licking, probing and taking, like he can’t get enough of it.
It isn’t sweet.
It’s borderline feral.
An animalistic tinge to his movements that tells me he’s hovering on the edge of completely letting go of everything that restrains him.
And I want him to let go.
I want the recklessness I see in his eyes.
Crave all that passion and energy focused solely on me and this.
My core aches, the dull throb pulsing there relentlessly as my need for the man who kisses me so fiercely envelops my entire being. All thoughts of everything else, including all the reasons this is so bad, all the ways it’s wrong, and all the secrets and lies that led to it, melt away in a single instant.
I wrap my arms around his neck, tunneling my fingers through his thick hair, and he groans, angling my face slightly so he can get a different position, utterly consuming me with everything he has and trying to take all that I am from me.
The bed on the other side of the studio seems so goddamn far away all of a sudden, and he seems to have the same thought because instead of backing me up that direction, he turns and forces me to retreat three steps until my shoes bump up against the edge of the canvas he was just painting on.
I jerk and look down at it—the few strokes of black paint he swiped across it before I interrupted—then up at him. “What are you doing?”
Hand pressed into my lower back, keeping me pinned to his warm, hard body, Cam ignores my question and kisses my neck. I crane it to the side, giving him better access to work his way down, his lips raising goosebumps everywhere they touch as his fingers trail along the waistband of my jeans.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Ivy. That’s why I’ve painted you too many times to even count.” His words vibrate against my skin where his lips are pressed to it. “But now that I have you here like this, I get to really paint you.”
What?
Paint…
Me?
It takes me a second to figure out what he’s saying, my brain trying to process the words while it short-circuits under his touch, but when his hand slips into my pants and cups me between my legs, I jolt against him, my nails digging into the back of his neck.
I groan at the sensation of the heel of his palm rubbing across my clit, and he pushes harder, rolling it until my hips buck against him and his hard cock is pinned between us.
He tugs at the hem of my shirt with his free hand, and I allow him to pull it up and toss it unceremoniously to the floor. Hot, frantic lips move across my collarbone as he reaches behind me and unhooks my bra, exposing my breasts to the chilly air.
My nipples harden instantly under his assessment, and he issues a deep groan and drops his head, sucking one between his lips. I gasp at the sensation, my head falling back, eyes rolling up as his hand continues to move against me, the other wrapped around my hip again, holding me steady as his seeking mouth and tongue send jolts of pleasure straight between my legs.
They tremble violently, and he releases my nipple and moves to the other as he pulls his hand from my core long enough to undo my jeans.
I toe off my shoes, the bass lightly shaking the floorboards beneath my bare feet, and he growls his approval along my lips as he slowly lowers me onto the canvas.
My head lands in the sticky black and white paint, but he doesn’t seem to care that we will ruin whatever vision he had for this piece.
He shifts back, dragging down my jeans and panties, exposing me to him fully for the first time. The forgotten fabric falls from his hands, his eyes never leaving my naked body spread out across the canvas.
Everywhere his gaze touches heats like a fucking napalm fire going off, moisture pooling between my thighs, that throb so incessant that it thumps in time with the bass from the stereo.
I squirm under the assessment.
The pure adoration in his gaze only grows as it moves from the top of my head over my chest, my stomach, and finally between my legs. His cock strains against his jeans, the hard length as intimidating as the man who looks ready to devour me.
