Page 95 of The Art of Being Merry
“I also underestimated how appealing it would be to have you paint me. Naked. To watch you work on me was tantalizing.” He presses his torso against mine, our paint smearing together. Good thing we’ll have time for a shower later.
Together. Though my shower isn’t nearly as big as his.
I wrap my arms around his back, pulling him closer, as close as I can get him, needing to feel his weight. It’s so good, so desirable, so enticing.
“You feel so good clamping my cock. So tight.”
“Ha. I’m sure.” Sex pre-children was different from now.
I shove away those thoughts, focusing my attention on Dax thrusting inside me, pushing to a point only he’s ever found.
“I’m so close.” As much as it feels so good, that I don’t want it to end, I’m chasing the release. The high, the elation, the euphoria.
I’m so full of his cock, my hips lift in rhythm with Dax’s motions. Writhing from side to side, the motion haphazard as I reach the pinnacle.
“Come for me.”
With Dax’s words, I do. Rhapsody and pleasure wash over me as I spiral out of control, careening with ecstasy back down to Earth.
“Ahhhhhhh.” My moans fill the room, combining with the sound of Dax slapping against me as he bottoms out, his cock filling me to satiety. And when he grunts,his release claims him.He doesn’t stop moving until he’s wrung out, letting go of every drop.
He falls on top of my boneless body, leaving us connected. Again, his weight is welcome, and a sated smile claims my lips. I’m not sure how it gets better and better each time, how the electricity can palpitate so strongly between us. But it does.
“Damn, Clementine. Your pussy is magical.”
The chortle that leaves my mouth is ridiculous, matching his comment. He lifts his head off my chest, the wet paint transferring to his cheek. “You got some paint, right here.” My finger rubs it, smearing it more than wiping it. “We’re gonna need a shower.”
“No kidding, though I’m not sure I want to wash the Santa suit off. It’s kinda growing on me.”
I scrunch my face. “It’ll get all over your clothes.” I speak from experience. I have an entire wardrobe full of clothes with paint on them. At least this one isn’t acrylic.
“It’s body paint. It would come off in the wash.”
Reluctantly, he pulls out of me, tying off the condom after carefully removing it. I point to the trash in the corner of the room. With his ass on full display, he walks over to it, hiding it under other things in the can, making me giggle.
I sit up, scanning the mess of paint covering my body and the canvas. It’s a kaleidoscope of colors—he was not stingy on the amount of different colors—with a mixture of lines, splatters, gobs, dots, and dashes creating the design. If you look closely enough, you can kind of make out the outline of my body, but no one would know I was naked. Once it dries, I’m going to save it as a memento from today. The day Dax Nicholas brought my fantasy to life.
“Are you opposed to going out for an early dinner?”
Dax’s question lifts my head. He wears curiosity and hopefulness like a mask. “Like on a date?”
“Uh, yeah.” He sounds so unsure, so unlike the confident man I’ve gotten to know.
“In Winterberry?”
“Yeah. Have you been to Sweetgrass Grill?”
“No.” I wrap my arms around my waist, leaving my breasts uncovered, an action Dax doesn’t miss. He doesn’t openly oglethem, which I appreciate, but he’s interested in how they’re pushed up.
We didn’t put a label on the “more” of our relationship, and we didn’t quite define rules or boundaries. There’s no reason to think anyone would judge us for eating a meal together, whether as friends or more. I doubt there would be much evidence to prove it was a date. Still, I’m unsure how I feel about it.
It’s not that I have an issue eating at a restaurant with him. It’s the whole “date” thing I’m wary of. But I suppose if we’re taking our relationship to another level, dates would be a part of that.
I haven’t been on a date in over ten years. Keith didn’t buy into the whole “date your wife” philosophy, so I didn’t push it. Maybe if I had, things wouldn’t have escalated to where they did.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date,” I end up telling him instead of addressing his question.
“Then all the more reason to do it.” He takes his eyes off my chest and looks down at his pants. “Though I need a different outfit. Not sure the owners would appreciate my showing up in paint-covered jeans.”
