Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
He fucks me faster. I wrap my arms around his neck and push myself along his shaft. I’m gasping, moaning with incredible bliss, and when he bites my neck, and shoulder, and my lower lip, I can’t take it anymore. I explode against him, coming so hard I stop breathing, and he doesn’t hold back, he fucks me until I’m lying back on the table and sweating, but he’s not done with me yet. He drags me back down, turns me around, my ass in the air, and spanks me.
I yelp in surprise, staring over my shoulder at him. “What the fuck?”
“That’s for not trusting me.” He spanks me again. I try to move but he grabs my hips and yanks me against him. “That’s because I love turning your lovely ass bright pink.” Then he sinks himself inside of me and I melt against him all over again.
He fucks me rough, his hand exploring my body like he’s been holding himself back this whole time but is finally releasing every bit of pent-up desire deep into my pussy. I push back down his shaft and gasp with bliss as he takes me, ripping deeper and deeper. He grips my breasts, wraps a hand around my throat, pulls my hair, spanks my ass. I’m dripping down my thigh, moaning his name, using my hand to push off the work table and harder down his length.
Every inch, every thrust, it’s too much. I’m losing myself as he leans over, his massive body dwarfing mine, and kisses me over my shoulder. It’s the kiss that finally does it, that throws me over the edge for a second time. I come on his shaft, come as I moan into his mouth, and I feel him stiffen as he fills me from behind.
I collapse against him. He groans, holding me tight. We’re spent, sweaty, half-naked, disheveled. The room’s a mess. I hadn’t noticed him knocking over paint cans and brushes, tossing materials around. It’s like a hurricane went off, but I hadn’t even noticed. I slide down to the floor and he holds me tight against him.
“I should clean this up,” I say, but I don’t move, and he doesn’t let me go.
“Soon.” He breathes deep against my neck. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that, Hellie?”
“Great thing to say right after fucking me.”
“I know, but I mean it. This would be so much easier if I despised you.”
“Too bad I’m such a delight.”
“Really is a shame.”
I smile to myself, and even though I know it’s a mistake, I let myself enjoy this moment, feeling strangely safe and satisfied.
Chapter 19
Hellie
After we straighten up the studio and I take a shower, it’s time to get to work.
Dread fills my stomach. I’m terrified that I won’t be able to pull this off, that I’m way overestimating my painting abilities, that I’m a total fraud and everyone will find out—and I’ll get murdered for it.
But I shove that aside and focus.
I start like I did with the first version, but this time, I know what I’m doing. I make fewer mistakes as I sketch out the base layer, getting the canvas prepped for the painting to come. I move with confidence, or at least pretending I feel confident until it starts to become somewhat the truth, selecting colors, brushes, laying it all out like a chef at his work station. Lunch appears at some point and I eat without thinking, my mind focused on the task ahead.
I feel myself start to sink into that work mode. It’s like I’ve flipped a switch and now there’s nothing else but what I have to do. I let myself drift, obsessive, intense, deeper and deeper, like a trance.
The mother first. The daughter next. The riot of light and dark, the smattering of color, the instruments, the father’s muted back and lank hair.
A miracle happens every time I drop into this state. It’s a rushing river, a never-ending motion. Ideas leave my hands like I’m shedding skin. I work late and go to bed for only a few hours, but I’m up early the next morning, working hard until coffee and breakfast appear. I don’t know who brings it. I’m not sure it matters. Everything in my world narrows down to my workstation, to the canvas, to the paintings, to my materials.
This job will either save or damn me.
Only one thought intrudes on my focus. Erick, his mouth, his hands, his body against mine. His groans of pleasure, his hand as it slaps my ass. Erick’s the only person who enters my brain that isn’t a part of this painting, and I wish I could keep him out, at least for five days. He’s a distraction, and worse than that, I don’t want to be distracted by him at all.