by Kim Linwood
He kisses me, and I forget all about the paint. He presses closer, the hardness in his briefs a burning brand against my stomach. A low needy sound rumbles in his chest, and he grabs the back of my head, crushing me to him, his other hand slapping against the wall behind me for support.
The roller drops from my fingers, leaving a red streak across his thigh. Reaching up, my fingers twine into his unruly hair, gripping it and pulling him closer while our lips press against each other.
I walk him backwards, away from the wall, and his hands trail down my sides until they slide around the curves of my ass. I can only imagine the burgundy streaks they must be leaving in their wake. His strong fingers dig into my flesh and I grind against him, my underwear growing wet and sticky, but not from the paint.
I gasp into his mouth as our bodies meld. A moment ago I was nervous about my lack of clothes. Now it feels like we’re both wearing way too much.
My hand cups his bulge. “These are very nice briefs.” My words come out as a whisper.
He laughs softly, then answers teasingly, “Yeah? Do you think something might happen to them?”
“It would be a shame.” I slide a finger into the slit at the front, making him hiss with pleasure as I stroke him skin to skin.
We’re both going to be covered in streaks of paint, but I don’t care. There’s something primal about visually leaving my mark on him, and knowing he’s claimed me right back. Like he’s reading my mind, he paints a stripe around my throat, collaring me in red. Marking me as his.
A quick movement and he wraps a fist firmly around my hair and tugs, making me gasp. He leans back in, and when his lips touch mine, I meet his questing tongue with my own. My bra goes slack as he unlatches it, pushing my straps down one side at a time
He pulls away, and my arms relax, letting him take my bra with him. Standing there topless, I feel awkward again. I raise an arm to cover myself up, reaching for him with the other so he’s too close to see me on display. The lights are too bright, and my breasts are too soft, and—
“Fuck, you’re sexy.” He breathes the words in reverence, like he’s looking at a masterpiece. He caresses me with his eyes as he looks me up and down. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.” His voice is raw, honest.
I believe him, because I can barely remember it now.
My arms drop to my sides, and I wish I could see myself like he sees me. He’s so perfect, and I’m so... me. It doesn’t seem fair.
Lifting his gaze, his stormy blue eyes lock with mine. They draw me in, like inescapable whirlpools. He smirks, then hooks his thumbs in his briefs. His huge cock is so hard he has to adjust himself to get the underwear past, but then he pulls them off and stands in front of me completely naked.
Suddenly, his eyes aren’t the only thing I find inescapable. My mouth goes dry, all the moisture apparently moving south.
“Eyes up here, babe.” He laughs.
I ignore him, licking my lips and taking a step closer. He looks hard as steel, the tip just barely glistening. I want to taste him. The last time, he took charge. This time, I want to run the show. My smirk isn’t nearly as well practiced as his, but I give him one anyway before I step forward and shove him back with both hands.
He stumbles backwards with a chuckle, letting me push him right up to the wall. The paint’s fresh behind him, payback being a bitch. He obviously doesn’t care, grinning like he just won the lottery as I sink to my knees in front of him.
“Oh, fuck yeah.” He lets it out like he’s been holding his breath.
Wrapping my fingers around him, I slide my fist slowly up and down, feeling his pulse beat against my palm. His breath comes faster as he watches me lean forward, sticking out my tongue.
Barely, just barely, I touch the tip to the ridge where the crown meets the shaft, running it along the sensitive edge. His sharp intake of breath tells me I’m on the right track.
It’s strange. This might be the first time where I’ve felt that I’m the one in control and he’s at my mercy. Looking up, I find his eyes lightning focused on my every move. I smile, and run my tongue a full circle around him. He rewards me with a throaty groan. I want to drive him crazy. To bring him so close he loses control. I wonder if he’ll let me.
I palm his balls with my other hand, giving a teasing squeeze, not hard, but enough that he tenses up. I laugh softly, stroking carefully, loving the soft texture in one hand and the hard in the other.
Kissing softly, I make my way up to the very tip, lapping up the clear drop that’s just come out. A little salty, a little musky, and all him. I swirl my tongue around one last time before I take the head between my lips. Pushing, I sink onto him until he presses against the back of my mouth.
Declan moans and loses focus for a moment, his ass pressing against the wall before he remembers he has to watch out if he doesn’t want to end up well and truly painted. God, I love this. Forcing him to balance between control, and completely letting go.
He tries to push deep, but I’m running the show, and I tease him, stroking his shaft with my hand and sucking on the head like a lollypop. It’s sloppy and noisy, but the way I feel him swelling and from his raspy breath, he must love the show, because he sounds like he’s getting close.
His hands slide into my hair, pulling my ponytail apart and making fists, gripping me possessively. He lets me do what I want for now, but it’s a potent reminder that I’m only in charge for as long as he lets me. It just makes me love it more, that this brash and bossy man can step back and hand over the reins.
The gentle thrust of his hips turns harder, more insistent, and his grip tightens. He moans as I move faster, trying to match his pace, wanting to feel and taste him come.
Suddenly, he holds my head in place and I relinquish control as he lets out a throaty groan and fills my mouth with his essence. I take it all, swallowing greedily. He groans and pulses over and over, while I keep stroking until he relaxes his grip. Easing back on my haunches, I look up at him, grinning in both satisfaction, and amusement at the mess we’ve made of each other.
He looks at me, expression relaxed and almost tender. “Remind me to paint with you more often.”
I turn my head and rest it against his thigh, hiding my blush. “I suppose we should get back to work now.”
He chuckles. “Oh, no fucking way. You don’t think I want my turn?" He grabs my arms and pulls me to my feet.
“You just had your turn.” I laugh and step away, practically daring him to chase after me. “And there’s so much left to do.”
“Damn straight there is.” Declan pushes me into his leather desk chair. “Like making you scream so loud the ceiling comes down.” He kneels and grabs my panties, tugging them down my hips and off my legs.
“Declan!” My voice is a harsh whisper. “There are tons of people out there!” I laugh and try to get back up. “I’m going to ruin your chair.”
“I don’t give a fuck.” Gripping the backs of my thighs just above my knees, he pushes me open until he can hook my legs over the arms of the chair. “Besides, you apparently didn’t notice that I locked the door.” He grins while he slides his hands slowly up the insides of my thighs and leans forward. “It’s a little late for caution, don’t you think?”
“I know, but—” Any argument I have is forgotten when he kisses me right on my mound, then slides his tongue briefly between my folds.
Oh God.
I desperately try to gather my thoughts while he scatters them to the wind with his hungry mouth. It’s a tug-of-war I’m destined to lose, and when I do, it feels like winning.
He must sense me relax and give myself over to the sensations. “That’s my girl,” he says before flicking me right over my throbbing clit.
I’m not so far gone that hearing him call me his girl doesn’t give me a twinge of both pleasure and pain. I’m not, not really, but for right now I’m willing to pretend. “Shut up and lick me.”
Declan laughs, wast
ing no time. His tongue is broad and thick as it stabs into my wet core with eager strokes. My thighs quiver in his hands, muscles tightening while he sends me higher and higher.
I try not to make too much noise while he drives me crazy, but if anyone’s outside the door, there’s no way they don’t hear my gasps and moans. The sensations ratchet through me, and I throw my head back, clenching my teeth so I won’t scream.
He slips a finger into me, and I’m so swollen that it feels much longer and thicker than it probably is. A second finger stretches me, and I can’t take it anymore. My vision turns white as my back arches. My toes curl and I grab his shoulders tightly. When my climax breaks, it’s like being torn apart and scattered to the corners of the earth.
It steals my breath away, which is the only reason I’m not bringing the ceiling down like he said. He doesn’t stop, working me like a starving man until I’m reduced to a whimpering puddle of nerves. I’m almost painfully sensitive, but he’s determined to draw me out as long as possible, and I let him, trusting Declan to take care of me.
Something is shifting between us, and it terrifies me. It’s easy to trust him with my body, but I can’t trust him with my heart. I’m afraid that if I keep coming back for more, I won’t be able to walk away when the time comes.
He’s spoiled me for all other men.
Declan
“Just fucking do it already!”
“Are you sure?” Claire teases. “I mean, the marks from your ass are so clear and I just want to—”
I storm over and make the decision for her by running the roller over the oval marks I left on the wall during our little painting break, while Claire breaks down into a giggle fit. She looks adorable there on the floor, her red hair pulled up into a messy knot. She’s wearing nothing but her panties and my cotton undershirt.
My arms ache from using the roller, and I’m sick to death of the smell of paint, but right now all I want to do is pick her up and toss her onto my couch. It’s the only major piece of furniture we haven’t christened yet.
She sighs and stands up, her breasts swaying. “It’s a shame. I kinda liked seeing all the smudges.”
I run my thumb along the stripe I drew across her neck. Not every mark is gone yet. “Easy for you to say, I’m the one that would have to stare at my ass prints while trying to carry on a business conversation with my father.”
“Okay, but,” Claire breaks off her train of thought and lights up with a huge smile. “I have an idea, come over here.” She grabs my hand and pulls me to the corner where I first started kissing her. Kneeling down, she presses her thumb lightly against the paint right at the bottom above the molding. “Your turn.”
Ice trickles into my veins, and my instincts tell me to run the other way. To avoid this moment where sex morphs into sentiment. Michael and his video scream at me from the back of my mind, telling me that I need to separate, not get closer. I open my mouth to object, maybe find a way to turn it into a joke, but I can’t fucking do it.
Not when she’s looking at me like that. Like what we did mattered.
I must be out of my fume-scrambled mind, because I kneel down next to her, and cup her chin before taking another taste of those ruby lips. She responds instantly, leaning into my touch and opening to let me in. Her eyes open slowly as I pull away, watching quietly while I leave my thumb print smooshed up next to hers.
She looks at it and cocks her head. “I was thinking maybe we would cross them into a heart or something.”
“And then we could paint our nails and tell stories! Give me a break. I’m a man, not an eight year old girl. I have my limits.” I shrug. “You were the one that wanted ass cheeks on my wall. Now it looks like a smurf was getting busy in my office.”
She laughs and play slaps my shoulder.
It’s feeling like a good time to go in for another kiss, and maybe inventory all her paint marks one by one, but before I can make a move, her phone rings. Claire gets up and goes to check her purse. “Crap.”
“Everything alright?” Is it wrong to hope it’s her date for tonight calling, and he’s so pissed he never wants to see her again?
“Er... yeah, but I’ve got to take this and it’s private. Do you think...” She trails off, but I get the drift.
“Fine, yeah. Gimme a sec.” I throw my dress shirt on and start to button while she answers.
“Hello?” There’s a pause, and I hear the hint of a masculine voice on the other end. It’s gotta be a date. Fucker. He sounds annoyed, but instead of talking back like she would with me, she’s all sweet and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I got caught up at work and couldn’t get out of it.”
I open the door and slip out. I’m just about to close it behind me when Claire speaks. “No, I don’t want anyone to see it. I know, I should’ve called, but I was with my coworker the whole time. It was hard to get away. I’m not trying to get out of our deal, I swear.” Her voice takes on a tinge of desperation and it gets my hackles up.
I shouldn’t do it, but listening in on her phone call doesn’t even hit the top ten of shit I shouldn’t do, so I don’t let it bother me. I close the door almost, but not quite enough to mask her voice.
“No, it wasn’t him. I swear. I’ve been with... Carl. He’s one of the older attorneys here. Don’t be gross, he’s like my mom’s age.”
Carl the attorney? Well, that’s obviously bullshit. So who wouldn’t want to hear that she was with me? Michael the dickhead jumps to the top of the likely suspects, but why the hell would she even be talking to him?
“Fine. Wednesday, then,” she says with obvious resignation. “No, I won’t miss it. Yeah. Bye.” She hangs up and I hear her moving around in the office, and the pull of a zipper. I lean up against her desk and try to look bored when she peeks out the door.
“We’re pretty much done, right? I just need to clean up before I leave.”
“Sure, no problem. I can finish what’s left.” I push my way past her back into my office. “So was that your lucky date for the evening?”
Claire wrinkles her nose. “More of an obligation than a date. We rescheduled for Wednesday.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Oh yeah, tons.” She grimaces like she just bit into a lemon. “Alright, getting washed up.” She heads to the restrooms.
Her purse is gone, but there, on the edge of my desk is her cell phone, screen still bright. I grab it before it locks up, and quickly check the call log.
Bingo. Michael. That little shit is trying to scam both of us. Obviously. And the way things are going, I don’t think my keeping away is going to happen, which means I need to find another solution.
When Claire gets back, I don’t even try to railroad her into getting a drink or going back to my place. I’ve got plans now, and they involve finding out where ratboy lives, and having some serious words with him.
And by words, I mean my fist in his face.
Declan
The doorbell rings like the fucking Big Ben. Tacky as hell. I wait long enough for the melody to stop before I run out of patience and ring it again. He’d better be home, because I drove all the way here and I know his date got cancelled.
It would be rude of Mikey not to stick his face out so I can smash it.
It took a little detective work to figure out where he was living after getting kicked out of Claire’s old place, but I got his last name from his parents’ address. After that it was pretty easy. You don’t have to be Sherlock when you have the fucking internet at your fingertips, and a whole truckload of idiots publicly tweeting about where they are 24/7.
His townhouse looks like it’s seen better days. The red brick has a sickly gray tinge, and the windows have sheets hanging in them instead of curtains. No wonder he wants Claire back. After seeing their apartment, I wouldn’t want to live in this shithole either. He should’ve treated Claire better and not fucked around on her.
Of course, then I wouldn’t be fucking her, so maybe I should thank him instead.
I crack my knuckles and change tactics, banging loudly on the door instead.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Jesus, what’s the hurry?” It’s Michael’s voice all right. Muffled through the door, but I recognize his whiny tone.
I move a little to the side in case he has a peep hole. He clicks open the locks, and I’m already feeling the adrenaline kicking in. Every muscle in my body is tight and ready to spring.
The door opens with a creak. “What the hell’s so import—” He sees my face and immediately slams the door.
Or tries to anyway.
Stabbing my foot out, I brace it against the door while I pivot the rest of my weight over and into it. It flies open, knocking Michael back onto his ass so hard he bounces.
He shrieks while putting his arms up to cover his face. His words are rushed and panicked. “Don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me!”
My lip curls up in disgust. I slam the door so we aren’t disturbed, and bat his hands aside so I can get a good grip on the front of his shirt. I haul him to his feet and shove him up against the wall with a satisfying thump. He grunts in pain, and I happily admit that the sound makes me feel a little better already.
“Alright, you little worm. I’ve decided to present a counteroffer to your shitty blackmail attempt. Are you ready to hear it, or do I need to get persuasive?” My grin is feral, deathly serious and probably ugly as hell.
Eyes wide open, he shakes his head so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t pull his neck in the process. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’d never—”
I cut him off by slamming him back into the wall. “Don’t play dumb. I’m here because you couldn’t settle for just being a regular jackass. You had to go above and beyond, so I’m returning the favor.”
“Shit! Don’t hurt me!” He seems to rally a little and struggles.