My underwear is rolled down to my knees, and I haven’t even taken off my socks.
His mouth is on me, and oh my god, if I thought I was rattled by intense pleasure yesterday, this is a whole other level of amazing.
Rowdy splits open my folds with his tongue, ravaging me. Feasting on every bit of me. I don’t even have a moment to feel self-conscious about it. If I’d ever anticipated that this would happen, I would’ve, I don’t know, showered? For a start. Oh god, did I sweat today? Do I care?
The licks grow more intense, and his wicked tongue makes contact with my clit. I thread my fingers into his tousled hair and whimper in my need.
The sound that comes from him is something between a growl and a snarl. “That’s it. That’s my girl. That’s my woman’s perfect pussy.” His words are half audible and half muffledbecause he’s so excited to just keep going and going. Licking. Devouring. Teasing. Sucking. And, oh god, the slurping.
The sensation is almost too much. I curl my fingers where they’re locked against his skull. At one point, he scrapes his teeth ever so softly against my aching clit.
I come apart, shouting his name, and my body bucks under the intensity of it.
I look down, and for the first time, I notice Rowdy gripping his cock. It’s fully out of his boxer briefs. He wipes my essence from his face and uses it as lube to pump himself.
I watch, mystified and fascinated as he brings himself to the edge. His eyes are dark and almost drunk, but I know that he’s not. He feasted on me, stone cold sober, and made me come harder than I’ve ever come in my life.
He catches his breath and resumes working me over with his mouth while beating himself off.
As an artist, as a human, I memorize every moment. Lying here looking down, watching him do what he’s doing to me, what he’s doing to himself. I know now the thing I want to paint. I want to paint exactly this moment. I want to communicate in color and strokes exactly how this makes me feel.
I don’t give a fuck about the cute little birds of the pretty sunsets anymore. I want to fucking paint the feeling of getting your world rocked by Rowdy’s tongue.
Chapter
Twelve
Rowdy
Somehow, I convinced Riley not to cancel our fake date.
It might have been between the third and fourth orgasm yesterday.
“I have something to show you.”
When I pull up to her building on Friday night, Riley is waiting on the sidewalk and not dressed for a gala.
She looks…wildly excited.
She grabs my hand and practically drags me upstairs to the studio.
“Are we skipping this shindig to go to your bedroom, finally? Because I’m down for that, babe.”
She scoffs. “No! I just need a minute. I have to show you what I made. After you walked me home, I was up all night working on something new. Totally new. I think it’s really going to knock everyone’s socks off at the live auction tonight…I’m so excited about it…I’ve been so uninspired lately.”
“Hey, I like the little birdies,” I say, defending the collection that spans the walls of my house.
“I know, I know, but…oh…” Riley pauses on the stairs and turns to me. “I’m so rude. You look amazing, Rowdy. Really.”
She leans in, and I curl my hand around the back of her neck. We kiss for a long moment, and her excitement for whatever this new thing is radiates through me. She pulls away from the kiss, and I’m glad she isn’t wearing any makeup yet, because her lips are red from my kiss.
She pets the side of my hair and chuckles. “You even got a haircut. And you shaved! It looks good.”
“Respectable enough?”
She smiles. “Just enough to charm the money out of those city folks.”
I fucking love this girl.
