I whimpered into his mouth as my hands fumbled with his shirt.
“Please,” I begged as I palmed the bulge in his jeans.
He groaned, finally giving in a little, unzipping and shoving his pants down. As I yanked his shirt open, his dick sprang free. But even then, he didn't rush.
He guided my hand to it, letting me stroke the length, but pulled away before I could drop to my knees. “Not yet, Rhythm. I want to feel you first.”
Our lips crashed together and our hands went everywhere. My foot caught the edge of a paint can I'd left open, and it tipped, spilling blues and reds across the floor. Neither of us stopped, though. Sincere just scooped me up and lowered me onto the unmounted, blank canvas stretched out on the floor. The edges of it caught the pooling paint. As he laid me down, I could feel the coolness of it running under me.
He settled between my legs, and his body covered mine. His dick nudged against my inner thigh but didn’t enter me. He kissed a path down my neck, sucking lightly on my collarbone, then lower to latch onto one nipple. His tongue flicked the bud while his hand kneaded the other breast. I moaned as my hips bucked up, seeking friction, but he pinned me with his weight, making me ache deeper.
“Tell me what you need,” he demanded softly. As his free hand slid down my side, his fingers teased the crease where thigh met pussy.
“You,” I gasped. “Fuck me, Sincere. Please.”
Giving me the sexiest, devilish grin, his fingers parted my folds. Two slid in deep, curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. I cried out, clenching around him as he pumped slowly, thumb circling my clit. The paint smeared between us as I writhed. Reds and blues streaked his arms, my back, and I could feel it sliding down the crack of my ass. He watched my face the whole time, studying every gasp and every flutter of my lashes, until his hands knew my body better than I did, until he knew exactly how to make me shatter.
When I was trembling on the edge, he withdrew his fingers, and positioned his dick at my entrance. He pushed in slow, inch by thick inch, stretching me.
“So tight for me,” he growled, holding still once he was buried deep, letting me adjust to the delicious pressure. Then he started giving me long, deliberate thrusts that ground against my clit with every snap of his hips. I wrapped my legs around him. My nails dug into his back, and the canvas crinkled beneath us as paint squelched and spread.
Making love to him was superior. He touched me so softly that I finally realized how rough everyone else had been with me. Every slide of his dick inside me sent waves of pleasure radiating from my core. I felt exposed yet cherished.
His eyes never left mine as he told me, “You’re perfect.”
He braced one hand beside my head and the other gripped my hip to angle deeper. “I needed this just as much as you did, baby.”
I came, hard and suddenly. My pussy spasmed around his dick, and my walls milked him as ecstasy ripped through me. It was like fire and silk, pleasure so intense it bordered onoverwhelm, leaving me gasping, tears pricking my eyes from the release.
He didn't stop, stroking me through it, drawing out every tremor until I was boneless beneath him. “That's it, baby.”
14
RHYTHM BROOKS
The next morning, I shuffled into the dining room with wild hair and eyes half open as I followed Sincere as he headed toward the front door.
He was already dressed, while I was still wearing the cropped lace camisole and matching thong I had slept in.
I didn’t want him to leave. And that scared me.
It felt fast... too fast. It felt dangerously close to obsession, and I kept telling myself it was just the good sex, the newness, and the fact that we’d been having such an intense run of time together.
We reached the door, and before I could even form a reluctant goodbye, Sincere turned and grabbed the back of my neck, gently but firm enough to make my breath catch. Then he kissed me. His tongue slid into my mouth and my body pressed against his without hesitation.
He pulled back slowly, staring at me in a way that made heat pool low in my stomach. His eyes traveled down my body, taking in the lace, my bare thighs, and the curve of my hips.
“You’re trouble,” he murmured.
I smirked. “You like trouble.”
He shook his head like he was fighting himself. “I do.”
We lingered there like teenagers. We couldn’t get enough of each other. We kept kissing, staring, and touching, until finally, he stepped out.
“Call me,” I said.
“Of course,” he replied.
