Another drop fell. Then another.
I started licking faster, chasing the rivulets of melting ice cream down my wrists, my bound hands making the task more difficult andsomehow more erotic.
Soon I was in the flow of it. Licking, sucking, chocolate dribbling down my chin, onto the ribbon, onto my exposed breast.
I licked my wrists. I licked my fingers. I even licked the chocolate from the swell of my breast where it had dripped.
I knew I must look like a mess—lipstick smeared, chocolate everywhere, half-naked and bound. But I liked it. I liked this mess.
I was celebrating myself. Just like Florin had told me to.
I didn’t know if he was getting the poses he wanted, the angles he needed. And I didn’t care. This moment was mine. My enjoyment. My satisfaction.
I felt sexy in my half-undone bra and soaked panties and stilettos, licking chocolate like it was the most decadent thing I’d ever experienced.
Because it was.
“Beautiful,” Florin’s voice came from across the room. “Perfect. Don’t stop.”
I kept going, losing myself completely in the sensation. The cold sweetness, the silk beneath me, the warmth of the sun, the knowledge that Florin was watching me, painting me, immortalizing this moment.
Finally, when the chocolate was nearly gone, Florin approached again.
He took the remaining ice cream from my hands and kissed me—deep and passionate.
Then he untied the ribbon from my wrists, my hands finally free.
“Play with yourself,” he ordered.
My breath caught. “What?”
“You heard me. Touch yourself. Show me how you make yourself feel good.”
I loved being ordered. The command sent a thrill through me that was almost painful in its intensity.
I did as I was told.
I pulled down my soaked panties, kicked them aside. Now I was completely naked except for the twisted bra and my heels.
I put my hand between my legs, finding my clit already swollen and sensitive.
I’d forgotten Florin was painting. Sexual waves crashed over me, demanding satisfaction. I rubbed harder, faster, my other hand finding my exposed breast, pinching the nipple the way Florin had.
My breathing quickened. I moaned, not caring who might hear, not caring about anything except the building pressure.
Higher, higher, until—
I came with a cry, my whole body shuddering with the force of it.
“Beautiful,” Florin said softly.
He walked over and kneeled next to me. He took my face in both his hands, and looked into my eyes.
“You gave me the perfect image of sensuality and femininity that I’ve been hoping to capture. My paintings were missing this onedetail—small but magnanimous. Today, I transcended as an artist. And you made it possible, Amelia.”
He took both my hands in his hands, and kissed me, as if he was indebted to me for something. He helped me up, offering me the panties and robe.
But I didn’t want them.
