"Thanks."
He's quiet for a moment, studying the work. Then his hand slides around my waist, pulling me back against his chest.
"How many pieces do you have so far?" he asks, pushing his face into my hair and I have to stop myself from moaning.
"Maybe ten that are portfolio quality. The photographs from the road, these two drawings. I need at least fifteen more. Maybe twenty."
"What kind of subjects?"
"Crime scenes, human suffering like people in diners, bars, public spaces. The sad faces. The broken moments, everything that they try to hide."
His hand tightens on my waist. "We can get you that material tomorrow."
"I can’t wait."
He turns me around to face him, his hands settling on my ass. In the red light, he looks dangerous and beautiful and exactly like the man I chose on that Utah roadside. He kisses me, slow and deep, and I can taste the approval on his tongue.
Then he lifts me onto the counter, pushing between my legs. The photographs and drawings surround us, our history laid bare.
"Tell me what you need," he says against my mouth.
"This, you, that’s all I need."
"You'll have it. All of it."
His hands slide under my shirt, stroking my skin, leaving goosebumps in its place. I'm not wearing anything underneath, just his t-shirt and nothing else and he groans when he realizes.
"Fuck, Roxy."
"Well, do something about it, Dom. You don’t want to leave me unsatisfied, do you?"
"Be careful what you wish for," he says as he pulls my shirt off and tosses it aside, leaving me naked on the counter. His large hands map my body with precision, first my tits, then he moves down to my waist, hips, thighs. Claiming every single inch, like it isn’t already all his.
"You're mine," he says, his thumb brushing over my nipple and I shiver at the contact. "This body and your mind. It all belongs to me.”
He starts to suck on my neck, before moving down to my tits, groping them with both hands before taking my nipple in his mouth, swirling it with his tongue before gently biting on the nub. My whole body is on fire, like it always is when he touches me.
“I fucking love these tits. I could feast on them all day, baby.”
“Suck them hard,” I beg, my clit throbbing with need. He fits as much of my breast in his mouth as he can, firmly holding it in his hand as he sucks and licks around my nipples. It sends shockwaves to my core.
"I'll kill anyone who tries to take you away," he says, his voice all deep and sexy. His possessive words make me wet, my body responds by arching into his touch with a gasp. Because I know he means it. He'd kill for me. Kill to protect what we're building. Kill to keep me exactly as I am. His mouth moves down to my navel where he licks and bites the skin. I’m in fucking heaven right now.
"Tell me about the portfolio," he says, his hand sliding between my legs. "Tell me again what you're going to create."
"Twenty-five pieces," I gasp as his fingers find my clit. "Aftermath of pain, human suffering. The truth…oh shit," I pant uncontrollably, struggling to maintain a flow of conversation as he works over my clit as if he has a PhD in how to work it.
"And then?" he says, licking a line with his tongue up my neck. I really have to focus on what he’s saying.
"Then I submit to galleries. New York first. Maybe Miami. Berlin if I can get international interest."
"You will, baby. The work is too good not to."
His fingers slide inside me and I cry out, my hands gripping the edge of the counter.
"Keep talking," he demands. "Tell me the plan."
"Oh god, more, uh, a few weeks to build the portfolio. Then submissions. Then…then exhibitions. Fuck, I’m gonna cum soon, shit, err then sales, and and a career,” I struggle to finish the sentence on the long moan I let out. The sounds of my wetness on his fingers are crude but so fucking hot.
