They nod. “It’s the only thing that quiets her down enough to allow me a moment out of my head.”
That must be Phantom’s way of coping with their mental illness and protecting others from the brunt of their mood swings—painting.
I nuzzle in closer, relishing Phantom’s closeness. Even though I’m tired beyond comprehension, my hand moves of its own accord, and suddenly, my fingers are trailing up their arm, gliding over the smooth hills and divots. Heat blossoms in my core, more insistent than ever before.
When I look up at Phantom, I find them flushed from the neck up, their fearful gaze on me once more. I move to take my hand away, but stop when they choke out, “It’s not—it’s just that—” they swallow thickly “—I—I’ve never—”
I interrupt them with a finger to their lips. “It’s okay. We can just sleep.”
But they surprise me by reaching out and gripping my chin between their thumb and forefinger, guiding my face back to theirs. Our lips meet again, gentler and more tender than the first time. My toes curl as their hands explore my body, slowly, lazily, as if we have all the time in the world, before finally finding purchase in my hair. A husky chuckle leaves my lips when Phantom gently tugs a fistful.
“In the meantime,” I say against their mouth, “I hope we’ll be doing much more of this.”
Phantom smiles shyly as they release me, letting me return to my pillow. “Anything you want.”
A long beat of silence passes before I finally admit, “I want you.”
Cautiously, my hand drifts. Over my breasts, along the plain of my stomach, until it stalls just above the junction of my thighs. “I want youhere,” I confess, the words barely a whisper.
Humiliated by my body’s desperation, I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to watch Phantom’s reaction. The covers shift as they move off the bed, the weight of their gaze agonizingly heavy.
The gauzy canopy comes into sudden focus at the feel of Phantom’s fingers hooking around the waistband of my sweatpants. In one swift motion, they fall to the paint-stained floor, and I’m left nearly bare from the waist down.
“What are you—” I squeal as Phantom slips one of my socks off, and then the other.
The determination in their gaze renders me silent. “You’ll have to show me what you like.”
Failing to conquer my breath, it’s all I can do to nod vigorously at them.
With deft, nimble fingers, Phantom frees me of my top next, their gaze, wild and hungry, falling on the thin cotton sports bra underneath. On instinct, my hands raise to cover myself, but Phantom captures them in their own. “Let me see you. Please.”
I release the breath caught in my throat and nod once more, slipping the bra straps from my shoulders slowly. It’s only once Phantom fully returns to the bed, climbing to straddle my knees so they can trail hot, tender kisses along my collarbone, that I register the clean paintbrush tucked behind their opposite ear. But I don’t have time to dwell on the thought as Phantom’s eager hands guide my bra up and over my head, leaving me dizzy with want as I watch them take in the sight of me.
“You are,” they pant, seeming as lost to their desire as I am, “a masterpiece, Maeve.”
“Touch me,” I plead, steering their hands over the ridges of my ribs toward my breasts.
“How?” they ask, the question drained of trepidation, and instead full of resolve.
“Like this,” I murmur while leading their thumb over the taut peak of my nipple. My back arches as the coil of need in my core tightens.
A quick study, Phantom folds at the waist, the satin-smooth scar tissue of their lips skating across the swell of my breasts. With careful reverence, they taste my chest until I’m practically squirming with impatience beneath them.
When Phantom’s eyes lock on mine, something shifts in their dual-toned gaze. Somewhere in that beautiful head of theirs, a plan is forming. And if the smirk quirking their lips is any indication, it’s a mischievous one.
I don’t even have time to question them before their mouth is on me again, traveling down the length of my stomach. When they reach the band of my underwear, they sit up before grabbing my hips and scooting us both toward the edge of the bed. “Phantom, what—”
But they’re already on their knees, shimming my undergarments down my thighs and tossing them over their shoulder, leaving me raw and tingling before them.
Their greedy gaze claims mine again. “I need you to show me.”
Swallowing thickly, I nod, knowing I could never refuse them anything. “Soft here,” I mutter while circling my slick apex with gentle fingers. “Then firmer here,” I instruct while dipping a finger into the hot core of me, “but start gentle, just in ca—”
Phantom interrupts by urging my hand away with their own. Eyes glued to mine, they wrap a warm hand around my thigh, prying my legs further apart while they pepper kisses down the tender slope of my inner thigh. I shudder at the sight: raven hairmussed, lips wet, eyes devoted. All of their focus is on me, as if I’m the center of their entire universe. As if it could all come crumbling down around them, and as long as I stayed like this, breathless, panting, and alive, they’d be fine. Perfectly fucking fine.
My muscles tense in uncertainty when they pull the paintbrush from behind their ear, a teasing gleam in their eye. “Relax,” they urge before brushing their lips against my flushed skin again. “Trust me.”
Free from the weight of their gaze, I let my eyelids flutter closed and fist the smooth velvet comforter in my hands as I do as they ask. Trust them. Wholly and implicitly.
