Page 84 of Not Dating Material

And when he gets started, neither am I. Kind of. The brushstrokes glide over my sensitive skin, making every feeling heightened. The way it tickles along my neck and over my shoulder, brushes the curve of my spine. It’d probably be relaxing if I wasn’t so turned on, but the lust pumping through my blood is making it burn, a complete contrast to the cool paint coating my skin.

And he isn’t in a hurry. He paints down my back, my arms, and then up my legs. It tickles and feels weird as the paint dries, but every time my eyes flutter open and I glimpse Seven’s concentration mixed with the same intense want that’s flooding me, lust surges into my system again.

I’m almost sure he’s going to skip my ass, when the backs of his fingers skim up my inner thighs. He gently nudges them open, and I part them willingly, heartbeat hard and fast as he drags a slightly larger paintbrush along my taint. The bristles are soft, the paint smooth, but my breathing kicks up a notch as I clench against how good it feels.

Seven chuckles. “You like that.”

“Honestly … I’m trying not to come.”

He slaps my ass, and I jolt, hard cock scraping the rough canvas.

“Ouch.”

“No coming. I still have your front to go.”

“You’re so mean.”

“You wanted this.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Tattoo me instead. Anything you want, just let me come.”

“Nope. But if you’re really, really good for me, I might get you off when we’re done.”

Holy shit, yes. Yes, yes, yes, please.

All I can do is hope to fucking heaven that he does because while I want to say fuck it and jerk myself off, I also never, never want this to end. The two feelings are so strong and overpowering they’re driving me out of my mind.

Seven is a sadistic bastard because he takes even longer to paint my ass, making sure to drag the paintbrush over my taint when I least expect it. My whole body is a live wire, in tune with every movement from him, desperate for more of his touch. His skin. His mouth.

“Shoot me, you look incredible,” he says at last.

The compliment shivers through me. “I want to see.”

“Not until I’m done. Turn over.”

“Won’t the paint smudge?”

“I only did a thin layer, so most of it’s dry.”

And if I felt exposed before, it’s nothing to how I feel now. I roll onto my back, hard cock resting against my lower abs, leaking a pool of precum against my skin. His gaze sweeps over me, and I’m so sensitive I swear I feel that too.

The paintbrush tickles over my collarbones, dips into my belly button, sweeps over my nipples until they’re hardened and tight. He does my torso, my arms, my legs, thankfully faster on this side, and when I peek at his sweats, he’s as hard as I am. Big cock held in place by his underwear, spot of precum staining the material and the telltale bumps of his piercings taunting me.

I’m so distracted by his dick print that when the paintbrush sweeps over my balls, I gasp, hands clutching the canvas sheet.

“Oh my fucking god.”

He does it again. And again. Brush circling my sac, flicking gently over the skin. I want to sob at how good it feels, how sensitive I am, but then Seven sets down the brush.

“What are you doing?” I pant.

“Admiring my work.”

And in that moment, with his dark eyes looking intently, really seeing me, I know I want him to look at me like that forever. I reach for his phone and slide it to him.

“Take a photo.”

“What?”

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