Page 31 of Undisputed Chaos
I stroked slowly at first, grip firm but not tight, twisting slightly at the head the way I liked it.
My thumb collected the moisture beading at the tip, using it to ease the friction as I matched my rhythm to the pace of her brushstrokes.
It was primal, intense, watching her create while I chased release.
With each upward motion, I imagined her paint-stained fingers replacing mine, her soft mouth parting in surprise as I showed her exactly what she’d invited.
I imagined how those plush lips would stretch around me, how her hands would struggle to encircle my thickness.
My breathing grew heavier, ragged in the quiet confines of the car, as I increased the pace, my fist moving with undisguised need.
She stepped back from her easel, tilting her head to assess her work. She bit her lip, considering something, then leaned forward to add a final touch to the canvas.
The movement sent her dress sliding up, revealing the curve where thigh met cheek.
That glimpse of skin was all it took.
I tightened my grip, pumping faster, my hips thrusting up to meet my fist. Release crashed through me with burning force, my vision blurring as pleasure pulsed through every nerve.
I bit back a groan, not wanting to make a sound even though there was no way she could hear me from this distance.
Hot, thick ropes painted my stomach and chest as I worked myself through the remaining waves, my body shuddering with each pulse.
As I came back to myself, breath ragged, I watched her gather her supplies, lovingly covering her canvas with a plastic.
She seemed pleased with her work, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
She should’ve been given what I’d just done from watching her wield a paintbrush.
She stood at the railing for a moment, gazing out at the darkening sky, utterly unaware of my voyeuristic presence or the fact that my stomach was covered in cum thanks to her.
"Soon," I purred, tucking myself away and readjusting my clothes. "Soon you'll be painting in my mansion, princess. And I won't be watching from across the street."
Her phone lit up, and she glanced at it before disappearing inside, sliding the glass door closed behind her.
The balcony stood empty, but the image of her, soft and beautiful, lost in her art, was burned into my mind.
I started the car, the engine sputtering to life. Tomorrow, I'd leave another breadcrumb for her to follow, another hint that I was circling closer. The hunt was half the fun, after all.
And Isla was proving to be the most enticing prey I'd ever pursued.
CHAPTER SIX
Isla
Iwoke to the familiar chime of my phone, a sound that now sent my heart racing with anticipation rather than the usual mild interest.
Sunlight streamed through my blue curtains, painting my bedroom in a dance of colors, but I barely noticed as I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand.
My fingers trembled slightly as I unlocked the screen, breath catching when I saw the notification from @AdrianCatalyst.
I tapped it instantly, stomach flipping as the post loaded.
It was a watercolor I'd shared weeks ago, a dreamy cityscape at dusk with streetlights like stars against a violet sky.
His comment sat beneath it, posted just twenty minutes ago:
@AdrianCatalyst: Angels have talented hands. I wonder what else they can create.
