Page 105 of Lorran
“Talent and raw charisma.”
Wyn laughed at his lopsided grin, the real one that had just a bit of fang peeking out.
Satisfied at the variety of color in the pan, she dipped the brush in and swirled. Holding up the brush, she considered it against his chest, then tossed the tool aside.
“I want to feel you,” she said, before dipping her fingers in the paint. Starting with the deep indigo, she rolled her index finger in the paint pan, gathering up as much pigment as possible.
“Lower your head.” Mixing white and indigo to match his eyes, her paint-covered fingers reached for his horns. He hesitated. “Is this okay? If you don’t want paint on your horns, I understand.”
“No,” he said, his tone unsure. “You are certain this is water-soluble?”
“Yes. This was replicated from an Earth…recipe? Is that the right word? Anyway, I asked for this kind of paint because it is easy to clean and wash off, even when it’s dry. I just thought the blue would look nice on your horns.”
“Some males decorate their horns. It is fashionable,” he said.
She heard the unspoken,But not a warrior. “No worries.” She stroked a finger along his ear, highlighting the shell in blue.
“Proceed.” He lowered his head and squeezed his eyes closed, as if anticipating pain.
“You are ridiculous,” she muttered.
“If my sacrifice will please my mate, then I must endure. Do it. While I have my courage.”
“Screw your courage to the sticking place,” she said, because nothing was hotter than quoting Macbeth while naked and covered in paint. Don’t be jelly.
Her fingers caressed the tips of his horns, working blue paint over the ridges and into the crevices.
“There.” She stepped back to admire her handiwork. Lorran gave an overly wide smile, all fangs and streaks of color on his face. The blue highlighted the twisty texture of his horns and made his eyes even more intense. “I can see why it’s fashionable. You look good.”
Her hands skimmed over his chest, and she felt him rumble with satisfaction.
Paint smudged over the inked design on his bicep, catching his natural glow and shimmering blue. She worked her way up his arm, adding green and violet. Each color was a new finger, a strategy that continued until her digits were a rainbow. Then her work spread to his chest and shoulders. She continuously circled around him, studying the way the light hit the paint.
Her hands drifted across his stomach, leaving a smeared spectrum. Her world narrowed to color and sensation. Paint and touch. Gasps and murmurs.
Inch by inch, Lorran transformed into a swirling mass of color.
She reached his hips and sank down to her knees. His cock, hard and begging for attention, was front and center. A deeper, darker lavender, the color there was already lovely, and she didn’t know how the sensitive skin would react to the watercolor paint.
“No sense in gilding a lily,” she said and leaned in to lick the head. The salty flavor of his precum lingered on her tongue.
Lorran groaned, bucking his hips toward her.
She planted her hands on his thighs, digging her fingers in, and left a kaleidoscope behind. She pressed her thighs together, aching but not quite ready yet.
“My turn,” he said, pulling her to her feet. He took the paint box and cup from her and set them aside.
He considered her, eyes making steady progress but not lingering in any one place for long. Finally, he dipped his finger into the violet. Dragging his finger across her cheeks, he decorated her. He traced the column of her throat, his touch lingering at the curve. His hands, so gentle, circled her nipples and gave them a thorough licking.
He leaned back to study his work, then nodded.
Wyn reached for the paint box, not noticing what color she gathered until she left an indigo trail across Lorran’s stomach. He pulled her close, pressing their bodies together, mixing the paint. Hands explored and caressed, tracing and claiming. They were lips and soft breaths, kisses and licks. Gentle strokes grew more insistent, needing and wanting, heated. Somehow, he lifted her to the bed and rolled onto his back, settling her on his hips.
Wyn wiggled, feeling him at her entrance. Hands pressed on his chest, leaving twin violet imprints, she rose, and he reached under to guide himself in.
She gasped at the enormity of him. Her core stretched and burned as he slowly pushed his way in. She knew he was thick. She’d had him down her throat often enough to know, but it was one thing to wrap her hand around his cock and appreciate its girth and another to have it splitting her in two.
Lorran stroked her back, murmuring soft words of reassurance. She was beautiful and a joy and his. His. His. His.
