Page 48 of Of Heartbreak and Harmony
He takes the clip in his hand again, then tightens his grip on the hand still fisted in my hair. A small tug, just enough to sting at the root, and I have to swallow back a whimper.
“Your hair is so soft.”
I say nothing. I breathe him in, eyes still closed as he makes sure every strand of my hair is safely in the bun, then he secures it with the claw clip.
“There. Now we can start.”
I clear my throat. “Okay.”
“First, we have to put this on you.”
He holds up some aloe lotion before squirting some on his hands and rubbing them together. He doesn’t ask if I want to do it myself, and I’m grateful for that. I want his hands on me so badly I might die, but I don’t think I could say it out loud.
The moment his hands land on my shoulders, I suck in a quick breath.
“Cold?” he asks with a smirk.
“Yes.”
“Sorry. I thought I warmed it enough.”
He did. It’s not cold. His touch is just more than I expected. The jolt of electricity I felt from the brief touch of our hands was nothing in comparison. He slides his palms over my chest and down my arms, then over my stomach and back. It takes all my strength not to tremble under his touch. I have to remind myself not to lock my knees.
“Do you want to keep your shorts on?” he asks, and my eyes widen.He laughs. “You can keep them on. I didn’t know if you wanted to do full body.”
I bite my lip, warring over the decision for all of two seconds before shaking my head.
“You can, um...you can take them off.”
God, his mischievous grin goes right to my fucking clit. It’s not until his long fingers are undoing my button and pushing my shorts over the curve of my ass that I realize this could make the wetness pooling in my panties visible to him. I start to panic, but he never pulls his eyes away from mine. Not even when I’m stepping out of my shorts and kicking them to the side. Not even when he lowers himself to his knees and runs his hands up and down my calves and thighs, coating me with the aloe lotion. The eye contact almost makes it worse, my arousal heightening, my attraction to him increasing tenfold. When he finally stands and turns away, my body sags as if finally released from the force field created by his green eyes.
He grabs one of the sponge paintbrushes and smiles. “I’ll try not to get paint on your bra.”
I swallow roughly and decide before I can overthink it. “You can take that off, too.”
He arches a brow, his nostrils flaring slightly as he inhales. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” I say, then I force a small laugh. It comes out a breathy blend of nerves and arousal. “But I don’t want paint on my bra.”
He nods slowly, then doesn’t take his eyes off mine as he reaches behind my body and undoes my bra with one hand and drops it next to the rest of my clothes. Skilled and swift. It shouldn’t be a turn on, but it is. My nipples pebble in the warm night air, my breasts heavy and aching.
“Do you want to do the lotion?”
I shake my head no and watch as he puts the handle of the paintbrush between his teeth and reaches for the aloe lotion. He rubs more lotion between his hands, warming it, then pauses briefly, seeking my consent again. I give him a small smile and a nod, and then he puts his hands on me once more.
I bite my lip, my body erupting in chills as his hands glide smoothly, almost respectfully, over my breasts coating my sensitive skin in the aloelotion. He doesn’t toy with me or fondle me, but I still have to swallow back a whimper when his palms pass over my peaked nipples, his calloused fingers circling them briefly before his thumbs run under the curve of my breast. I think I see his eyes fill with heat. I think his breath grows shaky. But he never takes his gaze away from mine.
When he’s finished, he takes the paintbrush from his teeth and smirks.
“Ready?” His voice is a low rasp, making my heart skip and my own words come out in a strangled whisper.
“Yes.”
He dips the paintbrush in a bucket of red, and I gasp when he drags the cold paint over my collarbone in long strokes. I can’t suppress my shiver. My nipples ache, my core throbs, and he’s barely touched me. His eyes bounce from my chest, to my eyes, and back, dividing his focus between the painting and how I’m reacting to it.
He must like what he sees, because his own naked chest begins to rise and fall more rapidly, and his white teeth sink into his bottom lip in a way that has me wondering what his bite feels like.
He alternates brushes, moving between reds, oranges, and yellows. Some white. Some black, until my arms and chest are a canvas of swirling flames, and I feel like I might overheat from the lust churning in my stomach. He lowers to his knees again and freezes. When I glance down at him, I find his eyes focused on the apex of my thighs, and suddenly, I’m blushing so hot I worry I’ll melt the latex right off my body.
