His Masterpiece (7 page)

Above me Malcolm grabbed the headboard. It groaned under his grip as he began to thrust. He held himself back, quick and tight little nudges, but still enough for me to force myself to relax and let him rock his hips, letting his cock slide in and out of my mouth at will. The muscles under my hands were hard and trembling, and as I dug in and he began to pant, I wished we could stay like this forever.

In and out, he let his cock slide into the tight seal of my lips, and I was rewarded with tiny drops of sweet precum. I let my tongue swirl over them, licking up every last pearl until I felt him stutter and stop his stroke, clearly driven to the edge. "Sadie," he moaned, then swung off me.

I protested wordlessly at the loss of his warmth, but he didn't leave me hanging. Instead he drew the covers up over both of us and pulled me gently on top of him.

"I don't want to hurt your side any more than it already is," he whispered. "I have to let you take over.

I shook my head. "I don't want to," I told him. "I trust you."

He smiled at that. "I know," he said. "But I don't trust me. I could be at death's door and still be fucking you. I have no control when it comes to you. I just want to... to..." His hands floated just an inch from my face, and I felt the heat rolling from his palms. Gently he outlined me in the dark and I reveled in the phantom touch of him before moving down and swiping my dripping pussy over his thick cock. Just the sensation of his cock against my slick flesh made us both gasp, as though we had never felt it before. Biting my lip, I angled my hips and began to nudge him inside.

It was harder than I thought it would be. The wound in my side screeched in protest, and more than once I had to stop, panting, and let Malcolm hold my trembling body up so I didn't sink further onto his erection before I was ready, but when I finally slid him home—all of him—I collapsed forward and buried my face in his shoulder. His arms came around me and held me. The rough texture of his pubic hair ground into my clit and his cock filled me to the brim.

He ran his hands over me, as though soothing a wild beast, then under me he slowly drew out and thrust in.

The sweetness of it brought tears to my eyes. He wrapped me up in his body, holding me immobile as he pushed his hips against mine, his cock sliding in and out of my tight channel, the mound of his pubic bone grating over my clit, still hypersensitive from his earlier rough handling. I felt another orgasm build in me as our hips slammed together and he held me tight against him, our hearts hammering in time against our chests, as though trying to reach each other though blood and flesh and bone.

His cock swept in and out of me, and I coiled and curled over him, my mouth finding his ear. "Malcolm," I whispered. "Malcolm, Malcolm, make me come, make me come around you..."

"I will," he breathed. "Sadie, beautiful Sadie, my muse, my muse..." His hands went to my ass and gripped my cheeks tightly, suddenly moving me over him in different ways, angling up against the upper wall of my core, thrusting high and deep while my clit scraped and rubbed against him. My mouth opened and I swirled my tongue over his ear, slipping and probing into the folds, gentle and urgent, the same way he ate me out, and Malcolm lost control beneath me. His hips thrust and he thrashed, rolling in the bed under me as his cock plunged into my core, but all the while still carefully keeping me immobile so as not to hurt me. His fingers dug in, and I knew he would leave bruises, but I didn't care.

Then he thrust into me deeper and harder than ever before and I came, shuddering and shivering. Under me Malcolm called my name and I fastened my hands in his hair, pulling and tugging his head back until I revealed his throat to me. As I came I bit down and he cried out and thrust wildly beneath me, carried away, and I felt his cock coil and tighten before emptying his seed into me in short, sharp bursts. Together we strove in the warmth of his bed, in the light of the city, and when it was over I fell asleep on top of him with his cock still inside me.

––––––––

I woke in the middle of the night. We had shifted positions and Malcolm slept beside me, one arm thrown over my chest, and his breathing was deep and slow. He looked almost human in the light of the streetlamps outside, his face half-smooshed into the pillow under his head. The space between my thighs was delightfully sore and raw and sticky with his cum, and I clamped my legs together, as though I could keep that feeling with me forever. I rolled into him and kissed his forehead on an impulse.

He woke almost immediately, his cherrywood eyes black in the dim light, and I wanted to fall into them. Which was really silly, I reflected, because that'd probably hurt both parties. I must get sappy after getting laid.

No, not just getting laid...

"Hey," I said.

"Hello," he replied, all formality before tightening his arm around me and drawing me closer. The wound in my side, now unobscured by pleasure, tweaked and I winced. Malcolm froze immediately, then moved toward me himself. I let him come. I'd spent quite a bit of time chasing after him, it seemed. It was only right that he return the favor a little bit. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

I smiled and burrowed into his shoulder. He smelled good, rich and manly and dark, and I let myself revel in his scent. "I think I'm fine," I said. An understatement.

"Good," he said. "I'm glad. I worried I might hurt you."

"Don't worry about that," I said. "I'd let you know if you did."

His mouth twisted. "I'm sure you would.” Then he smiled. "And I might like it."

"If you want me to whip you and peg you, you only have to ask."

The look on his face was priceless. "I never said anything about pegging and whipping," he said.

I laughed at him. "Then what were you thinking of?"

"I was thinking more giving me a slap or something, after which I would tie you up and show you just how nice a little slapping can be."

Good grief, I was getting turned on by him talking about slapping me. The memory of our first painting session rose, when he slapped and flicked my nipples, driving me to an orgasm that nearly broke me apart, and I blushed. He saw my cheeks darken and grinned at me. "You are precious, Sadie," he said, running his hands through my hair.

For a long time we lay there, listening to the sounds of the city, far away and faint, but still active even this late at night. Finally I drew back and looked into his eyes.

“Malcolm,” I murmured. “What are we? Like, boyfriend and girlfriend? Artist and muse?”

He tilted his head and looked very thoughtful. “Lovers,” he said at last. “We are lovers.
The
lovers, in The Kiss” He was referring to the Rodin piece, the man and the woman caught in a passionate embrace.

“I hope not,” I said. “They look really uncomfortable in that position.”

"A little discomfort never hurt anyone."

"That's... that doesn't even make any sense."

He chuckled. “Well fine, if you're looking for
sense
I'm afraid I don't have any for you. You make me lose my senses.” He ran his hand down my body beneath the comforter, but when he hit a sore spot on my hip I winced. He stopped immediately. “What's wrong?”

I lifted the comforter and turned toward the window, exposing the imprint of his hand on my flank in purple and blue. “Just a bruise,” I said.

“Oh. Oh, Sadie. I'm so sorry. I tried so hard to keep your side from getting re-injured and I just ended up hurting you again...”

“Don't be sorry,” I said. “I like it. It's like your signature on your masterpiece. How else would anyone know it was yours?”

His shoulders relaxed at that. One hand came up and cradled my head, drawing me in for a kiss while the other soothed and smoothed over the bruise he had left behind in passion, as if he couldn't quite believe my words and wanted to make it disappear.

I
did
like it, though. Another mark on my body. Another piece of my life story.

My favorite part yet.

––––––––

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Ava Lore was raised by wombats and lives to corrupt the innocent. When she's not writing
erotic romance, she spends her time thinking about writing erotic romance and drinking enough iced coffee to kill a musk ox.

You can email Ava Lore at [email protected], follow her on twitter (@authoravalore) or visit her at authoravalore.com. She yearns for your approval and always loves to hear from fans.

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