Pax
My dick is harder than it has been in a long time and I know Mila can see it. I can't help but stare at her. She's so fucking beautiful.
She stares at me from around her easel and I can see the curve of her breast. It's creamy white and soft and I ache to stride across the room and stroke it, to pull the nipple into my mouth and feel it harden into a pebble. With each movement of her arm, I can see the curve of her hip, the length of her thigh. Her legs are the perfect length to wrap around my hips.
My groin tightens even more.
Dead puppies, nuns, cold fish. I envision these things, but it doesn't work. Damn. My dick twitches.
Mila smiles.
"You won't burn me," she tells me confidently as her hand moves across her canvas. "You already promised."
I swallow.
"I promised to try," I remind her. "But I'm not as perfect as you are."
She smiles again, her eyes focused intently on what she is painting. I can only see the silhouette of her side and her slender arm moving. I strain to see more.
"I'm not perfect," she tells me. "Far from it, actually."
I roll my eyes and shift my weight. It's surprisingly hard to remain in one place.
"I somehow doubt that."
She looks at me sternly. "You've got to stay still," she reprimands me. "I need you in one position."
"What position might that be?" I ask, trying not to smile. "Missionary? Doggy-style? Shall we check out a copy of the Kama Sutra from the library?"
"No need," she says as she steps around her easel and walks toward me, absolutely gorgeous in her nudity. "I have one in my bed stand."
I suck in my breath and stare at her and she laughs, enjoying my shock.
"Kidding," she tells me as she draws to a stop in front of me and moves my arm. Her touch, although it's merely on my arm, sets my skin on fire. As she leans forward, ever so slightly, her breast presses against my chest, soft and warm. My dick is rock hard now and curved toward the ceiling. I fight the urge to grab her and bury my tongue in her throat.
"Funny," I say drily. And then an idea occurs to me.
A wicked one.
"I've changed my mind," I tell her and she is standing so close that I can feel the heat of her naked body. Her nipples are exactly as I thought they'd be. Pink and tilted toward the sky. I groan silently. This girl is hotter than any one girl has the right to be.
"Oh?" she asks innocently as she adjusts my other arm. I nod.
"Yep. I want to paint now."
She's surprised. "You do? I thought you said that you aren't an artist."
I smile, the grin stretching from ear to ear. She's walking straight into something again and I'm enjoying it.
"Oh, I think I can be," I tell her. "If I have the right canvas."
She is still puzzled and I break form, grabbing her hand and leading her back to her easel, to the little stand that holds her tray of paint. She's staring at me in confusion, one eyebrow cocked as she waits for me to explain.
I stare into her eyes, which is incredibly difficult to do since the rest of her body is naked. I deserve a medal for this show of restraint.
"I know that you want to go slow and I respect that. I promise to stop at any time that you tell me to, okay?"
She looks uncertain and I fight the urge to look at her tits again.
"I promise," I assure her. "I have an idea for something fun. But it involves me touching you. Do you have a problem with that?"
She looks even more hesitant, but she shakes her head. She trusts me. I don't know how or why, but she does. That knowledge clenches my gut into a vise-grip.
"No," she says quietly. "I don't have a problem with that."
I smile and will my stomach muscles to relax.
"Good. I'm going to need you to stand still. An artist needs to concentrate."
Mila rolls her eyes and stands still, her hands dangling beside her perfect hips. I swallow hard. My dick is so fucking hard it could cut glass.
Reaching around her, I scoop a glob of red paint onto my fingers. And then without hesitation, I touch her chest, gliding the crimson color in a swoop across her skin. It looks like a red bird is flying in a V across her chest.
At the contact, she gasps and her eyes fly to mine.
"Finger painting," she manages to eke out. "Interesting. I did this in kindergarten."
"Oh, not like this," I answer confidently, as I slide my fingers down her soft side, toward her hip. "I guarantee you that."
She looks like she swallows her tongue as I trace the outline of her butt, and then slide my fingers down her slender thigh toward her knee. I bend on my own knee and kiss the back of hers. She inhales shakily.
I can hear it, and I smile.
Reaching over, I choose black paint this time, tracing the color across her back and up to her shoulders, in swirls and swoops. I don't have a particular picture or word in mind, I simply slide the color across her flawless skin. I enjoy the friction of my skin against hers, and I can't help but wish that she was pressed against me.
I reach around and pull her toward me, my palms flattened against her flat belly as I press my lips against her smooth back. I bury my face in the top of her butt, the soft rounded flesh against my face. Her feminine scent fills my nose and I breathe deeply, soaking her in.
"Pax," she whispers.
"Do you want me to stop?" I ask quietly and everything in me is praying that she says no.
"No," she answers, and I breathe again. "I like your hands on me."
Her voice is quiet and soft and I close my eyes.
As I slide my hands around to her hips, I can feel her pulse in my fingertips. I glance around and find my handprints on her abdomen.
"I've imprinted on you," I tell her, laughing softly. "You're mine now."
And it's true. She's mine now. She might not know it yet, but it is true.
She swallows hard. I can hear her moist tongue in her mouth and I wish it was in mine. She twists around and her eyes meet mine. I drag my fingers up to her neck, holding her chin as I bring my lips to hers.
Slowly.
Painfully slow.
Her lips are warm and soft and she crushes them harder against me, turning until she's pressed against me, naked and pliable. And I get my wish. Her tongue plunges into my mouth, quiet and needy.
She melts into me and I press my palms against her back, dragging her to my chest, holding her there tightly.
She moans and my dick is wedged against her, hot and hard.
Fuck.
I hadn't counted on this. I'm going to need a very cold shower. But it isn't over. Not yet. I've got her here, naked and in front of me. I can't let this opportunity pass by. I want her to realize that she wants me too.
I slide my hands down, down... until they reach the softness of her thigh. I stroke there, softly, barely touching her until her eyes flutter closed. Her breath is rapid and soft and I smile.
"Do you like this?" I ask quietly. "My form of art?"
She nods. "You're...very creative." Her words are a whisper.
I chuckle, then move my hand toward her very center, between her legs. She gasps as I push her legs apart and touch her, as I move circles around her most sensitive part. She leans against me, allowing me to prop her up as I stroke her.
I bend my head and pull her pink nipple into my mouth, sucking the softness in, then letting it slide back out. She tastes as sweet as I thought she would. I knead at her soft skin, inhaling her scent and warmth, all while the fingers of my other hand never stop moving.
She moans and it is almost my undoing. I've never wanted anything more than I want to bury myself in her right now. I swallow hard. I can't. But I can make her want it so much that when it does finally happen, it will be fucking explosive.
I bend her back and follow the contour of her neck with my lips and then I kiss her again, hard and deep as I quicken the movement of my fingers. She's so fucking wet now and my fingers move fluidly in her, rubbing, stroking, bringing her to the edge.
She whimpers.
"I want you," she breathes against my lips. "Please. I want you."
I gulp as hard as I can, willing myself not to cave in.
"Let yourself go," I tell her. "Right now. I want to feel you come on my fingers, Mila."
Her eyes pop open and she stares into mine, her eyes filled with unselfconscious wonder, as though no one has ever said that to her. And then I realize it is probably true. I groan and drop my head, kissing her yet again, her tongue sweet against mine. I slide my fingers in and out, quicker, faster, harder and then she gasps, arching against me, crushed against me.
I suck in my breath as I feel her shudder. She comes hard and it is so fucking sexy.
She is damp and shaky and I hold her suspended in front of me, wrapped in my arms, until she finally opens her eyes.
She and I are both covered in paint now and when she pulls away slightly to look up at me, her cheeks are flushed and she looks sheepish. I smile.
"Did you enjoy my art project? I think it was a masterpiece."
She rolls her eyes and smiles slightly, as she bends to pick up scattered art supplies from the floor. I watch her ass, since she frames it up so perfectly in front of me.
"Why didn't you fuck me when I asked you to?"
The sound of that word coming from her sweet little mouth surges life back into my dick and she notices. She raises her eyebrows.
I smile.
"Because you're not ready yet. But you will be. And when you are, it's going to blow your mind."
"I have no doubt," she answers softly as she bends again to pick up the smock that she abandoned. "But that wasn't fair. You didn't get anything out of that. I feel bad."
I stare at her incredulously. Seriously? This little episode is going to fuel my morning shower every morning from now until eternity.
"Trust me," I tell her. "I got something out of it. Don't you worry about that."
She looks at me doubtfully. "I find that hard to believe. But we have a bigger problem. Where does one go in a date after something like that?"
I shrug. "I don't know. You're the expert on normal date behavior."
She grins and blushes. "That wasn't normal date behavior," she tells me. "That was extraordinary. Just so you know."
I grin as she picks up her clothes and turns to me. "I think we need a shower now."
I grin wider and she blushes again.
"Separately," she adds quickly. "Or I won't be able to trust myself."
I laugh and follow her as she walks from the studio. My eyes are once again focused on her perfect ass.
"Obviously," I tell her. "You've shown that you can't be trusted to think clearly in these situations."
She turns and rolls her eyes. "Oh, yes. That was entirely my fault."
I chuckle. "You were the one who suggested that I paint," I remind her and she laughs. I decide that her laughter is my new favorite sound in the world.
"True," she acknowledges. "But that wasn't exactly what I had in mind." She glances at me impishly. "It was better."
After we both shower, I have to admit to Mila that I had forgotten to bring the Chinese food.
"I'm sorry, "I tell her with a grin. "I can't be trusted to think about more than one thing at once. And I was focusing on being on time."
She smiles and reaches for the phone.
"It's okay," she tells me. "I've got them on speed-dial."
After the food arrives, I show her how to use chop-sticks and laugh at her attempts. She ends up eating with a fork, her lip puffed out in a pout.
"I'll master that," she vows. "Someday."
I smile and we eat and then she talks me into watching a chick flick. I honestly have no idea how that happened, except that I am coming to realize that it exceptionally hard to say no to her.
The movie doesn't end until far past midnight and we are cuddled together on the couch, warm and comfortable.
"I don't want to get up," she tells me as the credits roll. "I want to stay right here, with you. Can we sleep like this tonight?"
Her eyes are wide, as though she's asking me for the biggest favor in the world. My arms are around her and she is settled against my chest, her slender back draped against me. I smile down at her.
"Go to sleep, Red. I'll be right here in the morning."
She smiles and closes her eyes, nestling against me. I fall asleep, more contented that I've been in my entire life.
And then I dream.
Once again, I dream about my mother and even in my dream, I am wondering what the fuck is up with this. I deliberately don't think about my mom - because it's just too painful. But here I am dreaming about her again- and I can't force myself to wake.
I am somewhere dark. And I'm afraid. I don't know why and I can't see anything, but I can hear my mom's voice. She's begging. And I hear my name.
I try to open my eyes, to wake myself, to end the sound of her voice, but I can't. And deep down, I feel a sense of intense horror, although I don't know why.
"Not him!" she cries out and I know it is her voice because I'll never forget the sound of it. "Not him!"
And then I see her arms, stretching out, reaching for me and I am clutched to her even though I can't see anything. Everything is black and I am more frightened than I have ever been in my life. I am crying and she is crying and suddenly her arms are Mila's.
I look up and I can see again. Mila is covered in light, in a thousand glistening sunbeams. And she's smiling at me.
"Pax," she whispers. "I'm here. It's alright. Everything is going to be alright."
And then my eyes are open and I'm awake and I find that Mila is really here and she is really whispering those words to me.
"It's okay," she croons to me, stroking the hair away from my forehead. I realize that I am drenched in sweat. "Everything is okay."
I look at her, at the tenderness on her face and my gut clenches. I just dreamed that my mother turned into Mila. I'm seriously fucked up.
"Babe," I tell her when I can finally speak, when my gut unclenches enough to allow me to form the words. "I think I'll take the name of your therapist now."
