Guns: The Spencer Book
Page 20
His hands reach around to my bra clasp, and then before I can even formulate how I might feel about being stripped of my last bit of clothing, my br**sts fall free and he licks his lips. He pulls the lacy pink bra down my arms and I slip my hands out before he makes me keep it on. I’m still thinking about the panties around my ankles. Something about that is just so… so… sexual.
I wait.
He waits.
“Now what?” I ask.
“What do you want to do now?” he counters.
I reach down and slip the panties over my feet and then set them on top of the small pile of clothes.
“And now you’re ready,” he whispers.
“What am I ready for?”
He gets up from the grass, grabs my clothes, places them in the office, then drags his airbrush equipment over to the spot where I’m sitting on the grass. “Now, I f**k you with paint.”
Holy shit. He just said that.
I’m so turned on, I’m starting to throb. He walks back over to the cart, tests the flow of paint on a piece of cardboard, and then turns to me. “You will never forget this day, Veronica Vaughn. For the rest of your life, whenever someone asks you what the best day of your life was, this will be in your top three.”
“What about the other two?” I ask.
“We haven’t made those memories yet, Bomb. But we will.”
The air bursts out of the gun and flows against my lower leg. It’s not a sexual place on the body, not really. But I have to stop myself from coming right then and there. When I look up at Spencer he’s all business now, concentrating on his canvas.
I take my attention back to the paint. It’s clear, or almost clear. But it’s got some kind of glitter in it too. And as time passes and more and more of my skin is coated, I realize what he’s doing.
He’s making me… shimmer.
“Lie still,” he commands in his alpha voice. “And spread your legs.”
“Oh. God.”
But he ignores my words and instead takes his light stream of air to the inside of my thighs. He paints them in long strokes. Long, agonizingly delicious, flutter-inducing strokes. Up and down.
He adjusts the paint flow and then a puff of air hits my pu**y and I almost die. “Oh,” I moan out.
Spencer’s spraying never stops. The stream of air only becomes slower and more directed. Lingering over my clit for a moment, then moving off to the side, then down my leg again. I realize he’s been doing the same places over and over and I want to open my eyes and ask him what he’s doing.
But I don’t need to. I know what he’s doing.
He’s f**king me with paint.
“Give in to it, Veronica. Just give in, baby.”
And I do. I open my legs wider. I pull my knees up and slip my hand down to my stomach, but it’s quickly removed.
“No cheating,” he chastises me. And then he adjusts the stream of air so it’s stronger and the delivery of paint so it’s almost nonexistent.
My back arches as the nothingness reaches out and caresses my clit. One pass. I moan. Two more passes. I whimper again and again. Three quick bursts and I lose myself in the sensation. And then the air is gone, and Spencer’s body is propped over mine, his mouth on my mouth, his tongue tangled with my tongue.
I orgasm in the atrium.
And only his paint and his mouth ever touches me.
I have Spencer’s complete attention the entire day. After the erotic beginning, the conversation is easy and fun. He teases me and tickles me, on purpose and sometimes not on purpose. We laugh and when it gets past dinnertime, he stops and feeds me strawberries and holds a glass of wine to my lips. My fingers have been intricately painted with elaborate rings and the jeweled bracelets encircling my wrists are so detailed and beautiful, I wish they were real.
He’s painted my face too. A fantastical pattern of barely-there pastels that have the same shimmer to them as the whole-body paint. He won’t let me look in the mirror and even though I can guess that I’m some kind of fairy by the outfit, I really have no idea what he’s doing other than making me fall in love.
“What are you thinking about, Bombshell?” he asks me.
I realize I’m smiling. Very big.
I turn my head so I can see him next to me, careful not to rub my painted cheek on the soft grass since I’m lying on my back. “You,” I sigh.
“Then my plan is working.”
“What’s your plan? Keep me captive in this atrium all day, naked under the pretense of making my body your canvas?”
He smiles, like there’s more truth in that statement than not.
“It’s gonna get dark soon. Are there lights in here?”
He looks up at the ceiling and my gaze follows. It’s only then that I notice that some of the branches of the large tree have been trimmed so the geometric patterns of the ceiling can be seen. He points. “All the light we need will come from the moon.”
This statement stops my brain. I look over at him again and he’s smirking. “What are you up to? You’ve certainly taken your time today.” I lift my head so I can look down the full length of my body. “Is it done?” It could be, I conclude before I look back at him.
He says nothing, just smiles.
The minutes pass and I relax back into the soft grass. “It’s such a shame this will all be gone next week.”
“Nah,” Spencer says as he stretches back next to me. He reaches for my hand and gently twines our fingers together. “It’s gonna be here forever.” For a second I think he’s changed his mind about ripping down the building. But then he taps my head. “Veronica Vaughn, this place will live on in our fantasies. You will remember this place for the rest of your life.”
I wait.
He waits.
“Now what?” I ask.
“What do you want to do now?” he counters.
I reach down and slip the panties over my feet and then set them on top of the small pile of clothes.
“And now you’re ready,” he whispers.
“What am I ready for?”
He gets up from the grass, grabs my clothes, places them in the office, then drags his airbrush equipment over to the spot where I’m sitting on the grass. “Now, I f**k you with paint.”
Holy shit. He just said that.
I’m so turned on, I’m starting to throb. He walks back over to the cart, tests the flow of paint on a piece of cardboard, and then turns to me. “You will never forget this day, Veronica Vaughn. For the rest of your life, whenever someone asks you what the best day of your life was, this will be in your top three.”
“What about the other two?” I ask.
“We haven’t made those memories yet, Bomb. But we will.”
The air bursts out of the gun and flows against my lower leg. It’s not a sexual place on the body, not really. But I have to stop myself from coming right then and there. When I look up at Spencer he’s all business now, concentrating on his canvas.
I take my attention back to the paint. It’s clear, or almost clear. But it’s got some kind of glitter in it too. And as time passes and more and more of my skin is coated, I realize what he’s doing.
He’s making me… shimmer.
“Lie still,” he commands in his alpha voice. “And spread your legs.”
“Oh. God.”
But he ignores my words and instead takes his light stream of air to the inside of my thighs. He paints them in long strokes. Long, agonizingly delicious, flutter-inducing strokes. Up and down.
He adjusts the paint flow and then a puff of air hits my pu**y and I almost die. “Oh,” I moan out.
Spencer’s spraying never stops. The stream of air only becomes slower and more directed. Lingering over my clit for a moment, then moving off to the side, then down my leg again. I realize he’s been doing the same places over and over and I want to open my eyes and ask him what he’s doing.
But I don’t need to. I know what he’s doing.
He’s f**king me with paint.
“Give in to it, Veronica. Just give in, baby.”
And I do. I open my legs wider. I pull my knees up and slip my hand down to my stomach, but it’s quickly removed.
“No cheating,” he chastises me. And then he adjusts the stream of air so it’s stronger and the delivery of paint so it’s almost nonexistent.
My back arches as the nothingness reaches out and caresses my clit. One pass. I moan. Two more passes. I whimper again and again. Three quick bursts and I lose myself in the sensation. And then the air is gone, and Spencer’s body is propped over mine, his mouth on my mouth, his tongue tangled with my tongue.
I orgasm in the atrium.
And only his paint and his mouth ever touches me.
I have Spencer’s complete attention the entire day. After the erotic beginning, the conversation is easy and fun. He teases me and tickles me, on purpose and sometimes not on purpose. We laugh and when it gets past dinnertime, he stops and feeds me strawberries and holds a glass of wine to my lips. My fingers have been intricately painted with elaborate rings and the jeweled bracelets encircling my wrists are so detailed and beautiful, I wish they were real.
He’s painted my face too. A fantastical pattern of barely-there pastels that have the same shimmer to them as the whole-body paint. He won’t let me look in the mirror and even though I can guess that I’m some kind of fairy by the outfit, I really have no idea what he’s doing other than making me fall in love.
“What are you thinking about, Bombshell?” he asks me.
I realize I’m smiling. Very big.
I turn my head so I can see him next to me, careful not to rub my painted cheek on the soft grass since I’m lying on my back. “You,” I sigh.
“Then my plan is working.”
“What’s your plan? Keep me captive in this atrium all day, naked under the pretense of making my body your canvas?”
He smiles, like there’s more truth in that statement than not.
“It’s gonna get dark soon. Are there lights in here?”
He looks up at the ceiling and my gaze follows. It’s only then that I notice that some of the branches of the large tree have been trimmed so the geometric patterns of the ceiling can be seen. He points. “All the light we need will come from the moon.”
This statement stops my brain. I look over at him again and he’s smirking. “What are you up to? You’ve certainly taken your time today.” I lift my head so I can look down the full length of my body. “Is it done?” It could be, I conclude before I look back at him.
He says nothing, just smiles.
The minutes pass and I relax back into the soft grass. “It’s such a shame this will all be gone next week.”
“Nah,” Spencer says as he stretches back next to me. He reaches for my hand and gently twines our fingers together. “It’s gonna be here forever.” For a second I think he’s changed his mind about ripping down the building. But then he taps my head. “Veronica Vaughn, this place will live on in our fantasies. You will remember this place for the rest of your life.”
