Page 58 of Touch Me
Blake groaned, and I opened my eyes as he tore another sheet of paper from the pad. His six-inch cock was rock-hard, driving up between his thighs like a flagpole.
“Yes. Yes, that’s it.” He was an expert now, telling me what to do.
Blake’s voice was a distant whisper, and yet I heard his charcoal scraping and scratching over the paper with rapid strokes. I matched his strokes of the charcoal with my own finger strokes, up and down my clit, in and out of my hot abyss. The tidal wave inside me was at its peak, ready to burst.
My world spiraled and the knot of pleasure inside me couldn’t take any more.
I cried out as glorious shudders raced through me.
My orgasm spilled from my body, wetting my hands, dribbling down my thighs, and sprinkling onto the carpet between my legs. My pulses continued forever—the longest, most intense orgasm I’d ever had. I crumbled onto my hands and knees, panting with exhaustion.
I turned my attention to Blake. He wasn’t finished yet. He was close, though. His eyes were closed, his lips drawn tight over his teeth. He’d dropped the charcoal, and his blackened fingers pumped his cock with primal ferocity. On my hands and knees, I crawled over to join him. I cupped his balls, and he gasped as he shot a stream of white-hot bliss over his notepad.
His climax happened much quicker than I’d planned. But just knowing I created that uncontrollable reaction was as horny as hell. Blake’s chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. And releasing a wild sigh, he fell back on his heels. His shoulders slumped, and he opened his eyes and swallowed.
I smiled at him. “That was incredible.”
An enormous grin lit up his face. “I think I’ll take up drawing nudes.”
My eyebrows bounced together as I recalled his statement downstairs. “What do you normally do?” The final page of his drawings was a tangle of black lines, and I couldn’t make any sense of it.
“Oceanscapes. Waves. Beaches. Nothing as fucking hot as that was.”
I didn’t know whether to slap him or laugh at him.
No wonder I couldn’t work out the drawing. I picked up another page. I thought I recognized my parted legs. My boobs were obvious, drawn like cupcakes with cherries on top, as if a teenage boy had doodled them after he’d smoked weed.
I held the drawing to him. “My boobs look nice.”
He fell forward laughing. “Oh shit, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry. You’re much sexier than that.”
“You liked it?”
“Are you kidding? Did you?”
“Best Valentine’s Day ever.”
He stood, grabbed his wine glass, then filled a second glass and handed it to me. “Are you going to tell me how you got in here?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Nope.”
He nodded as if he’d expected that answer. “What’s your name, anyway?”
I sipped the wine and assessed just how wonderful and relaxed I felt. Although it was tempting to sip wine all night and make idle banter with Blake, the ticking clock was like a booming cannon in my mind.
I reluctantly put the glass down, collected my clothing from the floor and plonked them on the dining table while I put my coat on. I pulled my belt around my waist and turned to him.
Blake still had the hotel’s bathrobe on, and his wild hair was ruffled. He was actually very cute, in a devilish way.
“My name is Memphis.”
He huffed. “I live near there.”
I frowned. That’s not what he’d told me downstairs. “Where?”
“I live in Jackson, Mississippi, next state over from Memphis.”
It seemed that my sexy artist was also a liar.