‘Nobody really knew you, then. Do you know, perhaps you should paint yourself. And then they might.’
He smiled and kissed her.
‘That’s an idea. Or paint us both together. That’s a plan for another day. Once I’ve done all the dirty pictures of you.’ The kissing drowned out the conversation for a long while. ‘But that project might take a long, long time,’ he whispered. ‘Lots and lots of pictures.’
She stood on tiptoe, folded into him, enjoying the rough feel of his jeans and T-shirt against her bare skin. He was covered in wet paint, and she knew some of it was rubbing on to her, but she didn’t care. She liked it. It was a kind of symbol of their union.
She held on to the back of his neck with one hand, keeping his mouth pressed to hers, opening up for his tongue.
One of his hands, caked in flaking dried paint, moved down the curve of her back and over the swell of her bottom, while the other found a breast and toyed with it, examining every inch with an inquisitive thumb.
She trembled with desire, stroking his jeans-clad leg with her naked one, lifting her foot to hook around his calf and hold herself closer to
him.
‘This is what I want to paint,’ he murmured, breaking off and looking deep into her. ‘Your lips all wet from kissing and your eyes telling me what they want. Keep telling me, babe.’
She slipped a hand inside the waistband of his jeans, eager to feel what was waiting for her.
‘Well, that’s definitely told me,’ he said, with a slight gasp as her fingertips found their target and squeezed.
He braced his arms under her bottom and lifted her, forcing her hand regretfully from his underwear as she jolted up and wound her legs around his hips to balance herself. Clinging to him, she resumed their kiss all the staggering way from the easel to the chaise.
They tumbled together on to the slippery chintz, the cushions falling pell-mell to the floor.
Jason paused in the feast of kissing and caressing to remove items of clothing, one at a time, before falling back on her to take more from her mouth and her body.
Before taking off his jeans, he took out his phone from the pocket. Jenna was momentarily confused, thinking this was surely not the right time to call for a pizza, but he had something quite different in mind, as she discovered when he started clicking away at her dishevelled and paint-smeared body.
‘Perfect,’ he muttered, putting the phone down. ‘Just what I need. Jenna Diamond without all the polish.’
‘Shut up and get on with it,’ she said, surprising herself with her guttural tone. She reached up for his neck and pulled him back down without ceremony.
All remaining clothes were wrestled off and consigned to the floor in the shortest possible time.
Jason was all over her, devouring her, neck, breasts, belly and lower. When he reached her triangle, he pulled her thighs roughly apart and pushed his face into the middle.
Jenna bucked and arched her back, ready for the exquisite friction of his tongue in her most private parts. She reeled with pleasure, grinding her hips over and over as he used his mouth with devastating skill.
‘Ohhh,’ she moaned as he pulled her wider open with determined thumbs. ‘You can’t …’ It was too much, and her orgasm poured from her, once then again as he continued to lick without stopping.
Sated at last, he pulled himself up until he shadowed her body and, holding her shoulder tight with his eyes fixed on hers, he plunged inside her.
It seemed to be his avowed intention to wring her inside out with the number of orgasms he took from her. He kept at her, varying the speed and position so many times she lost count, until finally, after she had lost all sense of her body, her mind, herself, he finally released his own climax into her.
She was still floating, seeing specks before her eyes, when she became aware of the click click click of his camera phone once more.
‘Oh, Jase,’ she managed to whimper through rubbery lips.
What a picture she would make! Her hair was plastered to her face, her eyes unfocused, her body used up and shining with mingled sweat and paint, her whole demeanour punch-drunk.
‘Shh,’ he said, snapping away. ‘This is what I need for my last pic in the series. You look totally fucking done for.’ The rich satisfaction in his voice made her squirm and curl her toes.
Yes, there was some truth in his claim that it was an ego trip. What could be better for a man’s ego than the thought that people in the future would look at her ravaged body, and her face stupid and slack with satisfaction, and know that it was he who had produced this effect?
But she didn’t mind.
She liked the idea. It made her feel more his than ever, and when she experienced this sense of belonging, it gave her a paradoxical freedom from every other constraint in her life.