“I’m not here,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes and pictured Conway on top of me, his hard body suspended over mine. He pressed me into the cushion, his body taking mine as his. He separated my thighs with his knees so he could get all of his cock inside me. He started to thrust deep and hard, making his balls tap against my ass.
I rubbed myself harder.
My other hand moved through my hair, and my lips parted to suck in more air. My hips started to rock like Conway was really moving me. I stopped paying attention to Conway on the armchair and focused on the one moving between my legs. My fantasies with him always focused on the intimacy, the way my body was bent so he could have all of me.
He had to give me all of his dick every time, to make sure I was completely his. I pictured the darkness in his eyes, the way he clenched his jaw to stop himself from coming deep inside me.
My fingers moved harder.
I felt the slickness drip from my cunt. It smeared onto my fingers when I moved harder. My breathing accelerated, and quiet moans escaped my lips. I always came when I pictured him coming, giving me all of his come. “I want your come…”
Conway inhaled a deep breath from the armchair.
Then I came, my pussy convulsing just as my hips jerked. My head rolled back and I moaned, my eyes closed as I pictured his dick twitching inside me with release. The climax wasn’t as profound or long as it was when he was really inside me, but it was still incredible.
Now I didn’t care that he was staring at me at all.
I expected him to throw his sketchbook aside, drop his pants, and fuck my soaked pussy. Instead, his pencil pressed against the paper, and the sound of scratches filled the air. He worked quickly, his hand moving in exaggerated motions as he constructed the perfect lines.
I slowly came down from my high, the tenderness between my legs gradually fading. My pussy had tightened during my climax, and now it relaxed once more. The moisture pooled between my legs, but I didn’t get up to clean myself. I lay absolutely still, making sure I didn’t disrupt Conway as he focused on his idea.
Twenty minutes later, he turned the page. His pencil hit the surface, and he started drawing again, moving on to the second idea in a row.
I watched him, staring at the focused expression on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed with an intense look. Sometimes his fingers rested against his temple as he kept drawing. Once in a while, he glanced up and stared at me on the couch, like he was remembering the scene he’d just witnessed.
I knew he was constructing some of his best designs in that moment. I knew he’d just hit the jackpot in creativity. I knew whatever he created would shock the world once more. Because Conway Barsetti was the best at what he did.
Regardless of the inspiration.
I fell asleep on the couch, and it wasn’t until I heard the sewing machine that I woke up.
The table was disorganized all over again, and the sun was long gone because he’d been working for hours.
I wasn’t even tired when I lay on the couch, but after that intense explosion between my legs, the exhaustion had crept into my veins and I slipped away.
I sat up and pulled my dress down, realizing how slutty I looked lying there with my legs spread open.
Conway pulled the fabric out of the sewing machine then grabbed his needle and thread. He made the final touches on the piece, placing the buttons and gems in the fabric.
I came around the table and looked at his sketchbook. Now it was thick with seven different drawings. I took my time and examined each one, seeing the moodier theme accompanying his work. There was a sense of loss, a sense of loneliness. Most of the drawings were black or made with other dark colors like deep purple or olive green. But each one was beautiful, full of potent sensuality. “I like them.”
Conway was in his own world, so he didn’t acknowledge what I said.
I stood there in silence, waiting for him to say something.
But he didn’t. His eyes were glued to his hands, and even though I inspired him with my provocativeness, he didn’t seem to care.
I wasn’t offended. I was just glad he was working, making up for all the lost time. He’d spent three months doing nothing, and now he was motivated once again. His knuckles were clenched in excitement, and his eyes were narrowed with focus. I knew he didn’t ignore my words—he just couldn’t hear them.
I walked down the hallway toward my bedroom where I came face-to-face with Dante.