Текст книги "Painless"

Автор книги: Devon Hartford

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

“Yeah,” I nodded. When it came to art, my dad read me like a book.

“Anyway,” Dad said, glancing around, “all these new paintings of random beautiful young women you’re doing for Brandon don’t mean anything to you. Because now your focus has changed, hasn’t it?”

That’s when everything came together in my head. I said, “That’s why your painting of Grandad you’re working on is so amazing, isn’t it? He’s been going to your house every weekend for the last year, hasn’t he?”

My father nodded.

“He was helping you clean up and get your life back in order, wasn’t he?” I asked.

My father nodded as tears began dripping down his face.

“That’s why your portrait of him is so powerful,” I said.

My father rubbed the tears from his eyes with the side of his hand. “I put my heart into that painting. It’s a reflection of the love your grandfather has given me continuously since I was born. He has never stopped being my father. Even now, when I’m a big shot artist and a father in my own right, your grandfather is still there for me like I just fell off my tricycle and skinned my knee for the first time. I don’t think I could’ve cleaned myself up without his devotion. He has been there for me through all of it. When you have a child of your own someday, paidí mou, you’ll be able to understand how deeply I love you and how deeply your grandfather loves me.” My dad’s face knotted with emotion. His shoulders skipped in time with his restrained sobs.

I threw my arm around his neck and he leaned into me.

After awhile, he said, “I’m okay.” He faced me and a smile spread across his face. “Now you know why none of your paintings of Brandon’s models are working for you or Stanford Wentworth, don’t you?”

I nodded, “Samantha.”

“She was right in front of you the whole time,” he smiled. “I see how much you love that girl. I see it in the way you look at her. You’ve never had eyes like that for anyone. Well, maybe your mother, but that’s different. She was your mother.” He waved a hand, “You know what I mean. Anyway, your mother was a good woman. The best. I mean, is. Is a good woman.” My dad choked up when he said it.

I nodded.

“Look at that,” he chuckled and slapped my knee vigorously, trying to hold back more tears, “you answered your question yourself.”

I could tell that my dad was running away from the topic of my mom like it would kill him if he talked about it for one more second. I knew he still loved her like crazy. He’d never stopped, even after she left us.

I couldn’t blame him. If Samantha were ever to leave me, I’d be acting the same as my dad was right now. It would kill me for sure. Whoa, that was the last thing I wanted to think about.

I sniffed back some of my own tears and chuckled. “You just went all Platonic dialogue on my ass and made me figure things out myself, didn’t you?”

“Can you blame me? That Plato was one smart Greek. Am I right?” My dad was laughing as he said it.

I started laughing too.

“Come here, paidí mou.” My dad threw his arms around me and gave me a big hug.

When he released me, he squeezed my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. “Your heart has changed. You’re not a boy anymore. Your art needs to reflect that. Put the true love in your heart onto the canvas, and the whole world will appreciate it. It’s that simple.”

I nodded, “It is.”

“Now you know how to fix your paintings,” he grinned.

I did.

Art was all about heart.

Chapter 19

SAMANTHA

A cool pool of light illuminated my drawing table and my sketchbook. I was sketching cartoon wombats with various drug and bowel problems when Christos walked up behind me the next evening.

He started massaging my neck and shoulders.

“Oh, that feels good,” I sighed, setting my pencil down. “I didn’t realize I’d been so tense.”

“When aren’t you,” he chuckled.

“Hey! I’ve been getting better. I’m not the anxious girl you met months and months ago.”

“No, you’re not. You’re turning into an amazing woman.”

I really liked the way he said that. “So, what’s up?” I asked.

I felt Christos’ hot breath caress my ear, “I need to paint you…in the nude.”

“Do you mean you’ll take all your clothes off while you paint a picture of me?” I grinned. “Sounds like fun to me, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to sit still.”

He chuckled softly. “I meant you in the nude. But if you like, I could be nude too.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that. But do we need the painting part? Maybe we could just focus on the part where we both get naked,” I purred. It had been awhile since we’d made love and I felt a burning need for Christos.

“I like where you’re going with this,” Christos said, “but I’m serious about this. I want to paint a nude portrait of you.”

“What?!” I practically jumped out of my chair. Sitting nude for a portrait was fine when someone else was doing it, but I didn’t think I could. “Why?”

“I want to paint you nude for my upcoming solo show at Charboneau.”

“Nude?” I gulped. “As in fully?” I winced.

“Is there any other kind?”

“You mean nude nude? Not just bathing suit nude?”

“Nude nude. Fine art and bikinis don’t go together. Bikinis usually go on hot rod magazine covers.”

“I know you talked about doing things differently after hanging out with your dad the other night. But I was thinking maybe you meant finding different models or something.”

“I did,” he grinned his dimpled grin.

Nervously, I said, “I didn’t think you meant me.”

“You,” he murmured seductively.

I squeezed the neck of my T shirt together, as if it were hanging wide open like an unbuttoned shirt and I was braless. But I was covered. Why did I feel the desire to wrap myself in blankets or maybe step into a deep sea diving suit with one of those giant old fashioned diving helmets? Oh yeah, because Christos was suggesting not only that he paint me nude, but that he show off the painting in a public gallery where anyone could come in and see it. Worse, someone was likely to buy it and hang it over their mantelpiece.

How to break the bad news to Christos that his idea made me a tad uncomfortable? “Ahh…It’s awesome that you want to paint me. I’m totally flattered. But can’t we do it with me all dressed up? Like a regular portrait? Like your dad’s portrait of your grandad? He’s all dressed up.”

“I could do that, but I don’t think it would be the same.”

“Of course it wouldn’t,” I joked, “it would be a painting of me. Problem solved.”

He shook his head and smiled his dimpled grin. As always, it had panty dropping powers. But I wasn’t going to let it work its magic on me this time.

I shook my head defiantly.

“Here’s the thing,” he said confidently, “there’s a woman inside you that I’ve seen from day one. But usually, she only comes out when you’re backed into a corner. Most of the time, that woman you are meant to be is hidden from the world. You’ve spent so many years hiding that strong, confident side of you, you barely know she’s there. But I see it all the time. I want to paint that woman and share her with the world. I want everyone to know how amazing Samantha Smith is. Not can be, but is. You are amazing, agápi mou. And I want everyone to know it. I suspect that if you can find the courage to sit nude, your confidence will shine through in the portrait.”

“Can’t I be confident with my clothes on?” I asked nervously.

“You can, but it’ll be that much harder for your confidence to shine through,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because posing clothed doesn’t require the same courage as posing nude. If you’re gonna pose nude, you’re gonna have to dig deep and bring out your courage.”

“What if I end up being nervous while you’re painting me nude? Won’t that show up in the painting?”

“Yup. That’s why I’m asking you, not telling you. Feel free to say no. Because if you’re doing it because you feel obligated, that will show through too. You have to dig deep and find that intrinsic strength of yours and willingly bring it out so I can capture it in paint. You have to want me to paint you nude. Then we can show the world together how amazing Samantha Smith really is.”

“Wow,” I smiled, “I kind of like the sound of that! You know what would make me really look strong?”

“What?”

“If I wore a Viking helmet.”

“Huh?” he frowned.

“Like one of those Valkyries from Norse mythology? They’re totally badass. I would look awesome!”

He made a funny face. “Take a moment and picture a portrait of you, sitting in the nude, wearing a horned Viking helmet, and tell me that’s not ridiculous.”

My brows pinched together. “You were the one who suggested I look strong. Horns are cool.”

“Yeah, but nude? Maybe with a sword and chain mail armor and a big shield. But that would look like you were pretending to be strong. Strength doesn’t come from armor or weapons. It comes from inside, from your heart and your determination. That’s what I want to paint.”

“You have a point. But I still think nude with a Viking helmet could be awesome.”

He raised his eyebrows skeptically.

I frowned and folded my arms across my chest, “You’re the artist. Figure out a way to make me look awesome. It would be a first. I mean, you said it yourself, how many nude portraits of women wearing Viking helmets are there?”

“I’m guessing none,” Christos said.

“See? It’ll be a first!” I was totally into my idea now.

“I’ll have to think about it,” he said thoughtfully.

“Really?” I was kind of surprised.

“Really. Let me mull it over. It might actually work. But you’ll have to wear pigtails like Brunhilda.”

“What? I hate pigtails. They make me look five.”

“That’s the deal,” he grinned.

“Seriously?”

He shook his head. “Maybe not. Pigtails might be a bit much. But I’ll think about that helmet. So you’ll do it?”

“I guess?” I smiled nervously. “But no spread legged crotch shots, right?”

He grinned, “What, no wide open beavers?”

“You keep talking like that and you can forget it,” I giggled.

“I’m kidding. You only see beavers in porn, or maybe tattoo art. I don’t want to scare off the fine art buyers.”

“What! Are you saying my lady bits are scary?” I stood up from my chair and turned to face him.

He jumped out of range. “I’m sure some men might feel that way…”

I lunged at him, but he dodged. “Take that back!”

“I was thinking of gay men!” he said as he jogged out of the studio. “They’re probably afraid of your beaver because they’re worried about getting their dicks too close to those huge teeth!”

“Huge teeth? Is that supposed to be an apology?!” I shouted as I chased after him. “Anyway, mine doesn’t have any teeth! And it doesn’t look like a beaver! Come back here! I’m going to tear your nuts off and feed them to the squirrels outside!”

“Wouldn’t you rather feed them to your beaver?” He called as he ran into the living room.

“It’s not a beaver!” I shouted as I followed him around the couch. “It’s a pussy! You said so yourself!” As I was about to grab his shirt tail, he jumped over the couch, out of reach. “At least you could call mine a lion or a jaguar. There’s nothing sexy about beavers.”

He ran to the far side of the living room and stopped. “What do you mean? I bet male beavers think female beavers are totally hot. The guy beavers are probably like, ‘Dude, check out that chick’s tail. It is so big and flat and rubbery, you could use it as a swimming pool cover.’”

“Swimming pool cover?” I scoffed, creeping toward him, one step at a time, hoping he wouldn’t notice I was stalking him like the jungle cat that I was.

Christos frowned, backing up a step. “What? Beavers spend a lot of time in the water. They think about these things.”

“Beavers build dams! What does that have to do with swimming pools?” I asked skeptically, inching toward him.

“Duh. A dam causes water to pool up, hence pool covers.”

I shook my head, moving slowly forward. “I don’t think so. Anyhow, why the obsession with beavers all of a sudden?”

“You’re the one who’s been drawing wombats all the time.”

He was almost at the base of the stairs. If I moved slowly enough, maybe he’d be lulled into a false sense of security so I could catch him. I cracked a smile, “You’re incorrigible.” I took another step toward him.

“What are you and your jaguar gonna do about it?” he taunted.

“My jaguar is going to eat you alive,” I growled. If he ran upstairs, he was mine. There was no way he could escape.

At the last second, Christos dodged right and ran toward the front doors. He was outside quicker than a cheetah.

“Come back here!” I shouted as I ran after him, right on his heels.

* * *

My breath pumped in a steady rhythm under the covers of darkness. The movement of my body and the liquid feeling of my limbs consumed my focus.

Christos was only a few paces ahead as we ran along the dark streets outside the Manos house toward the trailhead nearby. I meant, our house. Where we both lived.

I still managed to find time to run three days a week, despite all the craziness in my life over the last several months, and was in good shape. But Christos stayed several steps ahead no matter how fast I went. Despite all the drinking he’d been doing, he was still an amazing athlete who put me to shame. I could tell he could leave me in the dust if he wanted to, but he didn’t. He teased me with the proverbial carrot on a stick. In this case, it was a hunk of man meat on the stick. Or should I say his man meat on a stick. Either way, I wasn’t letting him or his stick get away.

When we reached the trailhead, he bounded up the slope like a weightless gazelle. Now he really did leave me in the dust, but I pumped my legs hard to keep up.

My heart pounded and my lungs burned when I reached the top of the trail. Christos stood at the edge of the small clearing, taking in the view. I took note of Spiridon’s old wooden bench, the one where Christos and I had kissed many moons ago under the stars. I think it had been the first time I’d ever been topless outside in my entire life.

I’d shared so many wonderful firsts with Christos since we’d met. And I hoped that we would share thousands more over our lifetimes.

This clearing was also the place where Christos had first sketched a picture of me, the caricature showing me as a painter with the inscription, “World Famous Master Artist Samantha Smith. You can totally do it!” I still had that picture. Christos had bought a frame for it and it hung next to my drawing table in our studio.

Our studio.

This clearing was the place that Christos had said that only his family ever visited. I had been such a bitch that day. I’d wrongly accused him of bringing all his girlfriends up here to get their pants off and screw them. I’d been too dense and too angry to realize he was already calling me his family when he barely knew me.

Wow, how prophetic that had been.

And of course, this clearing was the place I had mocked Christos and told him his nude paintings were just trashy trophies of all the women he’d had sex with. I’d said that his paintings were an invasion of the women’s privacy, nothing more than exploitation porn on fancy canvases. Funny. That’s exactly what my mom had said when she saw Christos’ studio during Spring Break.

“That’s not art,” Mom had said, “That’s pornography. I hope you would never consider debasing yourself by deigning to strip for Christos. I should hope I’ve taught you better than that.”

I chuckled softly to myself as my mom’s words echoed in my head.

“What’s so funny?” Christos asked.

“I was just remembering what my mom said about your nude portraits when she was visiting.”

Christos smiled and nodded. “It seems to me she sounded a lot like you did back when we met.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” I sighed.

“We don’t have to do the nude portrait if you don’t want to, agápi mou. It’s totally up to you.”

“Thank you, Christos. But I don’t want to be like my mom anymore. It’s time for me to finally leave all that behind. I’m my own woman now.”

“Yes you are, agápi mou. You are all woman.” His eyes flashed darkly in the silver blue moonlight. “And that’s the woman I want to paint.”

“All you want to do is paint me?” I teased.

He tore his shirt over his head and tossed it on the bench. The heavy shadows on his face and muscled body from the moonlight made him look savage. The jagged lines of the tattoos on his rugged shoulders enhanced his dangerous appearance. His abs were sharp and rigid. I could imagine being chased through a forest by this awesome specimen of manhood a million years ago. I would gladly have let him ravage me.

“I’ll do anything you want,” he growled.

“Anything?” I whispered.

“Anything,” he hissed.

“Take me,” I said seductively.

He stalked toward me, crouched low. His eyes burned from under his brows. He looked ready to snarl like a beast.

I started to shiver with anticipation and a little bit of fear. The flames in his eyes were more intense than I’d ever seen them before. They were the blue fire at the core of the flame, the darkest, hottest part of him.

He stopped inches away from me and dug his fists into my long sleeve T shirt at the collar. His fingers knotted into the cotton. The muscles of his naked chest bulged and his shoulders knotted. Roped tendons and coiled veins popped on his forearms. His eyes held mine. I was mesmerized by his masculine power.

There was a sharp tearing sound as the savage man holding me in his fisted grip tore my shirt open. His lips peeled back over his teeth as cotton ripped and popped, splitting my shirt right down the middle. Hot passion glowed in his eyes as he forced the tattered shirt down my arms, binding my arms. I was at his mercy and I didn’t want to be any other place in the universe at that moment. I was his to have.

He tore my shirt open the rest of the way, freeing my arms. A month ago, I might have covered my bra and breasts with my arms out of shyness. Instead, I shrugged off the remnants of my tattered T shirt and stood proud while I thrust my chest at my man.

He stared at my breasts, devouring them with his hungry gaze. They were his. I reached behind me and unhooked my bra, letting it fall. He caught it before it touched the ground like an expert hunter and tossed it onto the bench like a slingshot. It landed on his shirt like an arrow hitting the bullseye.

The cool night air tightened my nipples into rigid buds.

 I felt his manly desire washing over me. That desire was for me. For my womanhood. Mine, and mine alone. In that moment, I understood. My perfect man was all man. His lust had driven him to seek out the finest specimen of womanhood he could find. And he had found me. He had chosen me out of all other women to be his woman. Because I drove him wild, I ignited his passion, I made him crazy. I turned him into a desperate caveman. And now, I would be his cavewoman.

With his hard hands he cupped my breasts delicately. He kneaded them gently, worshipping them and treasuring them because he knew they were a woman’s tools for sustaining newborn life. Without my womanly breasts, his young offspring could never survive. For all his animalistic strength, his masculinity was nothing but a brief moment in history without my womanhood to carry his seed into eternity, passing our life force on and on to future generations.

Heat burned between my legs.

He squatted down and threw his arms around my hips, lifting me up like I weighed nothing. He held me high in the air with his powerful arms like a primitive idol, then lowered me so that my stomach slid down his chest. His hair tickled my skin until he squeezed my breasts against his face. As he nuzzled my chest and inhaled my scent deeply into his lungs, I coiled my arms around the back of his head, pulling him into me. He groaned as his nose skimmed across one breast and his tongue followed, licking up from the swollen curve at the bottom and tripping across the knotted nipple.

Wetness rained down inside me.

He worked my breasts over with intense attention, licking, sucking, twisting, squeezing. Primal pleasure waved out from my chest as my legs squeezed around his waist. I buried my nose in his thick hair as I dug and twisted my fingers into his thick locks. I inhaled the erotic smell seeping from his pores. The scent of his naked desire arrowed into my brain and sent spears of ecstasy down my spine. The muscles deep inside me throbbed with need.

I sighed audibly and it turned into a long, loud moan as I threw my head back to let the energy of need flow out of me into the world. I was completely unconcerned with who could possibly be listening to us up on this mountain top. I was alone in a jungle somewhere with this heathen who was burying his face in my breasts, crudely licking and suckling sustenance from me like a barbarian.

He lowered me until my face was level with his. Our noses touched delicately in soft contrast to the hot heat that had consumed him earlier. There was gentleness inside this beast. The blistering passion in his eyes remained, but the tenderness of his lips as they brushed against mine was that of a loving mate who would be kind to our offspring. This brutal beast who could hunt and protect could also nurture and love.

We kissed in a quiet, soft way, drinking up the refined, complex pleasure of lips and tongues. Heat passed between us, our breath mingling, our life force combining. We were connected on every level.

Words and thoughts melted away as we became pleasure together.

He released our kiss and squatted down and set me on the ground. He knelt before me, his face in line with my pelvis. With ceremony and reverence, he unbuttoned my jeans and slid them and my panties down to my ankles. He kissed my naked womanhood with the same careful appreciation he’d shown my mouth. He breathed heat into me as my wetness dripped onto his face and into his mouth.

He swallowed me like a thirsty animal, his tongue licking and lunging into my wet hole.

I thrust my hips into his face as pleasure overtook me. His stiff fingers squeezed my ass, holding me as my knees gave way. I would’ve fallen to the ground if he hadn’t been supporting my weight with his strong hands. I was taken by the pleasure that blotted out my consciousness. I became the essence of femininity and ecstasy as he ate me, and nothing more.

I erupted into a violent orgasm, a volcano of heat splitting my body open like the birth of the planet. Like Mother Earth, I came alive as intense energy broke me open.

I screamed my awakening and came fully alive for the first time.

I was a woman.

I roared.

And I came.

I came…

* * *

Infinite light and infinite dark bounced off of each other, vibrating and fighting against each other.

I vibrated between their two extremes.

Slowly, sensuously, I returned to human awareness.

A hulking man had his face buried between my legs. Now he was standing up, looking me in the eyes, supporting my limp, spent body. His mouth was smeared with wetness. With the fluid of life.

We kissed deeply as I regained consciousness.

Strength and desire surged through me. I yanked my shoes off and pushed my pants and panties off until I was completely naked. I tossed my pants and socks onto the bench.

I lowered my head and glared up at him, my lips curling with anticipation.

His own lips twitched with challenge.

I lunged at him and clawed at the belt around his waist and tore his pants off, pushing them down to his ankles. His cock stood tall and proud as I kneeled before him. It was thick and veined and rugged like his powerful arms. He was masculine power from head to head.

His cock throbbed with need as he stood over me. I couldn’t allow him to suffer another moment without my heat. Our eyes locked as I worshipped him. I tongued, licked, teased, inhaled, and swallowed.

He allowed me to worship him.

Soon, his approval transformed into submission as he groaned and moaned. His huge, muscled thighs shook. He could barely stand up. All his strength was in my mouth. He was powerless to fight me off.

I consumed all of him greedily, taking him in deep.

He couldn’t stop me.

And he couldn’t stop himself.

A roar thundered from him, his chest flexing and his abs contracting, shaking his entire muscled frame.

His manhood poured into my mouth as his body quaked with pleasurable release.

I gripped his cock tightly in one hand as I drank him in. He quivered against my tongue and the back of my mouth.

When his spasms slowed, he bent over, hands on knees, breathing heavily.

I licked the head of him clean, then finally released him.

A final drop of cum dribbled out the tip of him. I dabbed at it with the tip of my tongue and swallowed.

I wiped the side of my hand across my mouth.

I was still hungry.

I stood and we kissed deeply for a long time, swallowing each other, drowning in desire. When I felt him pressing hot and hard against my abdomen a few minutes later, he shoved me toward the bench. I stumbled onto it. Then I was on the bench, on all fours, my tangled hair hanging in my face. I threw him a taunting look. I bit my lower lip.

He stood tall and strong. His cock was engorged once again. He kicked each boot off and peeled his bunched jeans off each foot until he too was completely naked under the moonlight.

He sauntered toward the bench and walked around behind me.

I narrowed my eyes and looked at him over my shoulder, sending him a sultry gaze. His manhood twitched expectantly. I lowered my hips and bent my knees, presenting my womanhood to him.

He stepped forward and took me from behind.

My core was slippery and ready. He slid deep inside me, until his hips pressed against my ass. I clenched him tightly as he slowly withdrew. His hands grabbed my hips from behind as he thrust forward. I pushed my hips back, meeting him in the middle.

I squeezed his manhood each time he withdrew, letting him know that I didn’t want him going anywhere. He fell into a steady rhythm, pumping into me as I thrust back toward him.

Pleasure built inside me. Soon, any conscious control faded away, any desire to perform or please disappeared as the ecstasy he gave me claimed me. I gave in to the wanting, I gave in to the ravishing. My back arched as my breasts pressed into the pile of clothes beneath me, giving him full access to take me and overwhelm me with his dominant male energy.

Energy tornadoed inside my body as I let go of reality. The most perfect man in the history of men hammered into me like an animal. My pulse pounded in my ears and accelerated as his thrusts intensified. Again I roared, a lethal lioness in the throes of a timeless mating ritual.

The ground split open beneath our feet and fire raged from the center of the earth, bathing us in a geyser of magma as our orgasm shattered us to dust.

We cried out together as we renewed the eternal bond between masculine and feminine.

Union.

* * *

Christos was on top of me, squashing me into the pile of our clothes on the bench as I struggled to heave in a breath.

“Holy shit,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t stand up.” His heavy torso was pressing down on mine.

“Ack!” I hissed. I couldn’t get enough air to force out a complete word.

“You okay?” he asked, concerned.

“Gick!”

He rolled off me and plopped onto his ass in the dirt beside the bench. He twisted onto his knees and kneeled beside me while caressing my cheek. “Samantha? Talk to me? Did I break something? Do you need CPR?”

I rolled onto my back, completely naked, and stared up at the stars overhead. “I’m fine,” I whispered. “Did we fall asleep?”

“I think we passed out.” He smiled.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I think after we came I fell on top of you and we both passed out.”

I frowned. “That’s ridiculous.”

“If you have a better explanation, I’d love to hear it.”

“Not really,” I smiled, “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“I think I broke a testicle that time.”

I winced. “You didn’t hurt yourself pounding so hard, did you?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I meant when I came. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard before. I mean, like, ever. You don’t have any bullet holes in you, do you?”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“From when I shot my load?”

“Not getting it.”

“It felt like bullets to me.”

I laughed. “That’s lameballs.”

“I was thinking flameballs.”

“I thought you said it was bullets.”

He snickered, “Flameballs sounds way better than bulletballs, don’t you think?”

I rolled over on the bench to my side and smiled at him. “You’re such an idiot, agápi mou.”

He grinned, “That’s why you love me.” He leaned forward and kissed me softly.

Before I knew it, our kiss had deepened sensually and I felt turned on all over again.

After awhile, I pulled away and smiled, “I’ve never had sex on a mountain top before.”

“I’ve never had sex on this bench before,” he said.

“Really?”

“I told you before, this place is sacred. I’ve never brought any women up here.”

“But you brought me,” I smiled.

“Yup. And now this place is officially consecrated ground. If any other women ever comes up here,” he chuckled, “I think the ground will swallow them up.”

“I think we were almost swallowed up when you were inside me earlier,” I grinned.

“You keep talking like that, and I’m going to have to do it again,” he purred.

“Okay, but how about we do it back at the house? It’s cold out here.” By cold, I meant I was completely naked outside in the middle of the night and I was chilly. If this had been D.C., we probably would’ve had frostbite and hypothermia by now. As it was, my teeth were wanting to chatter and I needed to warm up.

“Sounds good to me.” Christos stood up.

“You have dirt all over you.”

“Do I?” He looked down at himself. “I didn’t even notice.”

I had dirt on my knees and feet too, but he had a big patch on his ass, which was butt white, unlike the rest of his tan body. We’d both been getting sun since the start of Spring. “I can’t decide if I like the speedo tan you’ve got going or not.”

“If you want, we can go down to the nude beach by SDU where I saw you that time with Madison and Jake. Then we can lay out and erase our tan lines together.”

Madison and I had never gone back to that part of the beach since we realized it was nude. “Mmm, maybe not. How about we go with tan lines?”

“We can always lay out on the deck at home when my grandad is out.”

I loved how he called it our home. I smiled to myself as I put clothes on.

We both dressed.