Paint and Skin

I’d been staring at the same blank canvas for three days when I finally caved and texted him.

“Hey, it’s Lena. Still up for that private session tonight? Loft at 8.”

His reply came in under a minute.

“See you at 8. Name’s Jax, btw. Don’t worry, I clean up nice… mostly.”

When the buzzer rang I wiped my palms on my overalls and buzzed him up. The freight elevator clanked open and there he was—tall, dark hair falling into his eyes, wearing a faded black hoodie and jeans that hung just right on narrow hips. Twenty-seven looked damn good on him.

“Hi,” I said, voice a little too bright. “Thanks for coming on short notice. I’m Lena.”

“Figured you’d be covered in paint,” he teased, stepping inside. His eyes swept over the huge windows, the drop cloths, the half-finished canvases leaning everywhere. “This place is sick.”

I laughed nervously. “It’s a mess, but the light’s perfect this time of night. So… usual rate, two hours, but I might need you longer if the pose clicks.”

“Longer’s fine.” He shrugged off the hoodie. Underneath he wore nothing but a thin white T-shirt that clung to his chest. “Where do you want me?”

I pointed to the low wooden platform I’d dragged into the center of the room. “There. Natural light from the left. I was thinking reclining, like you’re resting after… something strenuous.”

His mouth twitched. “Strenuous, huh?”

I turned away fast, pretending to mix colors so he wouldn’t see me blush. “You can undress behind that screen if you want. Or not. I mean, I’ve seen plenty of bodies.”

“Yeah?” His voice dropped, amused. “But not mine.”

The rustle of clothes came next. I kept my back turned, heart thumping against my ribs. When I finally looked, he was already on the platform—completely naked, one knee bent, arm draped lazily over his stomach. The late sun painted gold across his shoulders and the lean cut of his abs. His cock rested thick and soft against his thigh. I swallowed.

“Like this?” he asked.

“Perfect,” I whispered, and picked up my brush.

For the first ten minutes it was professional. I blocked in shapes, trying to ignore how my pulse kept jumping every time he shifted. Then he cleared his throat.

“You’re staring at my dick more than my face, Lena.”

My brush froze. “It’s part of the composition.”

“Uh-huh.” He smirked. “You’re getting red paint on your cheek.”

I touched my face and laughed. “Occupational hazard.”

He stretched a little, muscles sliding under skin. “You ever fuck your models?”

The question landed like a spark in dry grass. I met his eyes. “Never.”

“Shame.” His voice was low, rough. “Because I’ve been half-hard since I took my pants off and you keep biting your lip like that.”

I set the palette down with a clatter. My overalls suddenly felt too tight, too hot. “Jax…”

“Come here,” he said softly.

I walked over like I was in a trance. When I reached the platform he sat up, legs dangling off the edge, and hooked two fingers into the strap of my overalls. The button popped open. Cool air kissed my bare stomach.

“You’ve got paint on your neck,” he murmured, leaning in. His lips brushed the spot just under my ear. I shivered.

“It’s cadmium red,” I breathed.

“Looks good on you.” His mouth moved lower, tasting the hollow of my throat. One hand slid under the loose fabric of my tank top, palm warm and rough against my ribs. “Can I get some on me?”

I laughed, breathless, then grabbed the front of his hair and pulled him into a real kiss. He tasted like mint and something darker. His tongue slid against mine and I moaned into his mouth. The sound seemed to snap whatever restraint he had left.

He tugged the overalls down my hips in one rough motion. They pooled at my ankles and I kicked them away. My tank top followed. Then my plain black bra. When his hands cupped my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples, I arched into him.

“Fuck, you’re soft,” he groaned.

I reached between us and wrapped my fingers around his cock. He was fully hard now, thick and hot, the head already slick. He hissed through his teeth.

“Careful. Been thinking about your hands on me since I walked in.”

I stroked him slowly, watching his abs flex. “Then stop posing and fuck me, Jax.”

He didn’t need telling twice.

He lifted me onto the platform like I weighed nothing, laying me back on the paint-splattered drop cloth. Cool, slightly sticky canvas met my skin. He hooked my legs over his shoulders and dragged my panties down, tossing them somewhere behind him. Then his mouth was on me—hot, wet, no teasing. His tongue circled my clit once, twice, before sucking it between his lips.

“Oh shit—Jax—” I grabbed his hair again, hips bucking. He groaned against my pussy, the vibration making my toes curl. Two fingers pushed inside me, curling, stroking that spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids. I could hear how wet I was, the filthy little sounds mixing with my gasps.

He lifted his head just long enough to growl, “You taste like you’ve been waiting for this too.”

“I have,” I admitted, voice cracking. “Now get up here and fuck me before I lose my mind.”

He crawled up my body, leaving a trail of kisses and paint smears. His cock nudged my entrance, thick and insistent. I reached down and guided him in.

The first push made us both moan. He was big enough that I felt the stretch, the delicious burn. He sank deeper, inch by inch, until his hips met mine and he was buried to the hilt.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he panted against my neck.

“Move,” I demanded, nails digging into his back.

He did. Hard. The platform creaked under us as he thrust deep and steady, every stroke dragging over my clit. I wrapped my legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass. Sweat slicked our skin. My breasts bounced with every impact and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make me cry out.

Paint from the drop cloth was everywhere now—streaks of blue and red across his shoulder, ochre on my thigh where his hand gripped me. The smell of linseed oil and sex filled the studio.

“Harder,” I gasped. “Fuck, right there—don’t stop—”

He shifted angles and suddenly every thrust hit that perfect spot. My orgasm built fast, coiling tight in my belly. I could feel his cock swelling inside me, pulsing.

“I’m close,” he warned, voice ragged. “Want you to come first. Let me feel that pussy squeeze me.”

I reached between us and rubbed my clit in frantic circles. The tension snapped. I came with a sharp cry, back arching, walls fluttering around his cock. He fucked me through it, hips stuttering, then buried himself deep and groaned my name as he spilled inside me. Hot pulses of cum filled me until I felt it leaking out around his shaft.

We stayed locked together, breathing hard. His forehead rested against mine, both of us streaked with paint and sweat and each other.

After a long minute he chuckled, low and wrecked. “So… how’s the painting coming?”

I laughed, still trembling. “I think I need a new canvas.”

He kissed me again, slower this time, lazy and warm. “Good. Because I’m booking the next three nights.”