“You’re writing music?!”
“I’ve already written this one, just putting it below the picture.”
I pull the marker down her legs in long swirls, drawing random designs on her white flesh.
“Wow, you’re good. Did you draw your own tats?” She asks.
“Some of them. Some I had done.”
“What’s up with the tats on your hands?” She’s watching my hand closely. She always traces the ink with her fingertip.
I shrug. “It reminds me to slow down.”
“But the word implies going fast,” she frowns.
“Exactly.”
“Who knew you were so deep?” She smirks and I smack her ass hard. She squeals and laughs. “I like to have my ass smacked you know.”
“I know,” I grin up at her and smack her again. “Okay, turn around.”
She obeys, and I smile in approval. The front will be a bit different. I draw another music bar, diagonal, running from her left hip, over her sternum, to her right shoulder, but low enough that her clothing will hide it.
I add the notes, from the same song on her back. When it’s finished, I start on the flowers.
Cherry blossoms, looping around the music, down her stomach, over her ribs.
She braces her hands on my shoulders; her eyes are pinned to the mirror over my head, watching intently. Her breathing is shallow, and I can smell her arousal.
She’s so fucking turned on. I can’t wait to sink inside her.
I finish the petals that weave around her *, and then, on her hip, I sign my name.
Not because I’m the artist, but because she’s mine.
I’m completely in love with her. I just don’t know how to tell her because I’m afraid that as soon as I do, she’ll run at full speed in the other direction.
“All done,” I murmur and stand back, watching her turn in circles, admiring the art in the mirror.
“It’s gorgeous. I thought you’d draw some stupid stick figures or ‘Leo Was Here’.” She laughs. Her face sobers when she sees my face in the mirror.
“I want you,” I tell her.
“I’m right here.”
I can’t stop looking at her. At the stark black lines on her soft white skin. At her pink cheeks, flushed with lust. At her hot blue eyes, raking over my own naked torso. Her eyes still on the stars on my hips, and then jump back up to mine, and I can’t stand it any longer.
I lift her in my arms and carry her to the bed, lower her gently to the mattress and shuck off my jeans to join her on the soft bed.
“It’s my turn,” she whispers.
***
Samantha
I push Leo onto his back and kiss his chest, his shoulders, down his ribs. I nuzzle his belly button with my nose, enjoying the way his muscles clench at my touch. Gripping his hips in my hands, I kneel between his legs and lower my lips to the blue and red star on his left hip, kissing and licking, tracing the lines.
“I fucking love these stars,” I whisper, and switch sides, paying extra special attention to the scar above the ink, tracing the line of muscle that forms that sexy as fuck V.
Leo grips my head gently in his hands, and swears softly and I grin as I plant kisses down his happy trail to his hard cock.
I lick from the base to the tip and suck him in, grip him in my fist, and fuck him with my mouth. He tastes delicious, smooth yet hard at the same time.
“God, Sam,” he growls and fists my hair in his hands, guiding me up and down his glorious dick.
I pull back and lick his scrotum, earning me another growl. He clenches his eyes shut and throws his head back, but I want his eyes on me.
“Watch,” I whisper and smile encouragingly when his eyes find mine. I kiss the underside of the tip and then lick it and sink down over it again, until I feel him against the back of my throat, tighten my lips around him and lift up, and repeat the motion over and over again until I feel his balls tighten and lift, and his legs become restless. He’s gasping for breath.
I fucking love the effect I have on him.
“Stop,” he whispers.
I ignore him.
“Stop, Sam, I don’t want to come in your mouth.” He grips my shoulders and pulls me on top of him, and kisses me deeply. “Your sassy mouth is gonna kill me.”
“Not a bad way to go,” I murmur and nip his chin. I straddle his hips and sit up, slide my wetness over his cock, and moan. He’s tracing the music drawn on my belly. “What is it?” I ask.
“Wrapped In You.” He smiles shyly and I gasp. That’s my favorite Nash song. “Do you like that one?” He asks.
I smooth my face and shrug. “It’s okay.”
Before I can blink, he grips my hands in his and reverses our positions, pushing me flat on my back, my hands held in one of his large ones over my head and his pelvis pressed to mine. “Admit it,” he whispers.
“Admit what?”
“You like it.”
I smirk up at him and try to pull my hands down, but he presses them harder against the bed. “It’s fine.”
With his free hand, he gently brushes loose tendrils of my hair away from my face, lowers his torso until his face is just inches from mine, and softly, so, so softly, begins to sing.
You make me tremble
When I hold you like this
You skin glowing in the moonlight
You have me all wrapped in you…
His voice is incredible. Even when he’s just talking, I can’t get enough of it, but when he sings, I’m lost to him.
He releases my hands and I caress his face gently with my fingertips, and pull his lips to mine and pour how I feel about him into this kiss, my hands on his face.
I am wrapped in him.
When he pulls back, I offer him a small smile. “That’s my favorite Nash song.”
“Really?” he breathes, his eyes are happy.
“Really. Who did you write it for?”
He frowns for just a moment and looks down at my lips, then back to my eyes. “I didn’t write it for anyone.” He kisses my nose. “But I think it fits how I feel about you. I’ll never sing it again without thinking of you.”