Finding Kyle(50)

He turns to me, his eyes sliding to my canvas where the cats are almost complete. “Nice pussies,” he says with a smile.

I roll my eyes, but I’m immediately relieved to have him joke with me. “Juvenile,” I chastise.

Kyle chuckles as his gaze slides to me. “Nowhere near as nice as yours.”

I blush hot, which means my cheeks are probably blazing red. He smirks, which means he notices, and then adds on in a low voice. “I know without a doubt they don’t taste as good as yours.”

My face gets hotter, but I manage a snappy retort. “Acrylic paint tastes terrible.”

Kyle grins at my rejoinder and turns to my desk. To my surprise, he grabs the small wooden chair nestled underneath and pulls it across the floor to sit right behind my stool. He takes a seat and his long, jean-clad legs frame the rear of my stool on either side.

“What are you doing?” I ask curiously.

“Going to watch you paint,” he says.

My entire body tightens at the thought. “I don’t think—”

Kyle’s hands go to my hips. He turns me on my stool, so I’m facing my canvas again. “Paint,” he orders.

“Kyle—”

His chin goes to my shoulder, and he softly repeats, “Paint.”

A tiny spasm of adrenaline rockets through me at his seductive tone, but also because he wants to watch me do something that’s a part of my very being.

“Okay,” I whisper, and Kyle lifts his chin.

I continue using white to add highlight and contrast shading along the body of the black cat, my own body in a state of hyper awareness of Kyle’s just inches behind mine. I swear I can feel heat radiating off him.

“Where do you get your ideas from?” Kyle asks, and I give a little jump to feel his breath on the back of my neck. I’d piled my hair up when I’d quietly slipped out of bed, only bothering to put on my panties and the t-shirt I’d been wearing.

I give a tiny shrug. “I’m really not sure. Sometimes I’ll see an object that will spark an idea, or I’ll read about a scene in a book and feel compelled to paint it.”

“The colors in this are deeper than your watercolors,” he observes astutely.

I nod as I continue with my brush strokes, feeling more at ease as we talk. “Good eye, and that’s the benefit of acrylics. I’m not used to painting with this, but I’ll get better with practice.”

“Why are you using them if it’s not what you’re used to?” he inquires.

I draw a thin white line of paint along the jawline of the gray cat. “I like learning new things, and I need more than just watercolors to teach my students.”

“Makes sense,” is all he says.

Kyle’s silent as he watches me for a few moments, and just as I start to really relax into my work, his hands come back to rest on my waist. I can hear him scoot the chair forward until it bumps against the back of my stool. He leans forward and presses his chest to my back, his chin coming back to my shoulder.

My brush freezes on the canvas and my breath goes still within my lungs.

Kyle’s hands slide down over my hips to my outer thighs. His roughened palms cause goose pimples to rise as he strokes them along my legs.

“I have to say, Jane,” he says gruffly, his lips mere inches from my ear. “You sitting here in that t-shirt and just your panties, hair all piled up and that little tongue sticking out the side of your mouth… Well, I had nefarious intentions walking in here.”

Kyle’s hands pivot and his fingers glide over the insides of my knees. With very little pressure needed at all, he pulls my legs slightly apart and then starts sliding his hands up my inner thighs. I go dizzy from his touch, his sexy voice, and perhaps the fact I’m still holding my breath. As his hands slide higher, my legs press in a little just from the nervous anticipation.

“Relax, baby,” Kyle whispers as he puts pressure on my legs so they open again.

My breath comes out in small, stuttering huffs, and I suck another lungful in as his fingertips skim the elastic edge of my panties.

“Want to know what my nefarious intentions are?” he teases me as he runs just one finger along the edge.

I nod frantically but no words come out.

“Let me show you,” he murmurs, his hands falling away from me briefly.

I almost call out in distress over the loss of his touch, but then he’s banding an arm around my stomach, pulling me back so my ass presses against his crotch. His other hand glides slowly down the front of my panties, his fingers sliding through my wetness before pressing inside of me.

My hips buck hard against his delicious invasion, my head falls back to his shoulder, and my paintbrush falls from my hand. It slaps against my thigh, leaving a white paint streak and landing on the floor, but I don’t care one tiny bit.

“Don’t stop,” I moan as he finds my clit, circling his finger around it gently.

“Just getting started,” he assures me as he continues tracing lazy patterns.

“More,” I demand greedily, planting my feet into the floor hard and pressing my hips up.

Kyle gives a low groan of triumph. “That’s my girl.”

My heart constricts hard over those words.

My girl.

“Lift up a bit,” Kyle demands of me, so I do, raising my ass off my stool. Kyle quickly dispenses of my panties, leaning to the side a bit to push them down my legs. Once he frees one foot, he ignores them and straightens back up in his chair before once again pulling me back against him.