Proving Paul’s Promise(44)

“Forgive me in advance for what I’m about to do,” I say. I pull her bottoms to the side so I can swipe the brush up the crease of her thigh.

Holy Christ. She doesn’t have a stitch of hair down there. Of course, I can only see the edge, but it’s cleanly shaven, and I have to reach down and adjust my junk. I want to pull the suit back farther so I can look for her clit piercing, but I haven’t been invited that far. Hell, I haven’t been invited this far, either, but I’m here. Thank God, I’m here.

“You still okay?” she asks.

“Fine,” I croak.

“Just checking, because your hand is shaking a little.” Her voice trembles just about as much as my hand does.

“You’re making me fucking crazy,” I admit.

She sucks in a breath. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t be. It’s a good kind of crazy.” I grin up at her.

“I love those fucking dimples,” she says. Then she presses her lips together like she said too much, which makes me grin even more.

“Don’t say the word love around me yet,” I warn playfully.

“Why not?”

“Because you make me hopeful,” I say.

She steps back from me and looks down. “I think we’re done,” she says. She smiles at me.

“No, we’re not.”

I step toward her.

She takes a step back. “Yes, we are.”

“No, we’re not.” I grab the edge of the shirt. “Drop the shirt,” I say.

“I can do that part.”

“I just spent two fucking hours painting your body, and you won’t grant me the privilege of painting your boobs?” I ask, trying to look as dejected as possible. I lean close to her ear. “I just painted the left and right side of your pussy,” I tell her. “I can paint your boobs.” I tug the shirt, and she lets it drop. Her hands fall to her sides, and she closes her eyes.

“Go ahead,” she says through clenched teeth.

I smile and start to paint. I work my way around her breasts until I get to the crest of the left one. I stop and roll her piercing in my fingers. Her breath hitches, and she looks down, her mouth falling open. She gasps out something I can’t understand.

“We need to change these for something plastic,” I tell her.

“On the dresser,” she says. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Can I do it?” I ask.

I do this all the time when I pierce people. Or when they need to take a piercing out for some reason. I replace the metal with something like fishing line that holds the piercing open until the metal can be put back in.

“You can do it,” she says. She keeps her eyes closed, but she startles when I twist her piercing in my fingers, letting it roll again.

“That’s not very nice,” she says. But her eyes open and she watches me unscrew the end and pull the piercing free. I follow it with the plastic piece and secure it in place. I do the same on the other side, taking a minute to play with it. I can’t help it. It’s a fucking tit piercing. It begs to be played with.

When I’m done, I pick up my paintbrush and say, “Are you ready?”

She nods.

Then I let the paintbrush drag across her hard nipple. “Shit,” she bites out.

“What?”

“We need to put the pasty things on.”

“Not yet. I’m having fun.”

“Paul,” she protests, but there’s no whine in her voice that’s real. It’s all pretend. Every little bit. I brush back and forth across her nipple. Her head falls forward, and then her mouth opens. She pants. God, she’s going to make me come in my pants.

“I didn’t expect them to be so big,” I admit.

Her eyes fly open. “My boobs?”

I laugh. “No, I knew how big your boobs are. I’ve been staring at them for four years. I mean your nipples. They’re big and perfect.” I can see her pulse beating in her neck, as quick as my tattoo gun, almost.

I keep painting the one on the left and bend my head and slurp her right nipple between my lips. She cries out and reaches for the back of my head. “Careful,” she whispers. “They’re really sensitive right now. I didn’t realize they’d hurt so much.”

“I’m hurting you?” I ask around a mouthful of nipple.

“No, I mean, in general. Just being pregnant makes them hurt. What you’re doing feels really good.” I suckle her boob, plumping it in my palm. If I don’t back up and get out of here, I’m going to disgrace myself. And her, too. “Really, really good,” she whispers.

I stare up into her eyes. When I can’t possibly take anymore, I drop her boob from my lips and paint around the edges and underneath, while I blow on the turgid peak to dry it. Her naked toes wiggle against the floor.