I slowly sign her shirt, right over her breast, my eyes on hers. She bites that plump bottom lip of hers and sucks in a breath, her eyes dilate.
God, she’ll be the death of me.
“All done,” I whisper.
“Thanks,” she whispers back, and then blinks, pulling herself out of the sexy trance. She pulls the shirt over her head, folds it carefully and places it back in the bag and walks over to her clothes.
“Stop,” I order her.
She glances at me with surprise. “What?”
“Come here.”
She frowns and stands in front of me again.
“I’m not done.”
“You signed the shirt.”
“Yeah,” my eyes follow her curves, her lines, and her nipples pucker under my gaze. “But I’d like to play.”
“With the Sharpie?”
I shrug.
“You want to draw on me?”
“You are a beautiful blank canvas, sunshine.”
She blinks at me, mulling the idea over, and then smiles slowly. “Okay but then I want something too.”
“What would that be?”
“I want to lick your stars.”
“You don’t need my permission to do that, you know.” My stomach clenches at the thought. When her little lips and tongue touch my hips I about go out of my mind.
She just shrugs happily. “That’s what I want.”
“Done. Come stand by the mirror.”
“I don’t get to lie down?” She pouts.
“Hell no, you get to watch.” I grin and lead her to the full-length mirror that hangs on the bathroom door and turn her so her back is facing the mirror, but she can look over her shoulder to watch.
I uncap the marker and start on her shoulder blades, drawing clouds and birds, a sun, and she gasps, bites her lip and watches with fascination.
“You’re good.”
“I like to doodle,” I murmur and keep focused on the task at hand. Once I turn her and start working on her breasts and sweet stomach, I’ll lose my concentration.
I continue to move the ink over her skin, adding an ocean and palm trees, sand, starfish. Along the bottom, across the top of her ass, I draw a music bar and add the notes to one of my favorite songs that I wrote called Wrapped In You. It’s a ballad, and one she’d know. We play it at every show.
“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 pussy, 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.