Faster We Burn

it was over, he threw one of my legs over his shoulder, paused for a moment and plunged into me.
    “You and me,” he said, pulling out slow and plunging back in.
    “No space,” I moaned, digging my fingers into his back. He went deep, deeper than he ever had. After every thrust, he waited for a second. No space.
    He picked up the pace and I felt myself building again. I pushed myself up to meet him and he met me with force.
    I came again, just as strong as before.
    “I love you,” he said as the world was shattering.
    “I love you,” I said as I felt him come a few moments later. Our lips met one last time.
    You and me.
    No space.

 
     
    Chapter Twenty-four
     
     
    Stryker
     
    It was what I had wanted that very first time I’d met her. Watching her face as I drove her to the edge of pleasure and pulled her back was something so beautiful I didn’t think I could ever do it justice with my pen.
    Afterward, I lay with her, our sweat mingling and our bodies as close as they could be without being physically connected. She was busy reading my tattoos.
    “You figured out what you want yet?” Her skin was still ink free.
    “Not yet.”
    “Well, how about we practice?”
    “What do you mean?” I unwrapped my arms from around her and sat up, grabbing a marker from the box on her desk. I’d been planning this ever since I got her naked.
    “How about we try out a few. What was something you considered?” I held up the marker and she smiled.
    “A butterfly on my shoulder.” She pointed.
    “Turn over.” She rolled onto her back and turned her head so she could watch me. I dragged the marker across her skin, making the outline of a butterfly, as if it was resting on her shoulder. I grabbed a few other colors so I could make it more vibrant. She giggled a little at the touch of the marker. I finished the butterfly and then drew a flower below it, as if the butterfly had stopped on it to rest.
    “What next?” I said.
    “Um, how about a starfish?”
    “Where?”
    She turned over. “My hip.” She pointed to her left hip and gave me a little smile. I let my eyes trace her body. I’d seen it many times before, but I had a whole new appreciation of it now.
    It was so tempting to drop the marker and make her moan like she had earlier. Leaving the cap on the marker, I and slowly drew it over her body, from her collarbone and down her breasts to her bellybutton, where I made a circle and then lower.
    “Starfish,” she said in a harsh voice, her eyes closed and her hands fisted in her blanket.
    “Of course, how could I forget?” I uncapped the marker and started to draw, watching her skin pimple with goosebumps. I drew one starfish and then a clam and then some more shells, starting a seascape on her hip that stretched close to her bellybutton.
    “What’s next, my sweet canvas?”
    “Use your imagination.” She seemed to be out of ideas.
    “So I can draw whatever I want?”
    She grabbed my wrist before I could start drawing again. “Within reason.”
    I grinned at her and gave her a kiss, which was meant to be quick, but turned heated before she nipped my lip near my lip ring.
    “You’ve got a lot of skin to cover.”
     
    ***
     
    I covered her shoulders and arms and stomach and back and ass and legs and feet with drawings. Flowers and swirls and stars and quotes that reminded me of her and song lyrics and little things that made me think of her. There was no continuity, except that they all reminded me of her.
    I drew hearts on the bottom of her feet and sat back to admire her. She looked over her shoulder, trying to see her back.
    “Come on,” I said, reaching for her. I picked her up and carried her to the full-length mirror that hung in her closet. I set her down and turned her so she could see.
    “Wow,” she breathed. “You are freakishly talented.”
    “An artist is nothing without good materials to work with, and a muse.”
    She looked away from her beautiful body to meet my eyes. “Oh, so I’m your muse now?”
    I touched a poppy I’d drawn on her shoulder in bold red marker.
    “Every artist needs one.”
    “You seemed to do pretty well without me before.”
    “That was because I didn’t know what I was missing.”
    “Hm,” she said, touching my more-permanent ink. “So I guess we’re not friends anymore, huh?”
    “I beg to differ.” I kissed the poppy and picked her up, making her squeal as I tossed her back in bed. “I think you are my very best of best