He sat her in his lap, cradling her head to his chest and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Well done," he said softly, brushing her hair off her damp temples. She smiled weakly, nuzzling his pectorals. He was still almost fully clothed, only his chest bare. His jeans were scratchy against her ass, which felt like it was on fire.
Her shakes finally subsided and she lifted her head to look at him. He must have seen the question in her eyes because he smiled. "I’m sorry I went about this the way I did. I hope I didn’t scare you." She shook her head.
"No, I wasn’t scared. Confused, maybe, and definitely shocked. But I wasn’t scared."
"You did like it, then?" She blushed and her smile was more than a little shy.
"Yes…I did like it. I never imagined anything like that. Thank you," she said sheepishly. He smiled and kissed her lightly.
"Would you like me to take off all these straps?" he said, playing with the leather collar around her throat. She nodded and he went to work unbuckling the straps. He went to remove the collar around her neck but she stopped him.
"Leave that one," she said with a soft little smile. He grinned and kissed her again. "Can I see the painting now?"
"Maybe you should get dressed first," he replied with a cheeky grin. "It’s already hard enough to keep my hands off of you."
She laughed and slid off his lap, going to the little puddle of clothes on the floor, pulling his soft clothing on. His arms wrapped around her from behind and she smiled, leaning her head back to look at him. "Don’t distract me, I want to see it," Claire teased and he laughed.
"Alright then, come here."
He led her to the easel and then covered her eyes before he let her see it. "Ready?" he asked softly. She nodded and he uncovered her eyes. She gasped.
She wasn’t against a wall at all. She had big but broken dirty white wings, her face half concealed by her hair. The part that wasn’t covered looked to be in a sort of tortured bliss. The straps and chains covering her body were stark and contrasting with the bright pink of her nipples and the cream of her skin.
A man clad all in leather was behind her, one of his hands in her hair and the other lifting her leg to drive into her. Even with the mask around his eyes, there was no mistaking that it was Mark. The background of the painting was in harsh red and clay browns, and the floor beneath the leather man’s feet was dark grey.
And what really drew her eye were the cuffs. They were the brightest thing in the painting, seeming to gleam right off the canvas. She looked over her shoulder at Marc. "It’s beautiful."
"So are you," he murmured. His lips trailed over the side of her neck as she glanced back at the painting.
"Hey, Marc?"
"Hm?" he mumbled, distracted by the curve of her shoulder and neck. She tilted her head to the side to give him better access.
"When can you paint me again?"
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