SWNOVELS Pump Two: Chapter 12
life in the best way possible.
Allowing me access to an art studio has been amazing. I’m able to use it when it’s closed for teaching, like today. It’s my day off, and I’m painting here whilst I wait to pick up my brother.
Devon and I have been texting non-stop with cute, flowery messages alongside some not-so-cute pictures of various body parts. Since seeing Devon’s face, I don’t think the smile on my own has wavered.
Unfortunately, my mind is acting similar to that of a high schooler with their first love—distracted. I haven’t been able to get my ideas straight. After dipping one of my new paintbrushes into paint, I realize that for the first time in a while, I’m stumped for ideas.
As if on cue, my phone buzzes next to me and my heart jumps when I see that it’s Devon.
Devon: Where you at?
Me: Art studio
Devon: Send your location
Devon: Wanna see you
I send him my location and wait for his arrival, spending the next thirty minutes trying to conjure inspiration on what to paint. Eventually, I start to sketch a giant version of the self-portrait I did at the gas station of myself in Devon’s bike helmet. After a few minutes, I hear his bike. Though, as another ten minutes pass, I realize the bike may not have been Devon’s because there’s still no sign of him.
I look at the doors and do a double take when I see him sitting on the chair that’s holding them open. The sun hits his back, casting a glow around his muscular frame. Sometimes, I wish I could learn a different medium like sculpting so I could replicate his body and have it displayed in my bedroom or something. Maybe I should try it.
As he rises, my eyes remain fixed on him. I observe his leisurely stroll toward me until he finally crouches beside the edge of the canvas where I’m kneeling.
“How long were you sitting there?” I ask.
He leans over me and grabs one of the new paintbrushes, assessing the smooth wooden handle. He chooses the largest one that I sometimes use for murals.
“Not long enough to admire you as much as I would’ve liked. I love watching you paint.”
“Well feel free to watch me struggle to feel inspired for the rest of the day,” I sigh, tilting my head as if looking at the canvas at a different angle will spring me some more creative inspiration.
“You’ll come up with ideas, I’m sure,” he says, planting a chaste kiss on the crown of my head.
“I know. I think I’m just burnt out or distracted.”
“You need a live model?” I look at him in mock distaste, curling my lip. I love reacting like his words are out of pocket, as if I haven’t been thinking the same thing. His cheeky grin tells me that he knows I’m not as disgusted as I show.
“Alright, alright. Look, I came to take you out. Consider it a break,” he tells me. The rhythmic thumping of his boots trace a circular path around the giant canvas as he fixates on it, trying to figure out what I’m drawing. Devon constantly shows interest in my work. There’s something heartwarming about him caring about the things I love.
“I drew this in my little sketchpad at the gas station after our first meeting.” I point toward the reference sketch next to me. “I’m just recycling my ideas.”
“You wanted me so bad.” He smirks and I roll my eyes at him. “But seriously, let’s go somewhere. You haven’t stopped doing art stuff all day.”
“Well, what did you have in mind?” I ask, standing up and stretching. Devon circles behind me, guiding my arms so that they’re wrapped around my chest with my elbows pointing forward.
“I don’t know. Now that you don’t have the thrill of talking to a faceless stranger anymore, what’s something you’ve always wanted to do?” he asks from behind me, placing me in a bear hug and lifting me up. He squeezes me gently until my body cracks—instant relief.
“Oh my god,” I moan. “I love when you crack my back for me. What are you? A chiropractor?” His eyes sparkle with playfulness and a hint of satisfaction. He looks way too proud of himself.
“So? What did you want to do?” he asks, reminding me that I never answered his previous question. I ponder on it for a few seconds with nothing in particular coming to mind. There’s nothing crazy that I’ve wanted to do, however, I have considered getting a tattoo before.
“A tattoo,” I say honestly. “I don’t have one.” He nods and leads me to the door of the art studio.
“Woah, let me think about it for a little bit.” I pull back on his arm, though it does little to stop him from moving.
“Okay.” He steps toward me and stands unspeaking for about ten seconds. His hands are perched on his belted hips, and he taps his large boot impatiently against the ground. “Okay, let’s go,” he rushes out, taking my arm and dragging me out of the studio.
“Devon!”
“Don’t think, just do,” he urges. Of course, if there was one person to encourage me to get a tattoo, it would be Devon. Or maybe Freya…or Ash.
“That is terrible advice, Devon,” I stress, letting him lead me to his bike. I pat my pocket to make sure I have the studio keys, and then move the chair away so the door slams shut. “Plus, this was meant to be a break from my art, now I’m just thinking of more permanent art.”
“It’s a creative break,” he says, kissing my neck and placing a helmet on my head. He drives us a short way to a nearby tattoo studio. The tattooists have some availability, so I fill out a form for health conditions whilst Devon flicks through a book of flash designs.
I decide on a Violet flower that I’ve drawn myself. It’s small and delicate, tasteful for my first tattoo. I’ve decided on adding a touch of color to give it a nice watercolor effect. Devon watches me from his position against the wall as the tattoo artist places the template just above my ankle.
“I’m gonna get a drink, you good if I come back in a few?” Devon asks, his eyes firmly focused on where the tattooist is holding my leg.
“Sure,” I say. The artist hasn’t even started on mine yet because I’m too busy trying to get the perfect placement. Devon scowls at the tattooist’s hand, his jaw clenching slightly when he leaves the room. I think Devon assumes that his jealous streak doesn’t show that often. It does, and it’s amusing every time it comes to the surface.
After a few more adjustments, the low hum of the tattoo gun begins. Devon hasn’t returned by the time the tattooist finishes and wraps up my ankle. I know Devon would never bail on me, but I’m freaking out a little until I exit the room. He’s sitting in the waiting room, sipping some water.
He looks a little pale, to be honest.
“All done,” I say, flashing my ankle. Though, you can’t really see the design under the wrap. “Are you okay? You look a bit unwell.”
“I’m all good, just feeling a little dehydrated,” he says, showing me the bottle of water. He cracks his neck and gives his cheek a light slap. “Did it hurt?” I shake my head, reaching for the water.
“A little…the coloring part hurt. I don’t know if I’ll get more though,” I reply, taking a big sip.
“What? You’re not going to get my name plastered across your forehead?” One of the tattooists near us chuckles at his suggestion.
“Can you imagine? That’d be crazy, tattoos are so permanent.”
“They are very permanent,” he muses as we pay. Devon’s gaze lingers on me briefly as soon as we step out of the building, then he steals my breath with an enthusiastic kiss. I moan in surprise and pull back, looking at him in confusion.
“What was that for?” I breathe.
“The guy doing your tattoo was checking you out way too much,” he says, his voice low with annoyance.
“He was doing his job.” I playfully smack Devon’s chest and he shrugs.
“His job is to tattoo, not stare at my girl with goo-goo eyes whilst I’m in the room.” Heat fills my body at his possessiveness, and I can’t ignore that he called me his girl.
“Your girl?”
“Always have been, Sweetness,” he says as we walk up to his bike. Always have been. It reminds me of the nickname he gave me, which he’s been calling me since the second time we spoke.
“Devon, why do you call me Sweetness?”
“Because you were sweet from day one and everything about you is sweet. Your lips, your personality, your…” His eyes trail down my body, tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek. I can’t help the laughter that ensues as his eyes stop at my crotch and he motions toward it with his head.
“You called me it the second time we met, though.” His green eyes watch me adoringly.
“Sweet from day…two?” I smile up at him, my eyes searching his face for any trace of a lie. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll taste how sweet you are as soon as we get back to the studio.”
“That’s exactly what I want, Devon,” I admit. His nose flares, and he drags his hand over his face. In his impatience, he passes me a helmet so fast that it almost falls out of my hands. Then, we ride back to the studio at a speed that must be illegal. I’m surprised we don’t get pulled over on the way.
As soon as we arrive, he ambushes me. Rough hands rush to take off my pants, and he pushes gently on my shoulders, forcing me to lie on the ground.
The sound of a paintbrush being tapped against a pot has me lifting my head up, only to find Devon holding one whilst pushing my shirt up.
“Should I be concerned?” I call up to him. He moves so swiftly; I barely register him on top of me as he pins me down by my thighs with his upper body sitting tall. He dips the brush into a pot of water and drags it down the side of my face.
“Don’t be concerned, I’m only thinking about how much I want to see you break apart around this brush.” My eyes flicker between Devon’s face and the large, rounded handle of the brush that looks small in this grip. “You look scared. You’re familiar with these, no?”
“Not like this,” I whisper as he submerges the tip of the bristles into a can of white paint. He trails the brush over my bare torso, running it between my breasts, to my navel, circling my belly button. I release a strained breath when the cold studio air hits the wet liquid and causes goosebumps to pebble across my flesh.
“Cold?” he asks, dragging the tip of his finger over my hardened nipple. He brings his lips around one and sucks, the warmth of his mouth a nice contrast to the chilled paint.
My body writhes in response to his ministrations; brushing, sucking, and caressing me until I’m nothing but a moaning heap.
The brush leaves my skin, but the bristles leave ghostly touches all over my flesh. Like the weight of his body, which disappears when he stands up.
“Fuck, Violet. Get up here.” I pry my eyes open to see Devon sitting on a chair with a different, unused paintbrush in his hands. His eyes bore into me like hot coals as I move the short distance to him.
After placing the brush between his teeth, he uses both hands to grip my waist and lift me so I’m straddled on his lap. He cups his hand under my mouth like one would do when asking a dog to surrender something that it’s not meant to eat.
“Spit,” he murmurs softly. Oh. Wait…spit?
I hesitate. Devon raises his eyebrows impatiently, eyes firm. I spit into his palm, then watch him lubricate the paintbrush handle with my saliva. With my legs spread across his lap, he rubs the smooth, wooden end of it over my clit.
“Look at how turned on you are, Violet. You’re so fucking dirty,” he says, his words carrying a mocking tone. Then, he gives me his final command, “Sit on it.”
Fuck. Me.
I slowly sink myself onto it with little resistance. Devon gently moves it in and out of me. “Good girl. Pretend it’s my cock inside of you.” I move up and down, resting my hands on Devon’s shoulders for stability.
“Touch yourself, rub your clit. I know it’s aching to be touched,” he mumbles into my ear. I move my hand in between us as if possessed and rub my fingers over my sensitive bundle of nerves.
The friction on my clit paired with the brush has me resting my head on Devon’s shoulder. The pleasure is too much, and it causes the hand on my pussy to falter lazily.
“Devon, I’m gonna cum,” I whine into his neck. The heady fragrance of his cologne overwhelms my senses. He doesn’t speed up the movement of the paintbrush inside of me, which makes my stomach tense up at the slow build of my release.
“You wanna cum, Sweetness?” I nod violently, sweat prickling at the back of my neck. “Too bad.” He pulls out the paintbrush roughly and taps the handle on my clit.
“No,” I breathe out shakily.
I ache so bad that all I can do is tremble on his lap. I need my release. I’m still panting as I claw at Devon’s clothes, desperately trying to get to his cock.
“Taste it,” he rasps, and I fumble wildly at his zipper in my attempt at trying to undo him faster. He tuts gently and I peer up at him, his tongue poking out to moisten his lower lip. “Not that, this.”
Devon envelops his hand around my throat, his rough palm pressing tenderly against the front of my neck. He skims the handle of the paintbrush against my lips, and I open my mouth to taste myself on the brush.
His patience must have worn thin because in one quick movement, he lifts his hips, unzips himself, and pushes his pants down. I look at his hardened dick, the tip glistening with pre-cum. I itch to taste it, but his denial of my orgasm has me wanting it inside of me more than anything right now.
He places his hand in front of my mouth again. I understand what he wants this time because I spit and he lubricates himself. With his unwavering strength, he lifts me up with minimal effort so that his cock is teasing at my entrance. When he lowers me onto him, both of us let out a synchronized breath of relief.
After a moment, he pumps his hips up to find a rhythm and then pounds into me. I grip the back of his neck and look down at where we are joined. The sight of him sliding in and out of me is so erotic that I let out a whimpering noise from the back of my throat.
Devon pulls me into his hard torso in an all-encasing hug and fucks me harder, groaning into my ear. With his thick arms wrapped around me, I feel the handle of the paintbrush over my asshole. I tense up for a moment, then my initial shock transforms into bliss as the firm handle rubbing over me adds to my enjoyment.
“Do it,” I whisper, shivering at the light sensation of it caressing my hole. He lets out a growl and pushes in the handle, testing it inside of me. He doesn’t insert the entire thing, but enough so that it isn’t painful—just light pressure.
I rest my head on his muscular shoulder again and clench around his dick. With both the handle of the paintbrush and his cock inside of me working in tandem, I use my hand to stimulate my clit again.
The overstimulation from everything combined draws my orgasm out of me. I flop into him, finally reaching the release that was robbed from me earlier.
Devon yanks the paintbrush out of me and throws it somewhere to his side because I hear it clatter against the ground. He hoists me up and carries me to an empty workstation. My back barely touches the surface before he continues thrusting into me, this time delving deeper inside.
“Look at me,” he grunts and I struggle to follow his command, my eyes drifting closed with the euphoric feeling of his movements. “I said look at me.” He grips my chin and places his forehead on mine. His hold causes my lips to press together as I fight to keep my eyes from closing.
I worm my hands under his tee, scraping my nails over his torso to feel beads of sweat drip between the defined muscle on his stomach.
“You feel so good. I will never get tired of the way your pussy wraps around me,” Devon hums. “I will never get tired of you.”
My dwindling orgasm returns at full force and my pussy milks him for everything he’s got. He stills, roaring loudly into my neck as he reaches his release too.
His breathing is hoarse and after a few seconds, I’m convinced that I hear a deep whimper as he pulls his cock out of me. I observe him curiously when he bends down so his eyes are level with my pussy.
“Watching my cum leak out of you is one of the hottest things I’ve ever fucking seen.” Christ. This man will be the absolute death of me.
“Thank god I’m on the pill.” I laugh, becoming more self-conscious as he continues to stare.
I kick my foot out at him and he catches my ankle. With a gentle yank, he drags me to the edge of the table and plants a light kiss on my lips, chuckling as he steps away from me. He looks down at my half-naked body like I’m his own piece of art.
“You feeling inspired yet?” he asks.
“If I say no, could we go for round two?” He dips his head as he laughs and shakes it as if to realign his thoughts.
“For every twenty minutes you spend painting, I will make you cum.” I raise one of my eyebrows.
“You drive a hard bargain, Devon,” I say, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feel of drying paint on my skin.
“Yeah…hard,” he jokes and I scrunch my face in disgust at his innuendo, feigning innocence as if I didn’t just ask to have sex for inspiration. Devon shrugs like he’s said something completely innocent too. “I came here to give you a break with your art, but we can’t spend more than five minutes in a room without jumping each other.”
“That wasn’t a break, that was a workout.” I jump off the worktop and snatch a wad of tissue out of Devon’s hand.
I waddle to the bathroom to clean up, thankful that nobody else is here today. When I return, I see Devon holding a paintbrush. It’s the same one that was inside of me.
“Keepsake,” he says, noticing me watch him as he pockets it. I let out an unbelieving laugh.
“Weirdo.”
He looks at me coyly, securing his hands behind his back. “You know, I’ve been feeling a little left out watching you paint ever since I helped you do that mural.”
“Would you feel better if I gave you a cute little canvas to draw on next to me?” I coo as if speaking to a child.
“Yes actually, I would love that.” My smile widens and Devon smiles back at me, pulling out the paintbrush from his pocket. “I’ve already got my brush.”