Chapter 8

The temptation tomake her come over the phone just to show her that I could had been great, but the idea of leaving her wet, achy, and needy for me until I finally got to see her was even better.

In the spirit of fairness, I'd also denied myself, even though after the phone call, I'd wanted nothing more than to jump in the shower and rub one off. I'd gone for a three-mile run instead, came home and chugged a beer, and watched Bob Ross on blu-ray until I fell asleep.

Morning hadn't been much better. My cock woke at attention, screaming, "today is the day all our dreams come true!" and there seemed to be nothing I could do to get it to calm down.

Well, nothing but that, and I still didn't do that.

I instead took my time packing a suitcase full of everything I might need to spend time at Zoe's house. I ate a protein-filled breakfast. I trimmed my hair and shaped my beard. I manscaped, even. By the time I did all that, it was barely ten. I read through her application one more time, went for a run, took another shower, double checked my packing job. Doordashed lunch. Threw paint at a canvas. Tried to read a book.

Finally, it was half past one. Finally, she was off work. Finally, I could get in my car, drive across town, and not have to worry about showing up desperately early.

It took everything I had to give a rat"s ass about puny things like speed limits and traffic laws as I raced toward Zoe's. My hands shook with anticipation as I steered into her neighborhood.

Of course, the walk to her house felt abnormally long and awkward as my cock strained against the fabric of my designer jeans. I adjusted myself twice on the way there, nodded at the front doorman, and finally stepped onto an empty elevator. When I stood outside her door, my heart was pounding in my ears. My inner frat boy was cheering.

I held my breath as I knocked and let it out with a whoosh when she appeared, flinging the door open and leaning against its edge.

Her beauty took my breath away. Her auburn curls, shaded with subtle hints of gray, fell to her shoulders in soft waves. Her soft red sweater hugged her luscious breasts and emphasized the gentle curves of her waist. Her long, zebra-print skirt wasn't a cut most men my age would consider sexy, nor was it at all revealing, but on her, the combination was chef's kiss. Suede ankle boots and chunky silver jewelry completed the ensemble.

The semi I'd been sporting all day turned into a raging hard-on once she was in front of me, her sexy lips parting innocently as she greeted me with a half-smile.

"Hey, Daddy."

That was all it took for me before grabbing her around the waist and pulling her body to mine. I didn't even step inside to the privacy of her home before I claimed her with a kiss that left us both gasping for breath when we finally broke.

Her forehead rested against mine, and her chest rose and fell with panting breaths. "Oh… my… god."

There was so much in those three little words, and though they were all she said, I understood everything behind them. "Hi babygirl. Are you gonna invite me in?"

Her eyes got big and her cheeks flushed with color as she seemed to notice that we were out in the open. She let out a soft gasp and quickly pulled me inside, closing the door behind us.

And the warmth stopped. Walking inside her house was like walking into an igloo. It was cold and monochromatic, every single surface a different shade of beige or ivory. Everything was artsy and designer, but not in a good way. There was nothing about this place that reminded me of Zoe.

I thought I was hiding my reaction as my gaze swept the space but I must not have been.

"I know, it's bad, right?" She winced, turning to lean her back against my front, and surveyed the space as if she was seeing it through fresh eyes. "I never liked it, but according to my ex, it was professional, and adult. It was sophisticated and elegant, and a bunch of other words that never meant anything to me." She sighed in disgust. "I really don't know what I saw in him."

"Hey it's okay." I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed gently, reminding her of my presence. The past was a rabbit hole I didn't want her falling down right now. "That's all in the past. Daddy's here now. Besides, I don't plan on spending much time with you out here. I don't think we'll be stepping too far outside the bedroom."

She scoffed in disgust. Not the reaction I was expecting.

"Honestly, the bedroom isn't much better. I really don't know why I went along with his plan to hire an interior decorator. They kinda sucked."

For some reason that hit me in the funny bone as I looked around the nearly bare, personality-less, monochromatic-but-supposedly-aesthetically-pleasing space. "Yeah, they really kinda did."

She turned and looked at me, nervously licking her lips. "Do you… did you want… a glass of water or something?"

I wanted a beer, but remembered that Zoe didn't drink. "Water is fine." I wasn't thirsty, but I wanted a few more minutes to scope out her space.

I followed her to the kitchen. Another sterile, designer room. This one was all beige and copper with hints of green in a windowsill herb garden, a basket of fruit that I wasn't sure was real or not. A pitcher of fresh flowers graced the center of a table in an adjoining dining room.

It was more Zoe-esque than the living area, but still cold and lacking in comparison to the warm, vibrant, artistic woman she was. I watched as she glided around the space, opening a cabinet, grabbing a glass, filling it with ice, then water from the dispenser on the front of the fridge. Our fingers brushed when she handed me the glass. The touch was electric. I took a step back and forced myself to remember that I had goals here other than to get my dick wet and make my college-boy dreams come true.

Sipping the water, I poised myself in the doorway between the kitchen and dining area, and caught a glimpse of a large plastic shopping bag that looked familiar. My eyes narrowed as I stepped into the space and approached it.

Just as I thought, it had the logo of the craft shop we'd visited over the weekend, and the contents were untouched. "Zoe…" I said, with a warning tone in my voice.

"Yes, Daddy?"

The lilt in her voice was teasing and innocent, and her footsteps were light behind me as she approached. I felt her breasts brush against my back as she entered the room and heard the hitch in her breath as she caught sight of what I was looking at.

"Zoe…" I turned to face her and took one of her hands in mine. "It doesn"t look like you've touched your art supplies."

Her gaze met mine before it flickered, and she trained her eyes on the floor. "That's because I haven't."

"Little girl… what is the rule we made about creating?"

"I… I… can't." Tears sprang to her eyes. "I told you I haven't in years. This stuff…" She waved her arms around to indicate the bags of art supplies. "It doesn't help if I can't… I can't…"

"How do you know you can't if you haven't tried?" I wanted to take her in my arms and wipe her tears and tell her it was okay, but I'd made the rule for a reason. It was important. Zoe was an artist, and artists needed to create.

Instead of wiping her tears or going in the opposite direction and throwing her over my knee, I dug in the bags, pulling out large bottles of paint, expensive brushes, and two canvases. I didn't bother with easels or paint trays or any of that yet. I just laid the most basic of supplies out on the table and waited.

I guess maybe I thought she'd see them and feel inspired. Or even if she wasn't, maybe she'd pick up a brush and dip it in a bit of paint, then touch the brush to the canvas, and after a while she'd be painting, and remember how much she loved it and how deeply it was a part of the fabric of her soul.

What I didn't expect was for her to take one look at my display and burst into tears, but that's what happened. "I… I can't!" she sobbed. "I know you want me to—hell, I want to—but I can't. If I even look at paint, or think about painting… this happens." She waved her hand in front of her face, pointing at her tears.

"Oh babygirl."

Fuck the art. I gathered her in my arms, and she gasped for breath.

"I feel so… stifled," she sobbed into my shirt. "I've thought about painting more in the past two weeks than I have in years. I feel the urge, but… when I think about getting everything out and actually doing it… the desire goes poof."

Honestly, I could see why. Her everyday environment wasn't a very inspiring one. She lived here, but it wasn't her. It wasn't home. It didn't feel like anything but bad memories. No wonder she felt stifled. Letting go of her waist, I picked up a brush and popped the cap on a bottle of teal acrylic paint. I didn't worry about a mess or dropping paint on the floor as I upended the bottle and dripped a blob onto the brush.

I felt Zoe watching me and caught her gaze holding it.

"Lennon, what… what are you doing?"

A blob of paint fell onto the pristine tile floor. Bright teal against perfect white marble. It was an improvement.

I smiled. "Do you own this place or rent?"

Her gaze sharpened as it caught mine. "Own," she said cautiously. "If I rented, I wouldn't still be here."

"You probably should redecorate," I agreed, unable to keep myself from smirking. I picked up a bottle of red paint and repeated the same process I had with the teal, with Zoe suspiciously watching my every move.

"Lennon, what are you doing? I don"t want to paint right now. I thought we were going to—" She sidled up to me, hooking an arm around my waist and leaning in like she wanted a kiss. I dragged my finger through the blob of paint on the brush and smeared it onto her nose. The expression of surprise on her face was golden.

"Lennon! What are you—stop!" she cried, when I smeared a matching mark onto her cheek.

"I… I… oh, you!" She stomped to the table and grabbed the bottle of paint.

I hid a smile. Setting down my paintbrush at this point in the game was a risky move, but it had to be done. Laying it on the blank canvas, I smeared the remaining paint from my finger next to it and slowly unbuttoned my shirt. Next came my loafers and jeans until I was standing in nothing but a pair of purple boxer-briefs watching Zoe gape at me.

"What in the world?" she gasped.

Picking up the paintbrush again, I pointed it at her. "You probably should get undressed. Unless you want your pretty outfit to get ruined."

God it was fun watching her get all twitterpated and out of sorts.

She had her teacher face on as she shook her finger at me. "Lennon Ames, I don't know what you think you're up to, but you need to stop this ridiculousness right now, and… and… put your clothes back on!"

"Oh I do, do I? I think you're forgetting one important thing, babygirl." I reached down to adjust myself. I didn't need to, I just wanted to watch her reaction.

Worth it. Her pupils dilated, her throat constricted, and I swore I could see her heart beating.

"You're forgetting that I'm not some dumb college kid anymore. This is not your classroom, and you are not in charge here. I am. Now, get undressed or suffer the consequences." I pulled back the paintbrush to prove I was ready to fling the paint at any given moment.

"This is utterly ridiculous," she grumbled as she began to remove her jewelry. "If you want me to paint, making a mess is not the way to convince me it"s a good idea. Do you know how hard it is going to be to clean this up? Have you even thought about that?" Her voice slowly rose as she got to the end of her rant.

To prove I wasn't going to be swayed, I turned toward the wall and let the paint fly.

Zoe let out a squeal of outrage. "What are you doing?"

"I'm bringing some fun and color into your life. Why do you still have clothes on?" I asked as I picked up the two bottles of opened paint and pointed them at the wall.

"No! Okay, okay!" She hurried out of her clothes, tossing them angrily out of harm"s way.

"Ah that's better." I took a moment to admire her standing in front of me in just her bra and panties. The woman was a fucking goddess and all I wanted to do was worship every inch of her, but that would have to wait. I had a point to make. Shifting my aim, I gave the two bottles a squeeze and let the stream of paint fly in her direction.

Looking down at her paint-splattered body, I saw the exact moment that she decided to seek her revenge.

"Show me what you've got, babygirl." I put my arms out to the side, taunting her, inviting her to play right into my hands.

She grabbed for a tube and gave me the same treatment, splattering yellow paint all over my torso. From there, it was on. We both scrambled for bottles of paint and squirted them all over one another.

Zoe screamed and giggled as we chased each other around the dining table, covering each other from head to toe in every paint color under the sun, or at least all of the colors we'd bought together earlier in the week. Once the bottles were empty, I abandoned them and lunged for her. The floor was slippery, and she couldn't get any traction to avoid my advances.

"Lennon, no!" she cried as I engulfed her in my arms, fighting against my hold.

My feet slid on paint, making me rethink my plans slightly. Instead of wrestling her up against the wall and kissing her senseless, I wrestled her to the ground and covered her body with mine.

"Naughty little Picasso." I clicked my tongue and shook my head.

"Me? You started it! How am I the naughty one?" She squirmed, no doubt feeling the wet paint squish between her back and the cool tile.

"Yes, I did start it, but you're still naughty. Using Daddy's name over and over. It"s very naughty. How am I supposed to get you to follow that rule, huh?"

Unable to help myself, I touched my lips to hers, taking her mouth in a slow, sensual kiss, the complete opposite of what I'd subjected her to in her hallway. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she pulled me in closer. I allowed it, only because I couldn't fucking take it anymore. I was only human for fuck's sake. We made out like horny teenagers, our hands exploring each other"s bodies while our tongues danced an intimate tango.

Giving the cup of her bra a rough yank, I freed her breast and fondled the soft flesh. Her nipple tightened beneath my palm and a moan of pleasure escaped her lips. My cock ached to be inside of her, but there was paint everywhere and it didn't seem like the best idea. I broke the kiss and rested my forehead against hers. "Fuck, I need to be inside of you."

"Yes, please. Daddy, please."

"Don"t do that." I was barely holding back as it was, and hearing her beg for it made it nearly impossible. "I can't fuck you for the first time on your dining room floor while we're covered in paint." I hopped to my feet and helped her to stand. "Shower. Now. Go." I turned her away from me and landed a satisfying smack to her panty- covered ass.

She jumped and skittered out of the room, presumably to do as I'd instructed. I took the moment to enjoy the look of my paint-covered handprint staining the most perfect ass I'd ever laid eyes on. And I co-owned a BDSM club; I'd seen a lot of nice asses. Taking a few deep breaths to try to calm myself down before I followed her into the shower, I took stock of the room. Everything from floor to ceiling was splattered with multiple colors of paint, including her dining room table and chairs. The perfectly pristine room was gone and in its wake was a beautiful disaster.