Artistic

The bristles of the paintbrush are soft. The dark blue paint spreads easily on her bare skin and soon Hermione’s left breast is covered. Her nipples are hard by the time Dean moves the tip of the paintbrush over them. He is focused and intense, just the way he always gets when he’s painting, but she can see the slight quirk of his lips and knows he’s fully aware of just what he’s doing.

He murmurs a cleaning charm on the brush, his voice low and husky as he stares at her bare body and sees a blank canvas for his artistic creativity. She shifts against the rug where she’s lying and pulls at the scarves that secure her arms above her head. It’s pointless, of course, as he’s tied them tightly. He knows her too well to risk ruining whatever image he has in his mind by leaving her hands free.

Her impatience is a running joke between them, after all, and she still remembers the last time he got creative. Her arse was sore for days when he finished spanking her and fucking her for touching herself before he was finished. It was a punishment that she didn’t mind at all, though she never plans to admit that she gets aroused by something as barbaric as spanking.

Tonight, however, he has that intense gleam that first caught her notice back at Hogwarts. The fact that she’s now often the focus of it never fails to excite her. Their relationship was unexpected for both of them, but neither could deny the attraction after they started working together last year.

They don’t really have a lot in common yet can have conversations that last for hours. A simple look from him makes her feel beautiful in a way she never has before. The sex is always amazing, even if it’s a quickie in the shower before work, but becomes something impossible to describe when he feels creative and wants to play.

“You’re not paying attention,” he murmurs as he drags the paintbrush over her nipple, leaving a streak of dark green behind. His dark eyes meet hers and he smirks slightly. “I guess I’ll have to make sure that I’m not boring you.”

“Dean,” she warns when she sees that smile, but he doesn’t give her a chance to threaten him.

Instead, he drags the paintbrush down her ribs and circles her belly button before moving it lower. He watches her face as the soft bristles brush against her wet cunt, and she blushes when her body arches down to seek more contact. “If only I could capture this,” he whispers as he caresses her cheek with his paint-stained hand. “I try but continue to fail.”

“You don’t fail,” she protests even as her nipples harden even more and she feels a fresh wave of arousal spread over her as he continues to gently brush the paintbrush up and down.

“It doesn’t matter,” he mutters as his finger traces her lips and leaves behind a gloss of wet paint. He grins suddenly. “After all, I don’t mind having to keep trying, in this case.”

Then his grin fades and he stares at her in a way that makes her wonder if he can somehow see into her soul. He looks down at her breasts and belly, lost in thought as he continues to gently tease her with the paintbrush. He reaches down with his free hand and spreads the paint over her breasts, mixing the two colors as he squeezes them. When he twists her nipple, she can’t stop herself from moaning and pulling at her restraints.

“More,” she whines, resenting the fact that he’s bound her and is now taking his bloody time in teasing her. She hates to beg, even with Dean, but there are just sometimes that a girl has to do what a girl has to do. Her cunt is soaking with arousal and thick green body paint, but he won’t do anything more than that gentle swipe of the paintbrush against her.

“Patience,” he tells her as he continues to caress her breasts and drag his fingers over her belly and ribs. He shifts until he’s straddling her thighs, his cock bouncing in a rather hypnotic way as he adjusts his position. Then goes back to stroking her cunt and painting her chest while she admires his dark skin and how he looks bathed in the soft glow from the fireplace. He’s so hard that she’s surprised he’s still teasing, but he’s got this ridiculous discipline and patience that is rather annoying at times.

As he moves his free hand over her body, she realizes that he’s finger-painting and using her body as his canvas. She wants to scowl and glare but she can’t. She loves when he gets like this and has to admit that his creativity is one of the first things that attracted her to him when their paths crossed once again and made her look at him as Attractive and Sexy Dean instead of just Former Gryffindor Housemate.

She’s not very creative and certainly not artistic but can admire it in others. True, his artistic temperament, which extends to other areas of his life, and her inflexible logical view of things often collide and result in passionate arguments that end with them roughly shagging against any available surface, but it just works for them somehow.

“I need some red,” he mutters into the silence that is only broken by their heavy breathing and her soft moaning. He stops painting her cunt and reaches over her for the red paint, which makes his cock rubs against her cunt. She thinks it might have been deliberate, this sudden need for red paint, but he’s the picture of focused innocence when he straightens. He drips red paint on her belly and then begins to smear it into the mixture of green and blue that he’s already done.

Once he’s got the red paint added, he begins to move the paintbrush again. Gentle swipes up and down her cunt followed by a more firm rub against her clit soon have her writhing beneath him. He’s not teasing so much now, and there is a definite difference. She licks her lips as she watches his cock bob in front of him, and tugs on the scarves once again, just so he knows she’s still not happy about being tied up and used as his canvas.

The body paint warms with her arousal, which means her skin is practically on fire now. It’s just too much: all of his teasing, the warmth of the paint, the soft bristles delicately brushing over the lips of her cunt and rubbing her clit, the look of intense desire on his face, the way his cock seems to throb just from him watching her pleasure, and the feel of his fingers painting her skin. Her back arches off the rug and she whimpers as she comes, pushing down against the paintbrush as it presses against her clit.

“So beautiful,” Dean whispers as his fingers move over her face, painting her cheeks, jaw, and chin while she shudders beneath him. He is breathing heavily and his body is tense with desire. She’s still trembling when he tosses the paintbrush on the rug beside them and moves between her legs, sliding into her with one deep thrust. He kisses her thoroughly and begins to fuck her hard, all the teasing forgotten as he gives in to his need.

It doesn’t take long before he stiffens and groans against her mouth as he comes. His hips jerk forward and he keeps moving as he spills inside her. He doesn’t stop until he’s finished, and then collapses on top of her, rubbing the paint against his own chest and belly as he kisses her over and over.

When he pulls back, his lips are covered with body paint and curved into a pleased smile. “You look good like this,” he tells her with just a hint of smug cheekiness. She wants to swat his arse but can’t, which reminds her to pull on the scarves. He leans up to unfasten them, which gives her a chance to knock him off balance once she’s freed.

She rolls them over and pushes his arms above his head, using magic to bind him instead of scarves that he‘d probably be able to rip apart if he really wanted. “You look good like this,” she says with a mischievous smile as she picks up the discarded paintbrush and dips it into the nearby jar of purple paint. She meets his gaze and licks her lips when she sees his surprised but aroused look. “It’s my turn to get creative.”

End