Page 28 of Stroked by (Stroked)
“Hmm. If I told you I paint would you be impressed?”
“I would.” I could totally see it, Paisley as an artist makes total sense. She seems very artistic.
“Well, I don’t.” She chuckles, throwing me off.
There goesthatimage of her painting naked, her ass crack peeking past the stool she’s sitting on, and a good amount of side boob exposed with every rise and stroke of her hand.
“I do color though.”
“Those adult coloring books?”
She shakes her head. “No, those things are way too complicated for me. The spaces are tiny, practically impossible to define, you’re bound to color out of the lines.”
“And why would you subject yourself to such ridicule?” I tease.
“Exactly. Oh, hell no, I refuse. So, I end up coloring little kids coloring books. I’m going to tell you right now, theFrozencoloring books can stop. I’m one Olaf away from writing Disney a letter.”
“They just can’t let it go, can they?” I ask, a grin spreading across my face.
“Clever.” She chuckles. “Ana or Elsa?”
“I’m more of a punk rock Ariel fan.”
“A what?” She crinkles her nose in confusion.
“Oh, come on.” I shove her shoulder with mine. “You haven’t seen those pictures trending all over Facebook? Artists drawing the Disney princesses in all different get-ups. There’s been the book nerds, the hipsters, the average woman, the punk rock chicks. Ariel dressed up in tattoos with long black hair, fucking boner worthy.” It doesn’t escape me that Paisley is a close relative of Punk Rock Ariel.
“Ah.” She gives me a sideways glance, looking up through her lashes. “You like tattoos, huh?”
“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” I ask, not talking about my own ink, but about hers.
Electricity bounces between us, heat starts to develop, and all I can think about is pushing her down on her towel and exploring her body, tracing every single one of her tattoos until they are memorized.
She clears her throat and lies completely down on the towel, closing her eyes. I take that moment to scan her body once more, appreciating every curve, every defined muscle in her stomach, the little dip in her hips where her bathing suit bottoms caress her. Her chest is full, her breasts propped up from her position. What I wouldn’t give to slip her top off right now, just for a small fucking peek.
“What hobbies do you have other than swimming?” she asks, covering the sun from her eyes and squinting while she looks up at me.
Drawing my eyes away from her body, I answer, “Not many. My life has been one long session in the pool. My days off usually consist of me out here, on the beach, soaking in nature, listening to the waves crash and little punk teenagers fawn over a hot woman in a miniscule bikini.” I raise my brows at her.
“Damn kids.” She laughs and shakes her head. Pausing, she studies me and says, “You know, you’re different than I expected.”
“What does that mean? What were you expecting?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. You have this persona about you on the pool deck, a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude, so I presumed you were like that in real life, but you’re not.”
“Shit, am I forgetting to act like a prick? All right.” I straighten up, lower my sunglasses, and blatantly scan her body. “Do you make a good living selling hot dogs?”
“What?” She sits up, completely confused.
“Because you sure as fuck know how to make a wiener stand.” I give her a side smirk and wait.
She studies me, and then starts laughing, a rich, sultry laugh that has my dick hardening in seconds. “Oh my God, please tell me you’ve used that on a woman before.”
“Only one.” I wink. “And from the way you reacted, I’m going to chalk that up as a fantastic pick-up line.”
“Yeah, have fun with that one.” She continues to shake her head, laughter in her eyes. “Seriously though, you’re nothing like I expected. You’re sweet and down to earth.”
I hold my finger up to my lips and “shush” her while I look around. “Don’t let people hear you, you will ruin my image.”
