The Naughty List: 25 Days of Sawyer’s Steamiest Scenes (Day #18)

“How long have you been standing there?” I say almost breathlessly as I press my fingers to the center of my chest.

“Not long,” he says and pushes off the doorjamb. He walks into the room and looks around. It is mostly filled with finished paintings and a few easels, rows of shelving on one wall to hold my supplies, and a tiny desk against another wall where I do stuff like reconciling my bank account or surfing online on my laptop.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” I murmur as I watch him prowl around the edge of the room, taking a moment to pause by the shelves and peruse my paint supplies.

“You didn’t,” is all he says without looking at me. Instead, he picks up a brush, inspects it briefly, and then puts it down. I find this reserved attitude a bit disconcerting. I mean, it’s always sort of awkward that next morning after some amazing and intimate sex, but I wasn’t ready for him to invade my little studio that is sort of like a haven for me.

He turns to me, his eyes sliding to my canvas where the cats are almost complete. “Nice pussies,” he says with a smile.

I roll my eyes, but I’m immediately relieved to have him joke with me. “Juvenile,” I chastise.

Kyle chuckles as his gaze slides to me. “Nowhere near as nice as yours.”

I blush hot, which means my cheeks are probably blazing red. He smirks, which means he notices, and then adds on in a low voice. “I know without a doubt they don’t taste as good as yours.”

My face gets hotter, but I manage a snappy retort. “Acrylic paint tastes terrible.”

Kyle grins at my rejoinder and turns to my desk. To my surprise, he grabs the small wooden chair nestled underneath and pulls it across the floor to sit right behind my stool. He takes a seat and his long, jean-clad legs frame the rear of my stool on either side.

“What are you doing?” I ask curiously.

“Going to watch you paint,” he says.

My entire body tightens at the thought. “I don’t think—”

Kyle’s hands go to my hips. He turns me on my stool, so I’m facing my canvas again. “Paint,” he orders.


His chin goes to my shoulder, and he softly repeats, “Paint.”

A tiny spasm of adrenaline rockets through me at his seductive tone, but also because he wants to watch me do something that’s a part of my very being.

“Okay,” I whisper, and Kyle lifts his chin.

I continue using white to add highlight and contrast shading along the body of the black cat, my own body in a state of hyper awareness of Kyle’s just inches behind mine. I swear I can feel heat radiating off him.

“Where do you get your ideas from?” Kyle asks, and I give a little jump to feel his breath on the back of my neck. I’d piled my hair up when I’d quietly slipped out of bed, only bothering to put on my panties and the t-shirt I’d been wearing.

I give a tiny shrug. “I’m really not sure. Sometimes I’ll see an object that will spark an idea, or I’ll read about a scene in a book and feel compelled to paint it.”

“The colors in this are deeper than your watercolors,” he observes astutely.

I nod as I continue with my brush strokes, feeling more at ease as we talk. “Good eye, and that’s the benefit of acrylics. I’m not used to painting with this, but I’ll get better with practice.”

“Why are you using them if it’s not what you’re used to?” he inquires.

I draw a thin white line of paint along the jawline of the gray cat. “I like learning new things, and I need more than just watercolors to teach my students.”

“Makes sense,” is all he says.

Kyle’s silent as he watches me for a few moments, and just as I start to really relax into my work, his hands come back to rest on my waist. I can hear him scoot the chair forward until it bumps against the back of my stool. He leans forward and presses his chest to my back, his chin coming back to my shoulder.

My brush freezes on the canvas and my breath goes still within my lungs.

Kyle’s hands slide down over my hips to my outer thighs. His roughened palms cause goose pimples to rise as he strokes them along my legs.

“I have to say, Jane,” he says gruffly, his lips mere inches from my ear. “You sitting here in that t-shirt and just your panties, hair all piled up and that little tongue sticking out the side of your mouth… Well, I had nefarious intentions walking in here.”

Kyle’s hands pivot and his fingers glide over the insides of my knees. With very little pressure needed at all, he pulls my legs slightly apart and then starts sliding his hands up my inner thighs. I go dizzy from his touch, his sexy voice, and perhaps the fact I’m still holding my breath. As his hands slide higher, my legs press in a little just from the nervous anticipation.

“Relax, baby,” Kyle whispers as he puts pressure on my legs so they open again.

My breath comes out in small, stuttering huffs, and I suck another lungful in as his fingertips skim the elastic edge of my panties.

“Want to know what my nefarious intentions are?” he teases me as he runs just one finger along the edge.

I nod frantically but no words come out.

“Let me show you,” he murmurs, his hands falling away from me briefly.

I almost call out in distress over the loss of his touch, but then he’s banding an arm around my stomach, pulling me back so my ass presses against his crotch. His other hand glides slowly down the front of my panties, his fingers sliding through my wetness before pressing inside of me.

My hips buck hard against his delicious invasion, my head falls back to his shoulder, and my paintbrush falls from my hand. It slaps against my thigh, leaving a white paint streak and landing on the floor, but I don’t care one tiny bit.

“Don’t stop,” I moan as he finds my clit, circling his finger around it gently.

“Just getting started,” he assures me as he continues tracing lazy patterns.

“More,” I demand greedily, planting my feet into the floor hard and pressing my hips up.

Kyle gives a low groan of triumph. “That’s my girl.”

My heart constricts hard over those words.

My girl.

“Lift up a bit,” Kyle demands of me, so I do, raising my ass off my stool. Kyle quickly dispenses of my panties, leaning to the side a bit to push them down my legs. Once he frees one foot, he ignores them and straightens back up in his chair before once again pulling me back against him.

He brings a palm down in between my legs, cups me intimately for a moment as he again leans to the side.

I’m confused when he says, “Watch.”

Kyle dips his fingers inside me briefly before dragging them upward to reveal my clit. He pulls back on the tiny hood covering it, and I’m enthralled by how swollen and needy it looks.

Then I’m absolutely stunned when I see that Kyle has one of my paintbrushes in his other hand. He must have nabbed it off my supply shelf, but it’s one that has luxuriously soft bristles.

I suck in my breath and watch as Kyle takes the brush and swirls the bristles along the inside of one thigh. I jerk because it tickles and laugh nervously.

But my laugh dies down when he slowly drags the brush in between my legs, and ever so gently swipes it right up my center. My hips fly upward. Kyle’s arm holds me tighter as he uses his other hand to hold me open.

“Watch, Jane,” he murmurs, his voice thick with wonder and lust.

And I watch as he uses the damp bristles to circle around my clit, and the sensation is indescribable. My entire body starts to tremble as I watch him getting me off with my paintbrush. He carefully dips the tip inside of me just marginally… enough to get it wet, and then he makes light strokes against my clit, over and over again.

My body trembles harder and my hands turn into claws that I sink into his thighs.

The strokes are so feather light, and he’s purposely going slowly to draw this out, whereas I only want to come and come and come.

“God, this is sexy as fuck,” Kyle mutters in my ear as he twirls the brush around my clit, going a little faster. My entire body goes tight. “We need to try this while I’m fucking you.”

And just like that, I explode

I groan out my release as he continues to swirl the brush around me, whispering words of praise and encouragement, and when I don’t have any more to give, he tosses the brush to the floor and merely places his large palm over my crotch to gently squeeze me possessively.

“Kyle,” I murmur in repletion, still dizzy from that climax.

“Get up,” Kyle commands me gently, his hands going to my hips to push me up from the stool. The minute my legs straighten, he’s turning me to face him. My hands go out to his shoulders for balance, and I watch as he quickly unfastens the fly on his jeans. He lifts his hips a little, pulling them down just enough to free himself. I watch with wide eyes because that part of him is just as beautiful as the rest, marveling at how quickly he gets a condom out and rolls it on.

I give a tiny gasp of surprise as Kyle’s hands go back to my hips and he jerks me forward. He looks up at me with fevered eyes and admits something I think shames him by the tone of his voice. “I can’t get enough of you.”

Before I can even respond, he surges out of the chair and spins me toward the nearest wall, right beside my desk. He pushes me right up against it, my breasts flattening and my heart racing with his forcefulness.

Kyle’s mouth comes to the side of my neck and he bites me gently before giving me a soft lick. His hands pull my hips backward and I feel his body bend, then he’s pushing inside of me.

Straight inside, one long, fluid stroke.

“Ooohhh,” I moan as I turn my head and place my heated cheek against the cool wall.

Kyle grunts in pleasure before he pulls out and thrusts back in hard. My body jars against the wall as he starts a steady rhythm, and I realize… this is new as well. So many things that Kyle is showing me that in my totally boring previous sex life had seemed like pretty good stuff.

But now… now that I know this…

I think I might be ruined for anyone else.

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Audio (narrated by Lee Samuels & Kirsten Leigh)

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Sawyer Bennett

Sawyer Bennett

New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author Sawyer Bennett uses real life experience to create relatable stories that appeal to a wide array of readers. Continue Reading