Page 24 of Off-Limits

With my mind made up, I get to drawing. This is going to be epic.

It’s eight at night when I finally head upstairs and pour myself a glass of Damon’s whiskey. Grabbing some kabana from the fridge that I picked up the other day, I break it in half and head to the loungeroom where I have a portable easel and paint set up.

I’ve been looking at this blank canvas for days, but after sketching up a rough mural in the office, I’m ready to put paint to this damn canvas and see how it will turn out.

Stripping out of my clothes, I grab Damon’s shirt and slip it on before moving toward the canvas with my whiskey in hand. Crossing my legs, I sit on the couch and bring the easel a little closer so I can start painting.

Pulling the paintbrush from my messy bun, my hair tumbles down my back and I set up so I can begin. I get lost in the painting before me. With each brush stroke, I feel a piece ofme meld back together, like a shattered vase that I keep gluing back together every time it breaks.

Three glasses of whiskey later, I’m sitting there looking at my painting with a crooked grin on my face. It looks spectacular, and each time I move, Damon’s shirt brushes my sensitive nipples. A wisp of his cologne blows through the apartment from the open window behind me. I close my eyes, breathing in his scent right as my phone vibrates beside me.

I know who it is before even looking at the screen.

Tin Man.

I want to make him sweat after ghosting me for the past three days, but I’m wound so fucking tight that a flick of a finger could shatter me. My toxic coping mechanisms have been taking hold ever since I agreed to coming back and helping Arrie.

The drinking.

The porn.

The constant masturbating.

Painting until I can’t think or see straight.

Toxic.

But it helps fill the void inside of me, so that’s why I reach over and open his message.

Your last message has left me reeling, Blossom. I haven’t been ignoring you, I just needed some time to process before I did something stupid. Reckless. Something unlike me.

Maybe it’s time you were reckless, Tin Man.

Don’t tempt the devil.

I smirk. I can tell he’s not used to losing control, and for some reason, that really turns me the fuck on. Drinking the lastof my whiskey, I lean back on the couch, grab my Satisfyer Pro, and with my paint covered fingers, I spread my pussy lips to play with myself.

I edge myself over and over like the porn movies I’ve watched, knowing that the more I do it, the more intense the orgasm will be when I finally give in and let myself come. I don’t know how long I play, removing the suction from my clit, only to pinch and pull at my nipples with Damon’s shirt bunched up around my waist, but when my phone vibrates beside me, my needy cunt has other ideas.

Letting out a strangled moan and then a cry, I put the suction back to my clit and turn it up as high as it can go. Bucking my hips upward to apply more pressure, my eyes roll to the back of my head as I come, and it’s with a keening cry and my body shaking. Shockwaves pulse throughout, my body jerking as I slow the suction down, until finally turning it off. I lay back on the couch with my hand still between my thighs and release a satisfied sigh.

That is until I sense someone else is here with me. The hair at the back of my nape stands to attention, my skin breaking out in goosebumps, and this time I know it isn’t from the opened window.

“Dottie? What the fuck is going on here?”

Chapter Seven

DAMON

What in the actual shit did I just walk in on? And what the hell is she doing in my apartment? And in my shirt?

God damn it, I’m never going to unsee this. I am so going to fucking hell.

“Oh my god!” she shrieks, trying to cover up, but it’s useless. I already saweverything.“Unc - uncle Damon?”

Fuck. Dorothy.

Dottie.