The Lover (Wicked Wednesday #372 & Friday Flash #60)

This week, I've started and stopped a couple different stories. I'm sure I'll finish them, because they both are intriguing ideas. My muse is just being a squirrely wench again.

Thankfully, the Friday Flash prompt inspired another idea and this one stuck. The painting I mention in the story is pretty famous, as is the myth it's based on, and you can view it here.

Please click on the badges below the story to read all the other wonderful posts!

Hope you enjoy,

Ria ;)

Website: http://www.riarestrepo.com

Twitter: @RiaRestrepo

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/RiaRestrepoAuthorPage

The Lover

By Ria Restrepo

Copyright ©2019. All rights reserved.

"What do you suppose she's thinking about?"

Not shifting my gaze away from the seductive mural, I smiled. The answer was obvious. "Her lover."

"Man or woman?"

"Man."

"Why isn't he in the picture?"

"He's just left her." I turned to see the humor gleaming in his blue eyes. "They made wild, passionate love, then he went back to his respectable life."

"She's not respectable?"

"Maybe on the surface. But in her heart, she's a true bohemian. A sensualist who embraces a hedonistic lifestyle. They whisper about her in polite company."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "How did they meet?"

"At an art gallery. While admiring the same painting. Something that shouldn't have been erotic, but she found it so. The Rape of Europa, maybe."

"Did it arouse her?"

"Oh yes. She had this fantasy, you see." I slipped off my shoe and extended my leg beneath the table until I found his leg. The tablecloth concealed my naughtiness as a slid my foot up to his thigh. "About being taken and thoroughly ravished."

Heat flaring in his eyes, he took hold of my foot and placed it on his groin. "I'm sure he eagerly discarded his respectable disguise and satisfied all her desires."

I flexed my foot against his burgeoning erection. "In some secret den of iniquity, he tied her to the bed and had his wicked way with her."

In a raspy voice, he asked, "What did he do?"

As always, his obvious arousal fueled my own. I wanted to press my thighs together to ease the growing ache in my cunt, but that was hard to do as I stroked his cock.

"While she feigned innocence, claiming to be a good girl, he used her like the slut she longed to be. He gripped her hair tightly and made her gag on his cock. He fucked her tits until he shot his thick load all over her chest. Then he ate her cunt and made her beg for mercy."

"From what?"

"From the overwhelming pleasure he inspired. Again and again."

"So, she sits remembering. The cigarette a symbol of their sin."

"Very poetic."

He ground his completely hard cock into my arch. "I'm going to anoint your warm white skin with my forbidden yearning."

My cunt was already slick and needy. "Mmm, yes, please."

Much later, we lay in the afterglow, bodies tangled in passion-soaked sheets. I relished the messy mixture of come lingering between my legs. These stolen moments of intimacy were what got me through the much too frequent separations.

His front pressed to my back, he had one arm wrapped around me, his hand possessively cupping my breast. His other hand traced lazy patterns on the arm I rested my head on while he followed the curve of my neck with his lips.

"If he asked her to run away with him…to someplace they could be wild and free…what would she say?"

Smiling, I snuggled my ass back against his groin. "Yes. Always."