Painting Class (Chiaroscuro Book 1)

by Suzanne Clay

  Noma pursed her lips, her brow knitting, as she seemed to force herself to think before speaking. It was such a cute expression that Ainsley couldn’t help but smile. Noma finally got her wits about her. “Well, then I’d say it’d be a waste of time if we didn’t explore what we’re feeling here, yeah?” She inclined her head, resting it on her forearm, and looked so beautifully at repose that Ainsley’s breath caught in her throat. “If there’s some fire in the air, we oughta see where it’s going. Make sense?”

  Ainsley exhaled shakily and nodded. “Yeah.” It was barely a murmur, and then she cleared her throat. If she was going into this, she was going in with her head high, her eyes focused, and her mind clear. “All right, then, let’s see what we can do.”

  There was a ritual to making sure her body paints were arranged on the palette just as she wanted. Noma didn’t disturb the silence, but her little movements—the cadence of her breathing, the brush of her legs over the tarp, the tickle of her hair against the canvas—made Ainsley’s heart pound. She reached over at one point and rubbed Noma’s back just to test the feel of her skin, how the paint would set on it. Noma’s muscles quivered under her hand.

  “So what do we feel like today?” Ainsley asked. “A sunset? A forest—?”

  “Something soft,” Noma interrupted, and Ainsley glanced up at her. “Gimme something pretty.”

  Ainsley hummed, lost in thought as she noted how dark Noma’s skin was against the tarp. “I think I have an idea.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She readied a brush and leaned a knee into the mattress. “You’re not going to move, right?” Ainsley prompted.

  “C’mon,” Noma chided with a bright white smile. “Weren’t you just talking about how I wasn’t ever that kind of girl?”

  Ainsley grinned back and raked the hair out of her face in a messy ponytail so she wouldn’t streak it with paint. She studied Noma’s lime-green hair, how it sprang out in every direction like a brilliantly lit shrub on a summer day. Ainsley doubted her hair would look as gorgeous as Noma’s if it was dyed. “What, a troublemaker?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ainsley clicked her tongue. “Not sure I should answer that.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Think you might be the kind of girl who likes disobeying now.”

  Noma held her eyes as she licked her lips. “Well, that depends. You want me to be good? Or you wanna make me be good?”

  Ainsley trailed her fingertips down Noma’s body so lightly she was barely touching her, so lightly goose bumps rose in protest. “You really want to know?”

  Noma let out a breathy sigh and nodded, tucking her head in against the mattress so Ainsley could see the curve of her neck.

  She ran her fingers over Noma’s ass and cupped one of her cheeks. As she squeezed, the skin dimpled under her pale fingers. “I want you to be good for me,” she murmured, and as she dug her nails in, Noma let out a low moan. “No matter how hard it is.”

  When Noma arched her back, Ainsley caught the smell of arousal on the air, musky and thick. “You want me to call you Miss Edwards again too?” Noma asked sarcastically.

  The smack rang out in the air, and Noma squealed against the tarp. It was a light spank, more a warning than anything, but Ainsley rubbed her skin soothingly. “You being cheeky?”

  “I think you like it,” Noma teased breathlessly, muffled by the tarp.

  Ainsley chuckled as she leaned down and kissed her hip, tasting the warmth of Noma’s silky skin. “And do you like being spanked?” she asked, trying to resist the urge to nibble.

  “I like a lot of things,” Noma said with a laugh. “I’ll tell you if I don’t.”

  “Oh really?” She tried to read Noma’s tone. Maybe they’d both run with a similar crowd and didn’t even know it. It was almost surreal to imagine. Ainsley sat up and weighed her thoughts before speaking again.

  “Do you have a safeword?”

  “I do,” Noma said, turning just her head to look at her. “Basquiat.”

  “Very nice,” Ainsley replied as she dipped her brush in paint, trying not to think about Noma messing around in college and needing a safeword. Just the thought was enough to make her panties slick. “Jean-Michel?”

  “My favorite.” Noma grinned at her. “You taught me all about him.”

  “I remember.” Ainsley hovered her brush above Noma’s back, studying the planes and curves beneath her. “Your final project on him was incredible.”

  Noma’s cheeks flushed, and for a moment, she was that shy, young high schooler again. “Only ’cause I was your favorite student.”

  Ainsley didn’t reply, because even now, even four years after Noma had graduated, even after admitting she wanted this woman in her bed, it felt wrong to admit what was absolutely the truth. “Hold still,” she finally said as she slung her leg over Noma’s hip and straddled her. “I’m going to start.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The first touch of paint to the body was arguably the worst and the best put together. The paint was cold on the resting skin, the bristles tickled along every nerve… Noma gasped as Ainsley traced her brush along, and the vibrant hot-pink paint practically exploded on her dark skin.

  “Good girl,” Ainsley whispered when Noma barely shivered, sinking her fingers into the tarp and pulling up fistfuls of it instead.

  As Ainsley worked, weaving pinks and purples and blues together across her living canvas, Noma was admirably still. But her litany of gasps and sighs and moans were music to Ainsley’s ears, an erotic concerto where Noma’s low tone was the solo instrument to Ainsley’s pounding heart and stroking paintbrush.

  It was only when Ainsley touched a hand to Noma’s ribs and leaned in to collect more paint that she moved. But even then it was only under her hips, where Noma was grinding against the mattress. Ainsley imagined the slickness Noma was leaving there, thick on her thighs and shiny on the tarp. The scent of it was already filling the air and swirling around with the smell of the paint.

  Ainsley had a tendency to become so madly focused she’d forget all about her body’s needs. She could go for hours, painting without pausing to stretch her wrist or her hips or her legs, and her subjects were often the ones to shake her from her reverie with their own needs. But if Noma had a safeword, if she’d played a submissive game before, then that meant she might not. Instead, she might have lain here under Ainsley’s touch until her body was burning with fatigue, waiting for Ainsley’s command to relax. It was a dangerous possibility that Ainsley was very much aware of, and she forced herself to stay just enough above water to consider it instead of sinking farther into a productive spiral. “You all right?” Ainsley asked as she coaxed highlights out of what she’d already created. “Need a break?”

  “No,” Noma was quick to say. “No ma’am.”

  Ainsley grinned. “You sure?”

  Noma buried her face in the tarp and let out a low whimper. “Please, no. I-I want you to keep going.”

  “All right,” Ainsley murmured back, reluctant to break this quiet spell. “As you wish.”

  Noma’s “Thank you” barely broke through the air; it was so quietly spoken. And the adrenaline of a power high trickled down Ainsley’s spine, pooling at the base of it.

  Noma had always been tall, but Ainsley found herself running out of canvas before she was ready to stop. She moved down Noma’s body, putting pressure on her hips as she went, and Noma moaned, pressing her mouth into her palm as if it were something to be ashamed of, as if Ainsley would want her to hide it. That was the last thing Ainsley wanted. Maybe flustering Noma would be the way to go. “How wet is your pussy right now?” Ainsley asked.

  Noma shivered now that the brush wasn’t on her skin, her fists trembling. “I-I’m…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think I’m…I might be…dripping.”

  “How does that make you feel?” Ainsley asked with a smile. “Embarrassed?”

  Noma nodded.


  “Use your words for me, Noma.”

  Noma hesitated. “I’m…embarrassed that you turn me on this much.”

  “Is this the only time I’ve turned you on?”

  Noma sucked in a sharp breath, and Ainsley immediately knew she was playing with fire—that she was calling up the past, bringing it into existence, weaving a pretty tapestry right in front of Noma’s eyes, and hoping Noma would shed a little light on it in turn. Ainsley grabbed Noma’s ankles and gently tugged her closer to the foot of the bed, listening to her quiet stammers. “No, no, ma’am, no, you… I was… I thought about you a lot my senior year.”

  Ainsley bit the tip of her tongue through a smile. “Thought filthy things about your art teacher, huh?”

  Noma’s breath hitched. “Yes ma’am—”

  “Thought about being naked in her bed?”

  “Yes, yes ma’am, yes I did, I did that a lot.”

  Ainsley touched Noma’s legs and coaxed them to spread. She leaned down, riveted by how Noma’s slick pussy lips parted for her, how her muscles quivered at the brush of the cold air and Ainsley’s inspection. Ainsley’s voice dropped, going husky. “Thought about her licking you open until you came all over her face?”

  Noma let out a chirping, high-pitched gasp and arched her back as she hid her face again.

  Ainsley didn’t touch her, not where she wanted, not where Noma was pressing back toward her mouth. No, she spread Noma’s legs farther, right where she wanted them.

  “Stay,” she whispered, and Noma’s folds clenched again at the command. Ainsley leaned forward to snag a pillow from the head of the bed and, looking down, saw how Noma was digging her teeth into her bottom lip and squeezing her eyes shut. She reached down and rested her hand on the back of Noma’s neck. A little overwhelming was good for this kind of play sometimes, but not if it wasn’t what Noma wanted. “Hey. Are we still good?”

  Noma let out a deep, shaky breath. “Yes ma’am, absolutely.”

  “All right,” Ainsley gently squeezed the back of Noma’s neck, heard her breath catch. “Promise to tell me if that changes?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Noma opened her eyes, her pupils swollen and dark. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ainsley pulled the end table down to the bottom of the bed, put her palette on it, and tossed the pillow on the floor. Sinking down into the softness, she loomed over the curve of Noma’s ass. Her fingers traced over the back of Noma’s thighs, marveling at how the confident woman she’d brought home had turned into such a perfect submissive. Noma seemed so secure in her own skin that she could relax intimately and turn herself over to Ainsley’s playful dominance without batting an eyelash.

  She was incredible.

  “I’m not done yet,” Ainsley said, and Noma’s whimper as Ainsley took her hands away was sweet. “Just hold still a little longer, okay?” She leaned in, her breath tickling Noma’s thighs as she readied a brush to trace over an ass cheek. “Hold still,” Ainsley whispered.

  She touched her paintbrush to Noma’s skin at the same second her tongue ran over her labia, and Noma gasped sharply. “Oh shit—”

  “Still, Noma,” Ainsley said a little firmer. “Don’t make me ruin my art.”

  Noma squeaked but nodded. She was tense, so tense, every muscle ratcheted up tightly, but she was still unprepared when Ainsley leaned in again. Ainsley gave a slow, long lick straight up from Noma’s clit as she painted senseless swirls of pink over her ass, and Noma fought to stay still.

  Noma’s sounds weren’t quiet now. No, she let her moans and her swears go, flung them into the air like she was going to shake apart and bring the walls down around them. As Ainsley worked her open with her mouth, one steadying hand keeping her legs spread, Noma cried out and squealed like a woman possessed. “Fucking hell, that’s—yes, please—”

  Ainsley hummed as she sucked Noma’s clit into her mouth, as Noma’s muscles practically spasmed against her lips, but the rest of her body stayed still, fighting the urge to shake even as Ainsley drew little pink borders over her hips. And that felt like a challenge. How good will she be? Ainsley shook her head back and forth with a grin and pressed her tongue flush against Noma as she practically dripped straight into her mouth. She was almost gushing. “You know how fucking good you taste, Noma?” Ainsley asked when she pulled back for a breath.

  “You’re killing me. Motherfucker, you’re just, you’re gonna fucking kill— Fuck!”

  Ainsley chuckled as she lapped her up, sending Noma straight back into making her wordless sounds. There was even a moment of personal pride as Noma let out a desperate sob when Ainsley wiggled her tongue and pressed it inside her.

  “You want to fuck yourself on my tongue, don’t you?” Ainsley teased.

  “Please,” Noma cried. “Please, want, want you to fuck me, want your fingers in me, please—”

  “Aww, but Noma,” Ainsley chirped, sing-songy and light, “my fingers are all covered in paint, sweetie. I can’t.”

  “Please!” Noma begged, loud, desperate, and dripping with need.

  “No,” Ainsley said with a grin, and Noma groaned against her arm. “If you’re going to come, it’ll be from just my mouth. Think you can do that? Think you can be good?”

  Silence. “Yeah,” Noma finally whispered.

  “Uh-huh?”

  “I will, I will, I’ll be good,” she babbled out. “I’ll be so fucking good for you. I’ll come all over your fucking face.”

  “Good,” Ainsley murmured as she leaned in again, her heart pounding, her own arousal dripping through her panties. “Yeah, that’s it, good girl.”

  Pushing Noma to farther and farther heights with just her tongue, her lips, her hum, it was fucking incredible. The way Noma oozed need from every pore in her body… It was intoxicating. And as much as Ainsley wanted to believe she was cool and put together right now, she wasn’t. She was aching to press Noma into the sheets and fingerfuck her until she was begging for Ainsley to let her come. She wanted to suck her nipples and grind their pussies together and pin her down with every bit of her weight until she was shaking.

  Maybe that was why she finally dropped the paintbrush. Maybe that was why she dug her paint-covered fingers into Noma’s hips and pulled her right where she wanted her—upped the pace until Noma was practically screaming for her.

  “C’mon, Noma,” Ainsley said, so firm and rough she could practically hear Noma’s heart skip a beat. “You can move, sweetheart, come on.”

  And that put her in action. Suddenly, Noma was grinding back against Ainsley, feverish, wild, her fingers disappearing under her to tug at her nipple, breathing a long string of encouragement, telling her just how fucking good it felt.

  And then, just as abruptly, Noma went so quiet, rolling her hips and riding her face, and Ainsley knew to wrap her lips around her clit and suck until Noma whipped her head back and cried out. Her whole body shook, hard and frantic—enough that she seemed to be falling apart—and her slickness gushed over Ainsley’s tongue. As Noma breathed out Ainsley’s name in a rush, Ainsley’s heart opened, so warm and fond, so pleased.

  Limp and weak, Noma dropped back onto her chest and shivered on the tarp as Ainsley came to her feet and ran a soothing hand over her leg. “Hey. You okay?”

  “Fuck you,” Noma murmured, and Ainsley laughed.

  “Didn’t take that sass too long to come back, did it?”

  Noma made a frustrated sound and kicked her feet, and it was so fucking adorable that Ainsley had to fight back a snort as she came around the bed. She perched on the edge of the mattress, and Noma crawled over to rest her forehead on Ainsley’s thigh, a satisfied smile on her face.

  Ainsley dried her hands on a work rag before she thumbed over Noma’s cheek, and when she felt moisture from tears there, she rubbed Noma’s neck again. “What, as bad as all that?” Ainsley teased, and Noma snorted, hiding her face in Ainsley’s thigh. “Seriously, though, you all right?”

  Noma was quiet for a few seconds before she spoke. “I can�
��t tell you how long I’ve fantasized about you eating me out. I’m just…that was…” She giggled, and Ainsley felt tension she hadn’t been aware of slowly recede from her chest. “That was the most incredible thing, okay?”

  “Yeah?” Ainsley grinned. “You sure you’re not just saying that because I was your favorite teacher?”

  “Still are,” Noma murmured, her voice thick and sluggish.

  They stayed there for a long few minutes, Ainsley rubbing her neck, and Noma’s fists curled tight to her chest. It was soft. Companionable. It reminded Ainsley of when Noma would spend time in the art room during lunch break—the only sound in the room the paintbrush on spare bits of canvas—while Ainsley graded homework. How they never had to say much to feel comfortable with each other.

  It reminded Ainsley of sitting at her desk and already thinking through a letter of recommendation for Noma even before being asked for one, because Noma, with her sharp mind, her courage, and her smile, was worth every little bit of help Ainsley could give her to achieve her dreams. It reminded her of Noma asking so shyly for a letter of recommendation just a few weeks later and how Ainsley never confessed she already had a rough draft prepared, just hoping Noma would give her a chance to brag about her.

  It reminded Ainsley of missing Noma once she realized she was going to a university outside of the state, that she almost regretted Noma wouldn’t be one of the townies to pop into the classroom every once and a while and tell Ainsley about her life. It reminded Ainsley of biting back that guilt and disappointment every time another former student visited, because if Noma was out there studying her ass off, then Ainsley should be more than proud instead of regretful.

  Ainsley had never been more pleased by a student. Never been more excited to see where their life would eventually go. And yet here they were, paths crossing momentarily, carving new roads in their history, making new memories, creating such potential for more. And maybe Ainsley should be embarrassed or afraid of that, but she was not. I’m just getting sentimental in my old age. Ainsley shook her head, but she couldn’t bring herself to be anything but excited.