“Sure,” I said as I rounded the table to look at his painting. It was a black bird on a tree branch with a tinted light blue background, creating high contrast. “What do you need help on? It looks finished to me.”
“Well,” he shoved his stool back and pulled me between his legs before propping me on his thigh. “I was thinking maybe the background could use some work. It’s a little simple, don’t you think?”
I was well aware of his wide hands splayed out on my thighs, my short skirt riding up to give him better access to my skin. My breath caught as I cleared my throat. “Maybe a little more color?”
He slid his paint palette in front of me and handed me a paintbrush. “If you could start it, I’ll finish it,” he said in my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine right to my pussy. I clenched my legs as I took the paintbrush, his cock hardening beneath my ass. I dabbed the paintbrush in white and blue, mixing it as one of West’s hands dragged down my thigh to the hem of my skirt. His hand moved up my leg, his fingertips teasing the lacy fabric covering my heat.
“You’re wet,” he whispered in my ear. I glanced around the room but no one was looking at us. Aside from Cade, who smirked at his painting, knowing exactly what was going down next to him. No wonder West wanted achange in scenery.
“West…” I gritted as a second finger prodded at my panties. His fingers moved up and down over my pussy, and the friction from the fabric made me clench my legs again. He chuckled as one hand continued to play with me, his other hand spread out over my middle holding me tight to him. I gripped the paintbrush like my life depended on it as he pushed my panties to the side, exposing myself to the cool air. He circled my clit with his fingertips, the tease making me crave more. I sucked in a breath and shifted on his lap as much as I could, but he tightened his hold on me so I couldn’t move.
He continued to rub my clit, growing faster with his movements. I bit my lip to stop a moan from slipping out. I rolled my hips, trying to gain more friction with his fingers. West’s breathing picked up, his hot mouth near my ear and neck, as he rubbed harder and faster, and I grabbed the edge of the table as my orgasm built.
A noise squeaked out of my lips as West bit my neck. “Shhh, princess. You don’t want everyone here to see you come, do you?” He sucked my neck in the place where he bit it as he rubbed my clit furiously, pushing me over the edge and making my orgasm hit me like an explosion. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted the coppery tang of blood as I rode out my orgasm, tingles flowing throughout my entire body. I closed my eyes and turned my head to rest in the crook of his neck as I came down from it, my heart thudding rapidly.
West removed his fingers from me and pulled them up to his lips, taking them in his mouth and sucking them clean. He gripped my neck with his other hand and brought his mouth to mine, kissing me and making me taste myself.
He smiled before looking back at his painting. “I like what you’ve done to it. I think it’s ready for the presentation.”
“Fuck, I need to go use the bathroom,” Cade jumped from his seat and walked out the door with a notebook in front of his crotch.
“Oh my god.” I cringed and covered my face with my hands.
West laughed and kissed my cheek. “There’s more where that came from, princess.”
“Alright,we’vegotaboutfifteen minutes left of class. That’s enough time to present to your table. I’ll stop at each one to listen to your explanations which will be part of your grade,” Mr. Reynolds said. Everyone had been doing more chatting than painting, so he figured most were done with the assignment.
Mr. Reynolds clenched his teeth as he went from table to table, seeming irritated to have to interact with his students. Normally he was more than happy to talk to us, but he was a bit on edge lately. There was something about his smile that didn’t reach his eyes when he responded to questions. Something about the glint in his eye that didn’t appear to be overly friendly and helpful.
Not giving it another thought, I focused on Cade preparing to give his presentation as Mr. Reynolds walked up to our table. “You can begin Cade,” Mr. Reynolds instructed as he flipped to a new page in his old worn notebook that never left his side.
“I painted this Christmas tree because I like Christmas, and I thought it’d be easy to paint,” he said with a wide smile. Wow, he put a lot of thought into that.
“Could you elaborate on what you like about Christmas?”
“I guess it’s because…it was a time when my family was happy for the most part. We didn’t always have a lot but we still did our family traditions every year. Driving around looking at Christmas lights, midnight mass, opening one gift early on Christmas Eve.”
“When you see this Christmas tree, you’re reminded of a happy time in your life. You remember your family traditions.”
“Uh, yeah I guess,” Cade said under his breath. He turned his painting over and waited for Mr. Reynolds to jot down his notes from the presentation.
“Okay, how about, uh, you go next,” said Mr. Reynolds, pointing to one of the freshmen at our table.
“I’m Porter,” he mumbled, not making eye contact. “I painted a sailboat. My family goes sailing every summer and it’s a lot of fun.”
“Ah, another painting based on early family memories. I’m sensing a pattern here,” said Mr. Reynolds, his pen meeting his notebook yet again. He barely glanced at the painting.
The other freshman, which I learned was named Brantley, presentedhispainting of a Christmas tree, explaining that he too thought they were easy to paint, and how he loved getting presents every year.
I volunteered to go next, showcasing my beach scene painting. “I wanted to focus on a memory, but I had to go back in time quite a bit. When I was five or six, my family went to Fremont Beach. My parents managed to stop fighting for a few hours and my brother and I had the best time. I’ve only been once, but I’ll always remember that day.” It was the only moment I could think of where my family seemed genuinely happy together. There was something about the salty air that made us forget our issues for a few hours.
Mr. Reynolds tapped his pen on the table and stared at my painting in silence. A look of insolence washed over his face. “I find it hard to believe you had to dig very far to find a happy memory, Ash. You seem like a joyous human.”
A joyous human? Hah, not really. More like a human trying to survive one day to the next.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat at his use of my nickname and the lingering smile on his face. He cleared his throat before writing something down. The guys at the table stared at Mr. Reynolds incredulously, completely confused by his odd behavior.
“West, you’re up.” Mr. Reynolds’ lips flattened into a line.