Eyes Like Sky ⚣ ✓

44.

I couldn't help but chuckle in a bit of amusement at his answer. How descriptive. "No I mean, is it opaque or is the color coming through too thick? The kiln will change the color drastically to that color tab at the bottom of the jar, so some opaqueness is what we're going for." I explained.

Atticus was the one to generally help me with the glazing, but he had also been apart of the arts for almost a decade now, and my dealer for more than half of that. I'd be concerned if he couldn't assist with something like this.

I knew everything was new to Errol so I tried to exercise some patience with showing him my craft. I couldn't remember the last time I had worked with anyone who probably hadn't touched clay a single day in their life, unless play dough counts. Errol probably ate it as a child.

For how long it took Errol to answer me again, I almost thought I might've discouraged him with my correction, but that soon turned out to not be the case.

"I get it, I think. Yeah, it looks pretty evenly painted to me, I'd say a thick light green opaqueness in terms of color. I think we just have to turn the vase slightly, to get the back." He explained. "Is it the peddle here to our right?" I heard and felt Errol's right foot tap against the cement floor, right beside my own. I gave him a nod.

"Yeah just lightly step your foot on it, and the wheel will slowly spin. Don't add too much pressure since we just need to paint the other side. We only need a 180 degree turn."

Errol followed as instructed, and I could hear the wheel churn to life as it slowly spun. I'd say with complete and utter certainty that I had never in all my years, taught someone art while on their lap, but there was something oddly comforting about having Errol as an extension of myself this afternoon...

Besides his growing erection that quickly reminded me of it's presence when I had to shift my weight again on him. That was one of his extensions that wasn't lending a helping hand to anyone right now.

I did my best to focus on the last bit of work with the vase, but the arm that was keeping me locked in on Errol, had pulled up on an exposed edge of my shirt, and was starting to draw slow circular patterns into the soft skin at my right side.

"E-Errol-" I tried to choke out again, feeling myself shudder when his soft massage moved his left hand from my side, up past my ribcage, to my right nipple. The brush almost slipped through my fingers, when his touch forced a deep shiver through me. I felt himself growing even harder beneath me, seeing as I couldn't stop myself from squirming now. Not when he was like this.

The only thing that stopped that damn brush from falling to the floor, was Errol's right hand tightening around my left. He kept the brush firmly in place, while putting those god tier multitasking skills to good use.

His right hand insisted we keep painting, and took on most of the work because I wasn't focused on this vase at all anymore.

His left hand pinched softly at my right nipple, causing me to let out a sound I couldn't recognize. It was a moan, but because I was working hard on trying to be as quiet as humanly possible right now, it came out mixed with a groan. "E-Errol-" I tried again, almost pleading with him to stop, but I couldn't say those words. Feeling his slightly more labored breathes against my ear before he started trailing soft kisses down to where my jawline my my neck, my back molded into his chest then, unwilling to stop him.

"Just a bit..." He murmured against my neck, causing yet another shiver to run through me. "I've been checking on when we'd have the opportunity to be alone all day. Right now, we are." My hands grew sweaty and clammy at his words, almost entirely forgetting what it was I was doing in the first place.

All those bathroom breaks, I thought... I could feel my heartbeat challenge itself to beat even harder, especially after Errol ground his lower half up on my slightly. I could feel every bit of him- every last bit of his excitement.

At this point, I probably couldn't tell you what color glaze we were even glazing anymore.

When his fingers left my now completely taught nipple, I thought this might've been it. That he was done with his devious methods of torture, but surely it wasn't, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't happy it wasn't. His hand then trailed it's way down my stomach, still cloaked by my loose linen shirt, before he arrived at my waistband.

"Just a bit..." He whispered, repeating those words as he said them again in a form of a question. "Please let me touch you."

I felt my eyelids shutter close. It wasn't like it would affect anything given the circumstances, but that was my way of completely giving up on wherever we were at with glazing. All I could do was nod, my body building with anticipation for what was to come. I knew exactly how his hand felt around me, but somehow he got better and better with every passing day between us. Hell, if I didn't know any better, I'd say Errol had been working with some play books.

This felt too good to not be rehearsed.

Once his hand tightened itself on my now rock solid cock, my head dipped back against his shoulder in sheer pleasure. All I allowed myself was soft moans, still doing my best to keep the volume down, but with my head dipped back, it gave Errol the perfect opportunity to lean his head forward and capture a bit of my sensitive skin between his teeth. It was an all too familiar spot, one that made the tip of my almost painfully hard dick, leak with precum. That made my once dainty moans, turn into that of a goddamn porn star.

"E-Errol" I choked out again, but all I heard with a soft hum against my skin, while his hand started to stroke me through my linen trousers. I wasn't even sure what I was calling on him for anymore. To stop? Me tilting my head further to the side to grant him more access to my neck, told me I wanted the exact opposite of him stopping.

Maybe it was a warning, as if to say we can't go any further...

And yet, if he told me to cum for him right now, I don't think my body would fail to comply.

Errol was right handed, but they way he picked up speed stroking me with his left as he insisted on us continuing to paint with his right, made me believe he had to be ambidextrous.

It was both those hands that had me on the verge of coming undone, mixed with those lips and teeth and had marked a trail like breadcrumbs down to my chest.

And it was those same hands that went into absolute overdrive once we heard an abrupt knock on my closed studio door.

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