He's half asleep, Jo knows he's on the brink, that strange no man's land between waking and dreaming where one can sometimes make the choice to stay beneath the waters, or rise to waking and life and pain.

But also pleasure.

Harry is so beautiful, there upon his own pillow, in the bed he has seen little of since he had essentially shacked up with her. 

It's his own space, and he dreams smoothly, with an uncomplicated brow and straight-edged jaw. The light hits his cheekbones and gleams off the dew of his night visions.

She woke up to a murmur of her name, the tone so like the one of wonder and reeling when she had run the fat brush over the seam of his sac and ridge of his dick to where his foreskin tried to contain the raging swelling Jo knew she was responsible for. She hadn't used color to paint him, but she had made good use of the brush to entice him, provoke him, edge him. And he had been vocal about it.

She loved his throaty voice.

It gave her butterflies, when he leaked her name like the pearly liquid that gathered at his tip from her teasing.

She wanted to give him more than butterflies in his belly, like the one he had tattooed there so he would never forget to seek that feeling he had explained to her one night. Jo was sure she gave him butterflies. He gave her bats. But she wanted to watch his stomach clench and pulse and flutter again, like it had when she used her tongue to lick the seams of his body and the lines of his torso and the rings of his nipples.

She wanted him to never forget this birthday.

Her plan was to wake him with the strength of the clench in his middle she sought to create.

When she put him into her mouth, his dropped open. Jo was caught by the surprise on his face, and the pleasure she found in the way his erection came to tumescence in her mouth and the fact that she could get it all then, a feat she had yet to accomplish because of the size of his pride. It made her flush with pleasure and satisfaction.

His mouth closed and his jaw clenched and the vulnerable place she had met him meant she got a rawer reaction. Last night, he was full of gratitude, of praise.

When he had laid her out on the platter she expected to be treated to a few warming licks, like the little yummies served around at restaurants to wet the appetite. Instead, he settled down between her thighs like she was a feast and he intended to be bacchanalian in his hunger.

Harry had a habit of placing both of her thighs over his shoulders. He'd run his hand up up up, start at the ankle and go up to her hip before digging his fingers in and looping her leg over his shoulder. It made her back leave whatever soft, or in this case, hard surface she was on. The second leg just set her muscles to twitching before he even got to the main course.

The fact that he had not only placed her on the platter she had thought of and jokingly mentioned, but also modified his move to sip from her fount left her juices dripping down onto the silver below her. Instead of her knees over his shoulders, he put the balls of her feet there, and slid the platter to the edge of the table to get her to him.

"You smell..." He trailed off and took a large whiff, before nudging her swollen clit with his nose, then licking the crease between pelvis and thigh. He tilted his head to the side then and licked her lips and her nub was so swollen he got it in the process too.

Jo was unintelligible from then on, it must have been a matter of only minutes between when he laid her out and got his mouth on her, but the anticipation of the thing, being his meal, had her juicy and fragrant. The platter ticked and clattered in the table as her hips jolted up and down.

"Steady on," he looked up at her from between her thighs, raising his head from its lazy perch and Jo couldn't listen. Seeing that perfect pout, wet and between her thighs, just above her pink made her rut more.

His hand came around the outside of her thighs and he held her down. He glued her to the platter and played her like a lute. Just as her song would reach crescendo, he'd take her back down, by the end of it, the only remanining lyric was his name. And the final movement rolled into encores, because he plucked and sucked at her aching, twitching place until she had to kick him away.

"You're so delicious," he pressed his flavored mouth to her own and she licked between his lips to see if she agreed. Jo guessed he'd give her a minute to come down, but instead the weeping, angry head of his velvet hard cock pressed into her.

"Harry" was the coda when he started stroking. She was unable to say anything at all while she rolled into another place on the way to transcendence.

"I'm not gonna last. Can I ice my cake?" He licked her throat up to her chin like her sweat was wine.

"What?"

"My cake, since we had dessert first. Can I" He lost his voice. "Can I decorate it?"

Jo caught his meaning and for a second thought of the porn she had watched with Colin once and how ridiculous it was that the performers begged for such a frosting.

Jo realized she just hadn't chosen the flavor right. "Yes, please!" she yelped.

Harry wrenched himself from her and with only one stroke his cum splashed on her lower belly and below. It all ran down over her bun and when Harry slipped his fingers through and smudged them over her lips before kissing her, she tasted morning light and all night celebrations.

Upon this, his perfect wake up, he was demanding and grabby.

It delighted Jo to draw him out. The way he did her. That he showed a side he usually hid. Jo didn't even like giving head.

Except to Harry.

Especially this Harry.

"Fuck, Jo, I can feel your throat! Suck me!" He yanked her hair a little and his hips flexed without his permission, pushing him passed her boundaries. Her eyes watered and she coughed. He yelped from the muscle contraction and when Jo looked up at him with her affected face, with weeping eyes and gleeful full mouth, he humped away helplessly.

"Oh baby, Jo, love your mouth, love it, love you." He babbled as he pressed against her palate recklessly and ejaculated straight down her throat.

She hated that too.

Except she didn't. This morning it was a gift. For their birthday.

Jo pulled off with a pop that resonated through him and wiped her mouth on his fern. She lay her head there and whispered. "Happy Birthday, lover."

"Fuck....this is the best birthday of my life."

His head had gone weak and he lay on his pillow like it weighed a ton. Jo was proud of the way he looked, he rarely ran out gas before her.  Sucking him off had made her squirmy and as much as she had devoted this 15 hour span to celebrating him, it was her birthday too.

Maybe he was onto something about her being a two-man job. His arms came around her and he pulled her up his body so she lay matched up to him from ankle to shoulder.

"Thank you, baby." He said and kissed her like he might nod off again. Being pressed against so much of him was not conducive to calming her bits though. Jo split her mouth open and found herself rutting against him a bit. Harry showed her all of his chins when he pulled back to look at her. "Do you need something?"

How could he smirk when he was all sleepy and swollen eyed? Jo huffed in response and started to get up like a grump.

Harry caught her hand and dragged her back down to him.  "Nope, really?" When she didn't answer he cupped the naked peach between her thighs and she would have been embarrassed that she moaned and that his hand came away wet, but she was too greedy to care. "I need a bit, last night you took a lot out of me. But," he bit his lip shyly and kissed her deep and she felt like he was teasing. "Can I paint it? Like this?"

Jo cast back to their golden night and remembered his ask and how hot it made her. How she had gotten off to his raw voice asking that vulnerable question. They'd both be so exposed there. Her lady parts and his painting growth. He was taking figure drawing.

Jo hadn't seen many of them yet, because he was shy and she was jealous. However, She knew the life models and several were gorgeous, many of them young, most of them younger than her. There was the artist in her than knew you dissected a thing to draw it, and there was the romantic in her that knew many artists fell in a little in love with every subject.

She wanted to be his subject.

"It's your birthday, you get what you want." She rubbed against his hand to get a little of what she wanted.

"It's not my birthday anymore, but we can continue celebrating, if you'd indulge me?" He kissed her mouth and slipped his middle finger into her channel.

Jo rode the finger, and its subsequent companions for a minute until Harry pulled his hand out and stroked the wetness over where she was screamingly sensitively, then sucked them into his mouth and hummed.

"Go make us tea, I'll set up."

When Jo came through the doors with two steaming cups, the waft of the smell tried to wake her up to reality, but she had no interest in it. She wanted to see how he saw her, the intimate her even she was only occasionally familiar with.

"Um," she handed him the tea. "Where do you want me?"

Harry smiled at her and raised his eyebrows. "Everywhere, all the time. But right now, on the ottoman." He had dragged a padded storage piece in for her comfort and she smiled at the blanket, Bright in hue over it, and the pillow set on the side.

"Okay!" She tried to sound sunny, thought there was no sun today, no dawn but what she tasted on his fingertips. She lay back and froze. As often as she exposed herself to him, it felt odd to just lie back and spread 'em.

Would she think of England?

She laughed.

"What's it?" Harry's head came up from where he had white and and a tad of brown and pink on his pallette. Lots of pink on one side. A little red nearby.

"What color am I?" Blurted out of her mouth.

"What babes?" His brow was high and she realized it didn't make sense.

"Um, down there," she took a breath, she was s grown up and had given birth. "My pussy," came out a bit stronger. "What color is it?" She spread her thighs.

"Hmmmm," Harry groaned, "it depends, I suppose—"

"On What?" She ran her hands up her thighs and spread her lips to him.

"Um, let it be natural," he choked out. "When I come to you and you aren't, like pent up, it'." He messed with his palate. "Like this." He showed her a pale pink, like the flesh of a ripening peach.

"And now?" She knew now she was pent up.

He mixed a bit more. "When you are ready and wanton, it's like this." Now the palate was deeper, closer to the color near the pit.

He applied this to the canvas in the center and started to draw lines with it.

"It's always so different, like a new hue each time, sometimes like a ballet slipper, delicate and sweet, but then it deepens and all I can think of is ripe fruit flesh, sometimes peach, or raspberry and when I've had you." His head fell back,. "Near the center it's like watermelon, and it's just as juicy. Strawberry sweet." He breathes. "Fuck, this was a bad idea." He palmed himself over his sweats.

"Take a picture." Jo demanded. This was only an exercise to give him recovery time for her. And the ottoman was only slightly more soft than the table. She would get all of his impact.

"What?" He blinked at her in disbelief.

"Only we will know it's me, and I don't even know myself there like you do." She said. "You have a camera for life drawing and to catch a moment?"

He nodded.

"Get it, take a picture. Then fuck me, please, it's my birthday." She pouted like a princess.

"Fuck, yeah, ok." 

He came back in and came close, clicking pictures to be sure only her milky thighs and lower stomach and cunt showed. She threw her head back to further protect herself, and in abandon.

Harry was on her moments later, and after two testing strokes, the round shapes of his balls hit her ass and she cried from the joy of met expectations.

She cried out more for exceeded hopes when the padding beneath her proved just enough and Harry stuffed the pillow beneath her lower back to angle her. He hit his spot every time like this and Jo was mute in pleasure, her breath stolen and she knew she must be the color of a ripe red strawberry by now.

Strawberries and cream soon.

She let him take a picture of that too, just in case he wanted to paint all of her colors.