Page 230 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

A few hours later, I look up at Rurik from my random gothic painting of a ferry woman with ghosts surrounding her. His brows knit together, and his lower lip tucks beneath his teeth as he concentrates on his task, wholly lost in his work.

In other words — He looks so damn mouthwatering.

And I’m bored now. Aaand, I need to do something about that.

He told me he hated it whenever I loomed over his shoulder. So now, I don't want to annoy him that way.

What do I do instead? The one thing that makes sense to me, of course. I dip a brush into one of my colors and flick my wrist, watching the paint splash spectacularly over his canvas.

He freezes, his hand suspended mid-air, brush still wet with fresh paint. As if watching a movie in slow motion, he gently puts the brush down and slowly turns to face me, his eyes so wide that I can see specks of light blue scattered across his bright irises.

I grin, and his face tightens as his jaw clenches.

“What the actual fuck, Briar?” Rurik growls so low that I barely hear him.

And fuck me, does that make my pussy tickle. Seriously, is something wrong with me? Yes. “What? I thought this was a couples activity?”

“I was working on something, Briar,” He grunts, turning back to the canvas and glaring at it.

I stand beside him and sigh, “I don’t know, I think it looks good. What is it supposed to be?”

Rurik huffs, shaking his head as he takes up the brush again and quietly says, “I was hoping to paint our little slice of paradise again but with you and me.”

Awww. Did my heart just fucking grow 10x bigger?

“Really? Aww, that’s so sweet.” I look at the canvas again and sigh, “I mean, could the yellow paint I added be the fireflies?”

Rurik rolls his eyes as he dabs the canvas with his brush. “You’re so annoying. Don’t ever do that again. I don’t ruin your paintings, do I?”

“No, I prefer you ruin me in other ways.” I tease, swooping down to kiss his cheek.

His face turns red as he grumbles. “Fucking migraine.”

I fake an offended gasp and flick my brush once more, sending a spray of paint—this time, splattering onto him. “How dare you, angel! I’m hurt.”

Rurik freezes and then gawks at me as if I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen—okay, okay, that's just my delusion. But he is staring at me like I've gone crazy, which, to be fair... Yes.

Just as I'm about to unleash something wild and annoying, he springs from his stool, brandishing his paintbrush like a weapon. I yelp in surprise as the paint splashes across my face and neck, and then I gasp in horror when I recognize the color.

“Rurik! Green? It'll turn into this ugly brown color after washing!”

“Who’s fault is that?” Rurik grins evilly, his brush trailing down my chest.

I freeze. He raises a brow, the brush now resting on my thighs, its bristles teasing dangerously close between my legs.

Earlier, before we began painting, we had laid down a drop cloth on the floor to catch any stray paint. So, I’m not afraid of the floor getting messy.

What I am afraid of, though, is that wicked look on his face.

“What are you doing?” I ask slowly as the brush goes under my shirt and caresses my nipples. “Rurik—”

“Ssshh. Stop talking. I’m working on a masterpiece and need concentration,” He snaps, sitting up as he starts stripping me.

“Wait,” I giggle as he dips his brush in more paint before focusing back on my naked body. “That tickles.”

“I said… Sssshh.” Rurik growled. I open my mouth to say something brilliant but stop when he reaches down to pull his shorts down. Fuck, how is he hard again? “Rurik, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m sore.”

“What the fuck did I say about talking?” He says, standing up.

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