Page 231 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

I frown, leaning on my elbows as I watch him grab his small buckets of paint. My eyes widen as he turns around and stares at me with an evil grin.

“What… The hell… Are you doing with those paints?” I ask, all humor disappearing from me.

But Rurik just walks up to me, and I watch in horror as he tips the buckets, pouring some of the paint all over me. Yellow, green, blue, and red mix as they land on my body and the floor protector.

Chuckling, he drops the buckets and clamps the paintbrush handle between his teeth to keep it in place as he returns to his knees before me. He smirks, spreading my legs open and thrusting into me in one go.

He groans, taking the paintbrush from his lips, and continues stroking the bristles on my body with each thrust.

Fuck.

How is this the same man I met months ago?

The same man who hated me and acted as if my touch was repulsive to him? As I stare at him, I revel in the feral look on his face as he grips my thighs, the way his hips thrust into me, making my body snap, and the low rumble sound he makes when I clench around his dick.

God, I love this man.

But I’m too afraid to let him know.

I don’t know why, but I have this sense of doubt regarding his feelings for me. He looks at me like I’m his. Like I belong to him — And I do. Definitely so. He also belongs to me, but I want more than just his body.

I want his heart. His literal broken heart. His heart, I’m too afraid to break, too scared to hurt.

I never thought I would fear outliving someone else because it would mean witnessing their death first. I'm terrified that one day, death will separate us. Even though I will follow Rurik seconds later, the mere thought of him not being on earth with me, even for half a second, is torturous.

“Briar,” Rurik moans, his thrusts becoming gentler.

I blink, my hazy vision clearing as I see the drop cloth covered in different colors from our bodies moving.

I laugh before groaning with him as I match his rhythm, “We’re making a mess.”

“No,” He sighs, dropping the brush on the floor as he leans down to kiss me. He nibbles on my lips, our tongues wrapped in an embrace, and our breaths mixed. He murmurs, “We’re making something beautiful, baby.”

“Yeah?” I gasp as he hooks his arms under my knees and pulls me against him closer.

“Yeah, a new art showcase piece?” Rurik grins.

And holy fucking shit. That grin. That sexy, beautiful grin. I close my eyes and groan, my back arching as I feel the waves of pleasure washing over me as he continues fucking me, the sounds of our bodies coming together pushing me over the edge.

“Holy shit,” Rurik gasps roughly, “Fucking beautiful.”

And I watch, completely enthralled, as he comes. I reach over to squeeze his ass, his dick twitching as he slows the rolling of his hips while he empties inside me. Minutes later, he pulls out with a groan. Is it gross to say I find it super hot that his release is added to the creation on the white floor cover?

Rurik kisses my paint-covered breasts; his fingers run through my hair as he starts kissing my lips. “You okay, baby?”

“Perfect.”

Because that’s what he is to me. He’s perfect.

*-*-*-*

After we showered and let the drop cloth dry, I sent Rurik to the Farmers Market to grab some things for dinner tonight. I would have gone with him, but I saw his absence as an opportunity to call Nat.

“He knows.” I blurt out as soon as she answers the phone.

“He knows…” She trails off questioningly. “Who are we talking about?”

I told her what happened between Rurik and Philip and how he knew about our vendetta against him. It reached the point that Nat had to put me on loudspeaker so Oscar, Mr. Rogers, and his wife, Emma, could hear me.

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