Page 100 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

I can’t believe I feel like a teenage boy again and about to come any minute.

“Squeeze me tighter,” I say against her lips.

She obeys, trailing her lips down to my throat, biting on the lump I notice she seems obsessed with. I groan roughly, my hips thrusting animalistically against her hand as she continues to stroke and massage my cock like a damn expert.

How is she this good? I’m going to need to know who she touched —

No.

I can’t think like that now.

Right now, I just need release.

The blackness I felt earlier had vanished before I realized it was gone. They disappeared the moment I threw myself at Briar.

All I can focus on is her.

Briar.

My crazy migraine.

My walking nightmare.

Mine.

“I’m almost there,” I suddenly whisper against her ear, feeling my balls tightening.

She licks my bottom lip before kissing me thoroughly, wrapping her hand on the back of my neck.

“You’re an artist, Rurik. Paint me with your cum.”

Fuck.

I’m done for. I latch onto her lips with mine, groaning into her mouth as I feel myself explode over and over. As I continue to pump into her hand, feelings come at me all at once, and I nearly feel like I’m about to pass out again.

Relief.

Warmth.

Comfort.

Desire.

Satisfaction.

Free.

When I finally relax from my high, I slowly pull back and just stare at her.

She stares back, her eyes darting all over my face. This time, she swallows hard, and for the first time, I see a hint of vulnerability in her uniquely beautiful eyes.

“Shall I step aside so you can run away again?” she whispers, her eyes lowering to my lips.

Shame and regret fill me again, and I want to kiss the uncertainty away from her face.

So I fucking do.

I kiss her softly, gently licking the cut on her bottom lip. I pull away just enough to place another kiss on the corner of her mouth.

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