Page 15 of Menotte avec toi

“What taught you that your muse would always be a part of you?” she asked. “I’ve known artists far older than you who haven’t learned that lesson yet.”

“Trial and error,” I admitted. “The first time I truly felt uninspired, I signed up for a bunch of workshops and art classes that focused on different techniques and styles. I don’t remember how many I took, but it was a lot. I was still bartending then too. So, I split my time between my job and practicing techniques until one day I looked at a painting I’d been working on and couldn’t see any of myself in it.”

“How did you find your own voice again?” she asked.

“The first step was to stop taking classes,” I explained. “I finished the ones I was in, then I went back to working on my own projects. Seeing them with fresh eyes helped and so did revisiting the original notes I’d taken. It wasn’t long before my muse jumped in and reminded me of the plans we’d had. Not trusting it taught me to trust it.”

“It shows a willingness to grow when you can let go of one path to try another,” she said. “There are so many ways people get in the way of their own potential. I think we’ve all been guilty of it at least once.”

“Some of us more than once,” I said, though it was partially an admission too.

I rocked against her as she chuckled, giggling when her fingers brushed a spot along my neck.

“You’re not the only one who can claim that distinction,” she said. “I’ve been called stubborn a time or two.”

Gasping, I pressed my fingertips to my lips. “I never would have guessed.”

“Oh, you!” she snapped, tickling me deliberately this time.

My snuggling had left me trapped and unable to roll away as she tickled me mercilessly.

“I yield, oh my, no fair Mistress! Not fair!”

Of course she tickled me more, until all I could do was gasp, squirm, and start feeling super horny again.

“Who decides what’s fair?” she asked, a hint of a growl in her voice.

It cut through the giggles and helped me focus on her.

Ohhh. She expected an answer.

“Who decides what’s fair!”

Having to repeat herself turned the question into a demand. She wanted an answer. I’d better give it now.

“You do, Mistress,” I said, lowering my gaze so I wasn’t staring directly into her eyes.

“That’s right, I do,” she said, her lips descending upon mine.

Fierce. Unlike the sweetly tormenting ones we’d shared earlier, this was possessive. New. Different. The kind of kiss I’d never experienced before. She tugged my hair until she could kiss beneath my chin, down my throat, nipping in between kisses. Those tiny pricks of pain left me wet and unable to squirm, arched the way she held me. I gasped when her fingers brushed over me and whined when she moved them away, her teasing chuckle sending vibrations along my skin as she kissed her way over my shoulder.

“I believe it’s my turn now,” she said.

Yup.

Absolutely.

She could have all the turns she wanted.

“I’d love to see the Starlight Café with you,” she murmured as she kissed my neck. “And the planetarium too. I think I know the perfect dessert to top the night off with, too.”

“I love dessert,” I moaned, shivering when she nipped me again. “S-sometimes I even have it for breakfast.”

Her chuckles were better than a massage as they washed over me. My body had never felt so relaxed and heavy, but in the best kind of way. I could draw it, but trying to put the feeling into words took too much thought.Thoughtwas hard right now.

Everythingfelttoo amazing.

“Such a naughty girl,” she whispered, her lips never leaving my skin. “Dessert for breakfast will leave you with a stomachache.”

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