Page 29 of Accidentally Ever After
“The paint is applied in private, before the festivities,” Melronna explained, apparently oblivious to the undercurrents. “Only your face and arms would be visible to others. The rest is… for personal enjoyment.”
I looked at Caelen, who was watching me with those hypnotic violet eyes. “You’re really into this idea, aren’t you?”
His wings fluttered slightly—that telltale sign of anticipation I’d come to recognize. “I confess I have imagined you adorned in festival paint,” he admitted. “It is… an appealing vision.”
The thought of Caelen fantasizing about me was still novel enough to send a thrill through me. Over the past weeks, I’d gradually accepted that whatever had started as magical coercion had evolved into something genuine—something I was increasingly unwilling to walk away from.
“Fine,” I sighed, throwing up my hands in surrender. “Paint me like one of your fairy boys. But I get veto power if anything looks ridiculous.”
Caelen’s smile was radiant. “Of course. Melronna, please prepare the paints. I shall assist my consort personally.”
Melronna’s eyebrows rose slightly at this departure from protocol, but she nodded. “As you wish, Your Highness. I shall return in one hour to escort you both to the festival grounds.”
After she left, Caelen approached me, that predatory grace in his movements making my pulse quicken. “Thank you for indulging our traditions,” he said, hands settling on my waist. “I promise you will not regret it.”
“I’d better not,” I warned, though there was no heat in it. “So how does this work? Do I need to strip now, or…?”
“Indeed,” he confirmed, his fingers already working at the fastenings of my tunic—one of the fairy garments I’d gradually grown accustomed to wearing. “The paint is applied to bare skin. All of it.”
“All of it?” I repeated, eyebrows raising. “Even the, uh, private areas?”
His smile turned wicked. “Especially those. They are most receptive to the paint’s effects.”
“Of course they are,” I muttered, but allowed him to continue undressing me.
When I stood completely naked, Caelen circled me slowly, his gaze appreciative. Even after weeks of intimacy, his open admiration still made me self-conscious in the best possible way.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, trailing a finger down my spine. “A perfect canvas.”
He guided me to sit on a low, cushioned bench, then removed his own clothing with efficient grace. Naked, he was still the most breathtaking sight I’d ever seen—all lean muscle and pearlescent skin with those subtle patterns that glowed when he was aroused. His wings, partially extended behind him, caught the light filtering through the windows, creating prismatic patterns on the floor.
How did I get this lucky?I wondered, not for the first time.
Caelen knelt beside the containers of paint, dipping his fingers into one that glowed a soft blue-violet, similar to the color of his wings. “We begin with the primary lines,” he explained, rising and approaching me. “They follow the body’s natural energy channels.”
The first touch of the paint against my skin was startling—cool at first, then rapidly warming, creating a tingling sensation that spread outward from the point of contact. Caelen worked methodically, drawing swirling patterns down my arms, across my chest, along my spine.
“The patterns tell a story,” he explained as he worked, his touch deliberate and sensual. “This one speaks of new beginnings, of unexpected journeys.” He traced a spiral over myheart. “This signifies transformation, becoming more than you were.”
As more paint covered my skin, the “mild euphoria” he’d mentioned began to take effect. My skin felt increasingly sensitive, each brush of his fingers sending pleasant shivers through me. Colors seemed more vibrant, sounds more musical, and Caelen’s touch… God, his touch was electric.
“You’re enjoying the effects,” he observed, noting my dilated pupils and quickened breathing.
“It’s… intense,” I admitted. “Everything feels more.”
“That is the purpose,” he said, kneeling to continue the patterns down my legs. “The festival celebrates sensation, connection to the universe through our physical form.”
When he reached my inner thighs, the brush of his paint-coated fingers made me gasp. The paint intensified every touch, making even the lightest contact feel like a direct line to my pleasure centers.
“Caelen,” I breathed as his fingers trailed dangerously close to more sensitive areas.
“Patience,” he advised, though his own breathing had quickened. “The ritual has steps that must be followed.”
He continued working, covering my body in intricate patterns that glowed against my skin. By the time he reached for a different color—a deep, rich gold—I was in a state of pleasant delirium, my skin humming with sensation.
“The secondary patterns connect the primary,” he explained, beginning to add golden highlights to the blue-violet base. “They represent the bridge between realms, between beings.”
The combination of colors created a hypnotic effect, the patterns seeming to shift and flow across my skin like living things. I watched in fascination as Caelen worked, his focus absolute, his own skin beginning to glow with that internal light I’d come to associate with his arousal.
