Page 82 of Scarred (Russian Sinners 2)

“What is it?” he urged me on.

I swallowed a bit uncomfortable. “Is it too much to take the canvas and painting stuff?” I asked, feeling like a kid asking to bring her whole bedroom. “It will drive me nuts unless I can get it finished.”

He smiled. “No, not at all. I’ll have Ilya get it.”

“No, absolutely not,” I interjected undignified.

Nikolai raised his eyebrow in surprise, a small smile playing around his lips. “Are you always so possessive of your paintings in progress?”

“Damn straight,” I replied and pulled him along to the painting room. “Nobody ever,” then to emphasize the word, I repeated, “-ever sees my work till it is finished. And this piece,” I could feel my face heating up and knew blush colored my skin, “we might have to keep in the bedroom only.”

He threw his head back and laughed hard. The sound was the best music to my ears. I watched him, flushed but also pleased to have made him laugh like that.

“Damn, Olivia,” he retorted through his laughter. “Now I really want to see it.”

We were by the painting room now. He opened the door and let me in first.

“Okay, you grab the brushes and put them in that box,” I told him, while I quickly packed the colors.

He was finished quickly and hovering behind me.

“Can I have a peek, Olivia?” he murmured against my ear and gently bit my earlobe. Relishing in the sensation it brought, I leaned my body against him and felt his hard cock against my butt. I dropped the tube of paint and turned around. His arms wrapped around me and pulled me closer to him. My body fit perfectly against his hard muscles.

“You might not like it,” I rasped.

“I like everything you do, malysh.”

When he watched me like that, when he spoke to me like that… I’d do anything he asked.

“Okay, a peek,” I uttered, and a smile spread over his sinfully beautiful face. “But first,” I stood up on my tiptoes and kissed his scar, “tell me what malysh means?”

“Literal translation is baby,” he told me, turning his face, capturing my mouth with his. “I guess old Russian romance.”

I scoffed. “I guess it sounds better in Russian,” I retorted dryly. “You can call me that in Russian, but don’t even think about calling me baby in English.”

He chuckled. “You got it.”

I took a step away from him. “We have to hurry. You can peek at the painting while I pack. It is the covered one.”

I picked the tube of paint I dropped and continued to pack them up in rushed movements as Nikolai strode to the covered canvas. All the while packing tubes of paint, I watched him. Short of classes, I never shared my work in progress.

He uncovered the canvas and his eyes studied the unfinished work. I stopped packing and stood waiting. I could see his profile but couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Did he hate it? Could he tell that was him, the two of us through my eyes last night? Well, maybe not my eyes since I felt it all and didn’t see it.

“Yes, this is not your usual,” he finally commented. For some reason, my heart pounded hard and I was nervous to hear his feedback. “I want to buy it. Whatever the price, Olivia, just name it.”

It was hard for me to read him right now. Did he like it? Did he not like it? Did he want to buy it to prevent it from being seen? Or because he liked it so much?

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know if-”

He turned to face me and his eyes burned with heat.

“Whatever you want, Olivia, it is yours,” he offered. “Fuck, just looking at it makes me hard.”

“Is that good or bad?” I asked with boldness.

“It is fucking great,” he groaned. “Is that how you saw us? Is that how you see me?”

I placed the packed items on the nearby table and walked to him, placing my palms flat against his chest.

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