As she drags her finger down my lips, content with my silence, she says, “What if I told you I want you to paint bright colors onto me, not dark ones?”
My mouth moves without any words coming out, mymind trying to focus on too many things. Her touch, her face, her tail that has slipped beneath the hem of my shirt and grazes my side.
Finally, I regain control of my tongue. “I would do anything you asked.”
Her cheeks return to their natural color, her eyes squinting as she allows a small smile onto her lips. She drags her finger down my chest before taking a step backward. I watch her closely, not quite sure what she’s doing.
She holds my gaze as she pulls her top off, tossing it aside. Her hands move behind her, her bra becoming loose as she undoes the clasp. I could watch her undress over and over again, and it would be captivatingevery single time.
Her bra slides down her arms, and she slowly walks over to the bed. “Well, aren’t you going to paint me?”
Oh, I am absolutely going to paint her, hopefully in more instances than just this.
She lies on the bed, chest first, exposing her back to me. Her arms are crossed beneath her head, which is turned to the side as she watches me. Her tail sways in a near-lazy manner off the edge of my bed, as if gesturing me closer.
I scramble to get my paints. Carefully, I take the lid off of each tub, placing them close to her sides to balance them. Once I have all the colors I want, I grab a handful of brushes.
Careful not to knock over any jars, I straddle her, my legs bracketing her hips. At this angle, her ass looks even more round and voluptuous, the low-rise shorts riding up because of her position.
Her tail snakes around my torse gently, and I have to take a breath and remember what I’m doing—what she’sletting me do. She is my living canvas in this moment, and I will create a piece that does her justice.
As I dip the brush in the first color and bring it to her skin, she arches her back slightly away from it. With a light laugh that makes the muscles in her back truly show, she says, “It’s colder than I expected.”
Leaning over, I plant a kiss on the back of her neck, then her left shoulder, followed by her right. “I wish I could warm it up for you.”
Slowly, I sit back, bringing the paintbrush down her back in a more defined stroke. With each swipe of the brush, she relaxes more and more beneath me. I’d imagine it would be a calming sensation, the soft brushstrokes against the skin.
If she ever wanted to, I’d let her paint on me.
“So, what are you painting?” she murmurs, eyes closed. Her tail still wrapped around my torso, the tip occasionally grazing my side in a way that tickles and dares me to make a mistake.
I won’t make any, though. On her, only perfection can be created.
“You’ll see.” I keep the painting a secret for now, my mind honing in as I begin to add the finer details.
I’ve never felt so connected to someone as I do in this moment. It’s as if my art, my heart, and my soul are all merging to become one instrument. All the cogs in my brain are turning together, the source of their synchronization lying right below me.
Orie.
My muse, mylove. Now and forever.
As I paint the final detail in, I stare at herback for a moment, marveling in the beauty. This piece might surpass anything I’ve created before, if only by emotion alone. With her as my canvas, featuring my version of our waterfall…I wish I could capture this forever.
Wait, Ican.
“Stay still, my muse,” I instruct gently as I search my pockets for my phone.
Once I find it, I open it to the camera, raising my arms up high to get as straight-on a view as I can. I press the capture button—at least, I hope I am—multiple times before lowering my phone and opening the camera roll.
The images are perfect. The warm lighting of the room contrasts so well with the gray of Orie’s shoulders and exposed sides. All the blues and greens in the painting pop with the combination of the lighting and Orie’s beautiful complexion.
She tilts her head up slightly from where she lies, her eyes fluttering open. I move the phone toward her face, turning it so she can see the picture.
Her eyes widen quickly, and she inhales sharply. “Carson…that’s beautiful.”
“Youmake it what it is,” I say, putting my phone aside and beginning to put the lids on all the paint tubs. “I am merely the messenger of said art.”
She shakes her head, her tail tightening around me as the tip slides underneath my shirt. “You are the creator of the art, give yourself some credit.”
