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Knox chuckles against my skin, biting me again before dragging his tongue agonizingly close to my groin. “Is this annoying?”

“So fucking annoying.”

“And this?” He wraps his fingers around my cock, kissing the tip for a second before squeezing it tight without moving his hand.

“You’re a monster!” I pant, my hips bucking up desperately into his palm.

I need the friction.

I need him.

“Beg, little Prince.”

“I already did!”

“Well, turns out I liked it. So if you want my mouth on you, beg again, Cillian.”

“You are so freaking insufferable,” I hiss, more turned on than I’ve ever been in my entire life, and Knox pulls his hand away.

“No! Fuck… Please, Knox. I’m begging you, please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, I need your mouth—ahh!” I choke out a moan, throwing my head back into the pillow as Knox dips down, taking me all the way to the back of his throat.

He moves agonizingly slowly.

So slow it’s making my whole body melt into the mattress. My fingers tangle through his short dark hair as he drives me out of my mind.

He licks, sucks, and worships every inch until I gasp, and I come in his mouth.

I collapse back into the sheets and lie there panting, staring up at the ceiling.

“Am I still annoying?” he asks, his tongue licking his upper lip.

“Yes. You are, without a doubt, the second most annoying bastard in the world.”

“Who’s number one?”

“Me,” I answer, rolling over to straddle his waist, ready to show him why.

— ¤ —

An hour later, the sun is shining, and we’re sitting out in the garden with two easels set up back to back.

“I’m telling you, this is a terrible idea,” Knox says, holding a paintbrush like it’s a throwing dagger.

“Only because you look like you’re about to stab someone with it.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t held one of these since middle school.”

I step over, reach for his hand, and adjust his fingers on the wood. “Here. Hold the grip tight enough that it doesn’t slide, but loose enough to control the paint however you want. Like this…”

I guide his hand to the palette, dip the brush tip into the green paint, and help him stroke a pine tree onto the canvas.

“There’s no fucking way I can paint that,” Knox mutters.

“You don’t have to paint that. You can paint whatever you want or whatever you’re feeling.”