“Good boy!” I exclaim, but the cogs in my head jam as soon as I say it. Yep. I’m just like the rat.
At least Sevastyan and Ratimir both think I’m adorable.
We attempt a couple more tricks, but then the cage ends up closed, and our pet ventures out on his daily patrol of the endless tunnels that constitute his whole world.
“Ready to endure my intense stares for another few hours?” Sevastyan asks, approaching the canvas he’s refused to show me so far. I’ll be in it, perhaps even in the lush blue robe hanging off a hook on the wall, but I wouldn’t dare argue with his process. I can wait. The results are always flattering, maybe even duplicitous, but if he truly wants to picture me as more attractive than I actually am, who am I to argue?
I stop by the table where he’s set up more ultramarine blue pigment for me to mull when I’m not posing. Just being in this studio is a dream come true. All the paintings around us, the expensive pigments stored in an antique cabinet, the wall of brushes mounted for easy access. It’s a world I thought I’d never have access to.
“I love your stares,” I say and lean against the table even though it feels a bit bold. I’ve never been much of a flirt, and my gaydar is shit, but when I am around Sevastyan, the air always sizzles with our attraction.
A smirk. The beauty spot above his lips stretches slightly as his gaze glides up and down my form. It feels like he’s touching me again, and I know that once he has me sit for him, I’ll have to endure a deep ache in my balls.
Fuck, never before have I wanted anyone this intensely, so maybe even if he does end up murdering me, I will at least die content
“Even when you can’t see me watching, like when you touch yourself in bed?”
My eyes go wide, my face erupts with heat, and my stupid injured leg chooses this moment to cramp. I lose my footing, so I press on the table to keep from stumbling, but I must have leaned too hard, and the whole thing tips.
I watch the horror unfold as if in slow motion. The bottle of linseed oil tips first, but the little plate containing a pile of ultramarine powder is right behind it, catapultedinto the air so the pigment forms a cloud that rains down on me, the floor, and the nearest painting.
“I’m sorry!” I yell before the dust has any chance to settle. I can’t move, as if fear has frozen my joints in anticipation of a slap.
Sevastyan lets out a choked grunt, followed by words I can’t recognize, as if I no longer found English comprehensible. Or is he simply muttering in Russian?
My foot slips on the oil, and I collapse to the tiles, choked up with terror as Sevastyan faces the stained picture. It’s an unfinished portrait of Ratimir and me. Referencing Leonardo da Vinci’sLady with an Ermine, it has the rat sleeping against my chest while my eyes stare straight out from the canvas, now more blue than green. Sevastyan grabs a dry brush and starts to wipe the dust with it, sometimes blowing on the picture, sometimes mumbling under his nose.
What if the oil messes up the work Sevastyan’s already completed? And what of the pigment itself? I’m certain he can afford more lapis lazuli, but what I’ve just wasted still cost a lot of money and labor.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again, my heart pounding, and I try making myself useful by grabbing some paper towels to mop up the spilled oil. At least the bottle didn’t break.
I’m such a fuck up. No wonder I have no one who would report me missing. No wonder I’ve not had a boyfriend. No wonder my paintings never got exhibited.
I rub my eyes because they itch, but I bet I’m just smearing the pigment that landed on me. What am I going to do though? Scrape it off my body? It’ll be useless.
And to make matters worse, Sevastyan’s deep, annoyed breaths, his every step around me as he does what he can for the painting he’s trying to save is glitching my mind into unwanted excitement. This is not the time for that. Who does that? Gets horny while they’re crying?
I’m so damn messed up.
Sevastyan groans, throwing his head back as he drops the brush and places his hands on his bare hips. His buttocks flex, dimpling at the sides as he shifts his weight, contemplating the damage. He looks so powerful, looming above me like a god among men. He would have every right to punish me now. To show me my place and teach me to never anger him again.
“I suppose... I’ll need more layers, I don’t like this cold hue on it.” His gaze sweeps the blue-dusted floor until it settles on me. His frown deepens. “Are you... hard?”
My stomach sinks.
Chapter 12
Victor
Theworstthingisthat the embarrassment flooding me at his question only makes me stiffer. I close my thighs and cross my arms over my crotch to hide my arousal. I don’t dare look up at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear. I just… I don’t think my body knows the difference between fear and… sexual stuff, because with Luke it always followed, and… I think it messed me up.” I don’t know whether to hide my traitorous dick or my tears, but I settle on covering my face as I kneel in the disaster of my own making.
Sevastyan’s quiet and could approach stealthily if he wished, but this time I can hear his every step. Bare feet roll over the dusty tiles, and I practically sense the moment his shadow falls on me.
“I see. Have I been too kind so far? Am I not arousing enough when I kiss and stroke you?”
I hold my breath as he circles me, so close I sense the movement of air on my back. His hand closes on my nape, hard, and my cock pulses between my legs.
Oh God. I love it when he grabs me like that. He’s done it several times when I’ve given him head, and I don’tknow if it’s about the size of his hand, the strong grip, the heat, but my whole body is boiling in excitement.
