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The tingles move down my arms as she starts laying out colours on her palette, because this isn’t the Alice who was moaning with Jack’s cock in her ass, or the Alice who shared his kisses with me, mouth open wide.

She’s lost to everything but the paintbrush in her hand.

A paintbrush working over an abstract whirlwind of our sex fuelled bodies.

“You guys head on down,” she says when she starts up the brushwork on Jack’s canvas. “I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Like hell she will.

I’ve seen that look on her face many times before. A long, long time ago.

Fuck, how I’ve missed it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

JACK

Bryce’s monochrome life definitely needed some jazzing up. Ironic, given how good he looks stark naked, caked in a rainbow of acrylics. I pour prosecco into our mugs, and give him a cheers, but his mind is still in the room upstairs. Floating along with the angelic artistic brilliance of Soul Girl.

These two are so infatuated with each other, they may as well blare it from the rooftops.

I’m sure it will make Bryce’s life interesting when he has to present himself as Mr Reliable at work in a few hours.

“When do you think she’ll be joining us?” I ask Bryce.

“Sorry, what?”

I point at the ceiling.

“The artist swimming around in the flow. Is she likely to show her face again for another round?”

Bryce smiles as he shakes his head.

“I doubt it. It’s an incredible thing when the paintbrush takes hold of her. A true delight.”

I don’t get this art thing, I really don’t. The girl is literally up there adding arty highlights to a smeared sex fest on canvas. I wonder what colour she’ll use to accentuate my jizz.

“How long does she stay in the zone?” I ask, really surprised I still give a shit now my balls have been well and truly emptied.

A shrug from Bryce. A wistful gaze at the studio through the ceiling.

“A long time.”

Christ. The guy is lost to all bloody sense, just like she is.

I snap my fingers. “Hello. Earth to Bryce. Less floaty now please, I’m being serious. As in, are we staying around for a shower and another bout of action, or do you have somewhere else to be?”

Bryce collides with Earth pretty hard at my words. His eyes widen on mine before they scour the room, landing on the clock on the kitchen wall.

It’s almost four in the morning.

“Fuck,” he says. “I lost track of time.”

No shit he did. He’s been as in the flow as Alice is, he just doesn’t have a clue. There are other potent ways of being in the flow besides having a paintbrush in your hand.

I give him a smirk.

“Guess you aren’t going to pull a sickie with a sorry, I have a migraine after fucking your daughter all weekend. That’s a shame.”