Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92659 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92659 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
I don’t know if I believe in magic, but when Orpheus sinks into his creative zone and draws forth beauty from nothing…that’s magic. I always felt special because he allowed me to witness it.
I’m not the same woman, grateful to even be in the room. The person I am now would never be satisfied with only witnessing magic. I want to be the one creating it. I don’t know what that looks like for me. I’m not an artist like Orpheus, or a designer like Juliette, or even a photographer like Psyche—my sister would never call herself that, but it’s the truth.
I’m still figuring out where I fit in, which should make this experience particularly uncomfortable, because Charon is effectively shoving me back into a role I no longer want. Except…
It’s different.
I’m not a passive observer this time. Not when I’m stretched out with my head on Charon’s thigh. Not when Orpheus is joining us on the bed.
He looks at us for several beats and then takes up a position next to my hip closest to the head of the bed. “May I?”
I’m about to answer when I realize that he’s not looking at me. He’s waiting for Charon’s permission. I tense, not sure how I feel about that…except I do know, don’t I? It’s there in the deep pulse of heat spreading through me. As much as I like being the one to give commands, this is unbearably sexy too. I turn my head just enough to see Charon, to watch the hunger grow in his dark eyes. Not just hunger for me. He wants Orpheus. He wants us.
“By all means.”
Orpheus smiles and goes about nudging me into the position he wants me. One arm gets draped back over Charon’s thighs. He grabs a pillow and stuffs it under my hip so I’m tilted toward him. His hands don’t linger on my body, and every time he touches me, I have to fight not to arch into the weight of his fingertips against my skin. He’s treating me as gently and remotely as he would any of his canvases. It’s agonizing and so hot, I can barely stand it, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.
Then he begins to paint.
I try to stay relaxed, but the first drag of the wet brush along my heated skin is almost more than I can bear. It’s such a small sensation. Somehow that only makes it worse. This is going to go on for a very long time.
“Hold still.” Orpheus has a distraction to his tone that I recognize well.
He barely waits for me to force myself to stop shifting before he dips his brush in paint and continues. He doesn’t paint particularly thickly, so he makes quick work of coating my skin with a base layer that starts at my collarbone and curves down around my breasts to my stomach and hips and upper thighs. The cool air from the room makes the paint feel colder than it is. Honestly, it’s a welcome relief. I’m so hot I feel like I might die from it.
Orpheus leans down and blows slightly against my skin. I jolt to find him grinning at me. The jerk is tormenting me on purpose. I glare. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Very much.”
I have to crane my neck to see Charon, and I get distracted halfway through when I realize his hard cock is only a couple inches from my face. He’s obviously enjoying the show, but he makes no move to touch himself or hurry things along. I shift toward his cock, and that’s when he does move, weaving his fingers through my hair and holding me firmly in place. “Your punishment is still in play, Eurydice.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Orpheus picks up his brush again. I lick my lips. “Can’t we fast-track this? I’ll suck your cock, then I’ll suck his cock, then you can stop been irritated with me.”
He chuckles, but not in a way that makes me think I’ll get what I want. “One word, Eurydice. Punishment. You’re not the one who gets to decide if it’s fast-tracked or not, and there’s no easy way out of this. You will lie there and be still while Orpheus paints you to his satisfaction…and then we’ll see how we’re feeling.”
I’m about to argue when Orpheus starts painting again. When I used to watch him, I was always slightly envious of the canvas. His slow, methodical brushstrokes seemed like the most relaxing thing in the entire world. I was a fool. There’s nothing relaxing about this. It’s pure agony to have him so focused on my body and yet not focused on my body at all. I am merely the medium for his genius.
Charon chose his punishment well.
On Orpheus’s third layer, I break. I’m so turned on, I can’t stop shaking. I’m pretty sure I’ve left an embarrassing wet spot on the mattress, and my nipples are so tight I don’t know if they’ll ever be the same again. “Please.”