Random, random randomness.
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"Do you really like my painting, Dimitri?" she asked her husband.
"Of course I do, sweetheart," he replied without looking up from his book.
She turned to him exasperatedly. "You said you didn't have the patience for reading. Now you've always got a book or a newspaper. Besides, I heard you telling Vlad it looked like a bunch of splotches. You said you couldn't even tell what it was."
He grinned at her charmingly. "Of course I can tell. It's a picture of flowers."
Anya narrowed her eyes. "It's pears scattered across a table."
Dimitri tried his best to be convincing. "I knew that. I was just kidding..." He put his book down and walked over to the chair where she sat in front of her easel. He began nuzzling her neck. "You know I love your paintings, Anya. You are an exceptional artist, my dear," he murmured as he kissed her deeply. The scent and feel of her overwhelmed him and he forgot what he was supposed to be convincing her of. His hands drifted over her body, lightly tracing the curves he had come to know very well.
Suddenly, she pulled away from him.
He moved to take possession of her lips again, but she placed her hand over his mouth to stop him.
"Dimitri," she said sweetly, "what does my painting look like to you?"
"Flowers," he mumbled as he reached for her.
She swatted away his hands. "You know, it's not like you could do any better."
"At what?" he asked, his mind still jumbled after the kiss.
"Painting."
"No...I don't suppose I..." he stopped. "Actually, I think I could, with the right muse."
"What did you have in mind?" Anya asked suspiciously.
"You, of course. Unless, that is, you're willing to just admit I'm a better painter..."
"I've never seen you paint a damn thing. Of course I won't...I accept your challenge, Dimitri," she said, sticking out her hand.
He took it and shook her hand to seal the bargain.
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It's about to get risqué. But you won't be able to read unless you REVIEW!