Thank you to FilmsareFriends for being so patient with my punctuation and grammar. I'm getting better! I promise! She's an awesome beta, author and friend. Can't get luckier, can I?
"I didn't know you could paint."
"I can do a lot of things, not least among them, spanking your ass if you don't get up. We're going to sit by the sea and I'm going to paint you."
She dimpled with pleasure, rising up from the white linen sheets like Aphrodite from the sea. The sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting her pale skin, making her hair shine. The welts on her breast appeared shockingly pink in the light of day. He swallowed. He could look at her forever, he thought. If he could snatch her up and bottle her like a genie, he would.
She rustled around in the wardrobe, looking for her swimsuit. Well, he'd let her wear it for the time being.
She disappeared around the corner into the bathroom. He sat on the bed, tapping his foot restlessly. He'd had what he thought was a fantastic idea and he was impatient to put it into place.
She poked her head back around the corner. "Are we going to eat breakfast before we go?"
"I should say no, you've slept the morning through," he said with a quirk of his lips, showing that he wasn't serious. "But, we'll take a picnic brunch with us. See? I've thought of everything. Now let's go, shall we?"
It wasn't a long way, but Red had chosen a rocky, overgrown path to a deserted part of the beach. It was so difficult to get to that it wasn't often a populated area. And that suited his plans just fine.
"Where's your canvas?" she inquired curiously, taking the hand proffered to her as she clambered down a large rock onto the sand.
He smiled. "You're my canvas."
The look she gave him was delicious. Uncertainty and eagerness with glinting good humor shining from her eyes. His chest filled with a pleasant ache. She was a dream, his dream. Did she have any idea how mesmerizing she could be?
They meandered along the beach, searching for a spot to settle themselves in. Red chose a sandy dune that was well protected from the wind by small, scrubby bushes. He pulled out a picnic rug from the basket he'd been carrying. He'd had his own discreet staff take care of everything they needed that morning and he was very well pleased with the contents of the basket. He handed her a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a whole host of fruits; bright purple grapes, luscious strawberries and three different melons. A loaf of bread at the bottom of the basket was still vaguely warm, ready to be slathered with pats of creamy butter.
He beckoned her to him. "Sit."
She sat close to him, cross legged, her zebra striped swimsuit juxtaposed oddly against the tartan of the picnic rug.
He idly ran his hand through her hair. She winced, her scalp sore from the events of the evening before. Smirking, he briefly gripped her hair a little harder. He loved pulling these reactions from her. She was so responsive, it was like playing an instrument.
The pop of the champagne cork, the waves crashing on the beach, the sound of the seagulls overhead, it was seeping into him, relaxing and soothing. The predator ravaging inside him slept, allowing him to appreciate the natural wonder about him. And the beautiful woman reclining at his side.
He fed her bites of buttered bread, a grape here and there, a strawberry, slices of melon. The feel of her mouth closing over his fingertips was exquisite. She deliberately sucked grape juice from his fingers, her tongue running along the underside of his forefinger, teasing him, stirring him in ways that she could only guess at.
"Lizzie," he growled. "If you keep doing that with your tongue, I'm going to make a mess of you and I need to keep you clean for the art."
She laughed. "What did you mean before? About me being your canvas?"
He leaned over, drawing paints, paint brushes, various sponges and a polaroid camera out of the basket. "Just what I said. I want to paint you. Stand up and take your swimsuit off."
She quirked an eyebrow but happily obliged. She removed her swimsuit and reached her arms high above her head, standing on her tip toes, arching her back into a full body stretch.
His eyes glazed. She was showing herself off now. He suspected she knew exactly what this was doing to him, the little tease.
Well then.
He busied himself setting up to have his fun.
She looked on curiously. He was wetting a sponge with silver paint. What was he going to do? Face painting?
He looked up, with a jerk of his chin he called her to come closer.
"Lizzie, stand here with your legs apart, arms up. That's it, like a snow angel."
He circled her slowly, placing a hand around her waist, dragging his fingers lightly across her stomach. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, enjoying his touch on her sun-warmed body.
"What are you going to do?" She was a little breathless just from his caress.
"This."
She felt a wet sponge on her breast. Her eyes fluttered open. What was that? He'd swiped her breast with a coating of silver body paint. His hands were now drifting everywhere, smearing her skin with silver.
"What? Why?"
"I told you. I'm going to paint you." He touched her face with the sponge, smearing her lips, her cheek and brow. "Close your eyes." He lightly dabbed at her closed lids, tickling behind her ears. She giggled.
"I had thought of painting my name all over your body. But then I saw you in bed this morning and I couldn't help thinking of Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty...and pleasure." He traced the sponge along the underside of her breast. She shuddered, leaning into him. He held her at arm's length, examining the paint. "And I think I'm going to play with that theme. Won't that be fun?"
Hours later, her arms were sore, her legs restless and tired but she was still standing, limbs splayed as he knelt in front of her, his hands, shirt, even his elbows, messy with silver as he worked across her body with a fine tipped paint brush. He had coated her from top to tail with body paint, teasing her with his feathery touch, exciting her with casual swipes of the sponge at the juncture of her legs, punishing her, he'd said, grinning lasciviously.
She'd been taken aback at that. Punishing her for what? She hadn't expected his shrug of amusement. "Do I have to have a reason Lizzie? Maybe I just like to see you squirm?"
And she had. Squirming, wriggling, stretching her legs and arms like a ballerina. He was so meticulous, painting delicate whorls and curlicues onto her skin, using a white paint that shone and glittered against the silver. Occasionally, he'd bring out a pot of green or a deep pink or carmine, intent on an exquisite recreation of cherry blossoms across her stomach, twining it's way over her breasts and nestling at her throat. He'd told her that he'd painted a flock of doves across her left shoulder.
"This is amazing Red. When did you discover you could paint? There's nothing about it in your FBI files," she said, toeing patterns into the sand.
He huffed irritably. "A watercolor tattooist in Brazil. I was researching tattoos at the time for my own reasons and stayed for a few months. Victor is quite possibly the best in the world, both as a tattooist and an artist. And if you don't stop moving Lizzie, I'm going to start counting each time I have to redo something and your ass will pay for it later," he said, his eyebrows raised.
She gave him a sunny smile in return. He snorted, continuing on with his work. She didn't move again until she noticed he'd signed his name with a flourish at her hip bone. She laughed then.
"Okay," he stood and moved away to survey his completed work. His chin rose in approval. He always took his fun where he could. It was part of the life that he lived. It had been a long time since he'd had such a...bundle of fun right at his fingertips.
He fell back onto the picnic rug, exhausted. Reaching for the camera, he reclined, half sitting, half lying across the rug. He wanted pictures of this. Beauty was such a transient thing. He wouldn't try and keep her like this for long. Pristine, lovely in her silver, ethereal nakedness. But he would have pictures.
He smiled, gesturing a circle with his finger. "Pirouette for me Lizzie."
