“Darling, I’m home. What’s for dinner?”
“The chef is cooking.”
There were only three of them. So who exactly was supposed to be the chef?
Ethan ended up playing three roles by himself. Dad, cook, and nanny.
“The nanny watches the child.”
“…”
He gave her a mischievous wink, then poured the remaining wine into a cup and placed it in Eve’s hand as she glared at him.
Back then, she’d been a clueless child. But now that she understood how the world worked, she knew that in ordinary life, women did the cooking. Hiring a chef was out of the question until they secured her father’s support.
Eve needed to learn how to cook.
“I told you, this is my job now!”
“And I told you, it’s the chef’s job!”
“You’re not a chef. You’re my husband.”
Ethan bit down hard on his lip, which had started to curl upward. That expression only appeared when he was absolutely, insanely in love with what he’d just heard.
“Still no. This is my job.”
He took the hand of the woman pouting at him and kissed her soft palm.
I don’t want these hands to bear the marks of a hard life. These hands were made to create masterpieces.
Eve decided to obey her husband. Which meant that while the chicken marinated in wine, she got to work creating a masterpiece.
“It’s good that you’re finally painting my portrait, but…”
The model, lounging languidly against the long willow bench in the studio, grumbled with displeasure:
“Did you really have to paint me naked?”
Apparently, Ethan had never posed nude before. He’d already panicked when she told him to strip completely.
“You undress just fine in bed.”
The moment she teased him lightly, he boldly stripped off his clothes and bared himself. But before she could even finish the sketch, he started showing signs of discomfort. Eve didn’t lift her eyes from the canvas.
“Really. Just like the first time.”
“Have you ever posed nude?”
“Of course not.”
“Want some advice on what it’s like?”
“Go ahead.”
“I feel like a raw chicken.”
Eve nearly laughed out loud, barely managing not to ruin the canvas—which would be hard to replace now.
“But while the chicken enjoys a luxurious wine bath, I’m forced to display my nakedness. In broad daylight. I’m worse off than the chicken.”
“If you were worse off than a chicken, would I be painting you? You promised to be my model.”
“Still, couldn’t you have painted me decently the first time?”
“Your body is decent.”
Eve let her gaze travel over the divine statue that no genius sculptor could ever replicate.
Platinum blond hair that seemed to give off a sweet-sour champagne scent. A face that blended boy and man. Muscles so imposing they made you nervous just looking at them—and yet, they also betrayed his tension. Elegance and masculinity, decadence and wildness. His body gave Eve every aesthetic pleasure she’d ever hoped to find in a man. For this painting on the theme of the god of pleasure, there was no model more perfect than Ethan.
“Speaking as an artist,” she said, “I feel it’s my duty to immortalize your beautiful body.”
At that, he seemed to puff up with pride. Ethan’s lips stretched into a smile, and he nodded toward his clearly defined abs.
“I owe this body to you.”
Eve had already started to look back at the canvas, but she lifted her head in confusion.
“I worked out every time I thought of you.”
He says he suffered from unrequited love for me, so why does hearing that make me feel so good?
Like Ethan, Eve bit her lip to suppress a smile.
“What a disappointment. Does that mean you don’t need to work out anymore?”
“What are you talking about? We ‘worked out’ yesterday, both day and night.”
For a man who cracked dirty jokes so boldly, he looked rather shy. Not exactly fitting for a god of pleasure.
“Could you change the… atmosphere of your body? To something a little more… lewd.”
“The atmosphere of my body? What kind of airy-fairy nonsense is that? Even if it existed, how am I supposed to change it at will? I can’t even style my own hair the way I want.”
After this caustic outburst, he looked down between his legs and grinned slyly.
“What, do you want me to grab my dick and start jerking off to create this ‘lewd atmosphere’ of yours?”
“Yes. Try it.”
Ethan, who’d said it as a joke, narrowed his eyes. Eve knew he had no intention of actually doing it—that was exactly why she’d told him to try, just to tease him. The member that used to rise at a single glance had remained depressingly limp ever since he’d become a model for this painting.
To give him a lewd look, all she needed to do was adjust his pose a little. Eve tucked her brush between her fingers, stood up, and walked over to Ethan.
“Roll your shoulders back slightly. Tilt your head back a bit. Make it look arrogant. Now hold still.”
“Lewd is… like this?”
“I said don’t move—ah!”
His hand suddenly slipped under her skirt. That truly lewd habit made Eve’s body go limp instantly.
Thud.
The brush fell from her hand and landed on Ethan’s lower abdomen. Along with the rolling brush, white oil paint splattered across his abs. The man looked down at his stomach, smeared with the sticky liquid, and grinned, calling it a masterpiece.
“Title: Couldn’t Hold Back Thinking of You.“
Eve shot him an angry glare and started wiping the paint off with her apron—then suddenly froze.
“Didn’t I tell you not to move?”
The wilted flesh between his legs had swollen and lifted its head sharply.
“You’re the one who raised it. Don’t you want to immortalize this proud majesty?”
“That’s something only I will know.”
Even though she’d told him not to move, Ethan threw his head back and laughed.
“Hmm… there’s only one way to return it to its original form…”
The thick tip of his organ bobbed at the level of Eve’s lips, sometimes touching them, sometimes pulling away. Now that Ethan’s penis no longer disgusted her, she had no reason not to take it in her mouth—but Eve straightened up. Just in time, as she bent to pick up the brush from the floor, an excellent idea came to mind.
Click.
She set aside the paint-stained brush and took out a new one. Gripping it, she stepped closer, and the man sitting on the long willow bench tensed up. His nervousness was completely undisguised.
“What are you going to do?”
“This is sable hair…”
“That’s not what I asked—hngh…”
“It’s soft and gentle. Like a feather.”
She ran the tip of the fine-bristled brush over the swollen flesh at the head of his member. The man’s massive, powerful body—like a bronze statue—jolted violently from that single light touch.
How amusing.
“Tell me if it hurts.”
Ethan gritted his teeth so hard his jaw muscles jumped, but he would never admit to being in pain.
“Hahk… Wait… hnn…”
“Hmm… does it feel best here?”
This time, she discovered that the most sensitive spots were the area around the urethra and the back of the glans. Eve was enjoying this new excitement no less than Ethan.
She was painting on a new canvas. The owner of the body generously supplied the transparent, sticky paint. When it seemed like there wasn’t enough, she squeezed the thick tube of paint with her hand, rubbed it, and a stream shot out immediately.
She coated the dark-red flesh with paint using the brush, over and over…
“Ghhk!”
That willow bench might actually break. Ethan, gripping the bench and trembling, squeezed his eyes shut. I wonder if he realizes it’s no longer a brush, even though he can’t see?
Eve cautiously lowered her head. The moment she put the brush aside and carefully licked the tip of his member, Ethan’s eyes flew open.
So he noticed.
He stared down at Eve in shock, sucking in a ragged breath. Holding his gaze, Eve lowered her head again. The instant she took the piece of flesh into her mouth—like a kiss—he jerked his penis out of her mouth.
“Already?”
Semen, like carelessly mixed white paint, gushed from the tip of his member and trickled downward.
“You have a talent for making men come prematurely. Ha…”
She looks so noble, but it turns out she has an innate talent for lewdness. Even though he’d reached orgasm, his lust still blazed—all because of Eve.
And look at what she was doing now.
Lady Evelyn, with an elegant smile on her face, was using her hands and a brush to wipe the semen Ethan had ejaculated onto his own stomach—”painting” it into the grooves between his abs.
Why is she smearing my seed back onto me?
The man watching the brush soaked in clotted semen suddenly smiled, darkly. He took the brush from her and rose from the bench. Eve had long since forgotten about the painting, so she didn’t say a word when the model moved.
“Ah…”
He braced one knee on the bench, and while Eve stood there awkwardly, reached under her skirt and pulled down her underwear in one motion.
“Your turn.”
He sat Eve down in the spot where he’d been sitting, then lowered himself to his knees at her feet.
“Lift your skirt.”
She slowly—very slowly—hiked up the hem. Not to tease him. Her body had already tightened in anticipation of where that brush would touch next. When she raised the skirt to her waist, he commanded:
“Spread your legs.”
She could only part them as far as her underwear—still dangling around her ankles—would allow. But that was more than enough to reveal to Ethan the canvas he was about to paint on.
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