Chapter 14 - Olivia

“Wait…” I frown, stepping onto the ground on the mountaintop and out of Stryder's arms, when I spot a familiar chest hidden behind a rock. “... Is that what I think it is?”

He chuckles as he retracts his wings behind him and treks forward over the rocks. For a split second, I'm distracted by how hot he is, climbing over the rocks like a nimble, muscular athlete.

God, I can barely get enough of him.

He reaches the box and lifts it, facing me with a giant grin. Even with fresh slashes on his cheek, he's perfect. In fact, the remnants of a fight only add to the allure. Makes him rough around the edges, and my mind suddenly drifts into a despicable thought.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I giggle, coming back to the present and stepping forward. He held out a hand to help me get over the rocks and to the more leveled surface of the mountaintop.

“I know you were thinking something,” he observes keenly. “Tell me what it is.”

“Not right now,” I shake my head. “What's important is this.” I point at the box. I know exactly what it is, but I have no idea how it ended up here.

It's not like I'd brought my box of painting tools when Stryder flew me out here. And it's impossible that I magically manifested its arrival when I stood up here the other day, picturing myself painting the scene of the island.

“Right…” he says, holding the wooden box with both hands out toward me. “I thought it would be good for you to have something from your apartment. So I went back and found this.”

“How thoughtful.” I praise in a whisper, taking the box and feeling my heart swell with appreciation. I look up to find Stryder watching me through the veil of his lashes, his creamy cheeks filling with color.

He’s so sheepish right now; he appears years younger than he is. I mean, he is over nine hundred years old. But eternally, he always appears like a mature thirty-year-old. Right now, he’s dropped a couple of years, his arms behind him as if he’s waiting to be praised like a child who’s earned a trophy.

It earns him a kiss on the cheek, his eyes lighting up like it’s the exact prize he’d been hoping for.

“Thank you, Stryder,” I smile, clutching my box of painting tools with both hands.

“If you really wanna thank me…” he begins, clearing his throat. “... You could tell me where your mind was a few moments ago.”

Sighing in mock frustration, I roll my eyes playfully and turn to the view of the island. It’s so peaceful up here, the distant sounds of birds chirping matching the flow of the gushing waterfall, creating a harmonic melody that provides the perfect backdrop.

“Fine,” I relent, turning back to him. He has one brow raised expectantly, and I don’t have any reason to hide my promiscuous thoughts from him.

After all, he’s the only man I’ve been intimate with in my whole life. If he’s worthy of my body, he deserves my mind too.

“... I couldn’t help but notice how rugged you are now with all of this,” I giggle, reaching out and gently stroking his cheek where he’d been cut terribly.

“Hm…? And?” He captures my wrist and stares fiercely into my eyes, causing my heart to skip a beat.

I’m almost at a loss for words again, but I’ve learned how to overcome Stryder’s charms and compose myself when I need to. So, I take a deep breath and stare back into his eyes.

“I remembered that we have cuffs back in the room,” I whisper seductively. “You know, the ones you had me tied up with?”

“Uh-huh… I’m listening.”

I bat my eyelids purposely before continuing, “It would be fun to try out some roleplay. You could be the battered criminal, and I would naturally be the cop who arrests you.”

“Hm…” he drawls, licking his lips. “Sounds like fun.” His eyes quickly dart to the side toward the castle behind me, then settle back on mine, this time with a dark glow that tells me he’s already hard just thinking about it. “Wanna head back?”

“Nah…” I say blankly, slipping my hand out from his grip and turning toward the island. “I’ve changed my mind.”

A moment of silence passes, in which I feel a build-up of satisfaction in my chest. I don’t even need to see his face to know that he’s disappointed. He doesn’t say a word, probably pouting behind me and sulking for a missed opportunity.

He doesn’t realize that I have a very vivid imagination.

“I was thinking–”

“You were?”: he perks up behind me, prompting me to giggle with amusement.

“Yes. I was thinking I’d rather spend the day painting. After all, that’s why you brought my painting kit here, right?”

“Right…”

The gloominess in his voice is pitiful. As I expected, he’s sulking behind me, kicking dirt under one sneaker with his hands shoved into his pockets.

Pursing my lips, I reach out one hand and wait for him to look up. As he takes my hand, I suggest, “I’d like to paint you.”

A frown flits past his face, his eyes lighting up with wonder. “You wanna paint me?”

I nod. “I wanna paint you on this mountain.”

His lips curl into an eager smile as he climbs up on a rock near the mountain's edge. I can’t help but giggle when he begins posing there with the island behind him.

“Like this?” he asks, planting one hand on his hip, the other pointing to the sky. “Or like this?” he asks when he clutches his chin and props his elbow on one knee.”

“Naked,” I say matter-of-factly, to which Stryder straightens up and stares at me with wide eyes.

“N-naked?”

“Yes,” I nod, setting my toolbox on the floor and finding a seat on a steady rock. I look up at him and raise my brows expectantly. “I wanna paint you naked, lying on the grass with the sunset behind you.”

I’ve never been so bold as I am right now. My confidence is only boosted when Stryder nods his understanding and kicks off his shoes. I blush as I watch him slowly peel off his clothes in front of me, his cheek dimples trenching while he smirks and puts on the show for me.

When he’s in nothing but his checkered boxer shorts, I size him up from head to toe, biting my bottom lip and stifling my sudden desire to fling myself at him and have him rip off my clothes.

“Naked,” I repeat, licking my lips as I settle my gaze on his shorts.

He chuckles under his breath as he slips down the shorts, fully exposing every delicious inch of him. I can barely appreciate how beautiful the scene behind him becomes as the sun sets. The man is a natural work of art, and I must remind myself that I need to paint him right now.

While Stryder gets comfortable on the grass, I take out my equipment and unfold a blank sheet of canvas paper from the bottom of the toolbox. I set up my workstation on nature’s desktop, gathering water from the stream for my paintbrushes.

I have to take a moment to compose myself, needing to view Stryder like just another object I’m meant to paint. When I pick my first brush, my fingers tingle with a passion I’ve never felt.

“When did you learn how to paint?” he asks as he stays still in his position.

I dip my brush in the colors to match his green eyes. “It’s not something I learned. It was a hobby since I was a child.”

“You haven’t told me much about your childhood.”

“It wasn’t that interesting,” I shrug, putting a tinge of color in his pupils. “I grew up in an orphanage in Michigan, and I worked my ass off to join the FBI.”

Stryder nods slowly, readjusting his hip on the grass and propping his cheek on one hand. “I’m sorry,” he says, to which I shake my head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I chuckle lightly. “It’s life.”

I look up from my painting to check what color I need next when I find Stryder staring at me for the longest time.

“You seem…” he pauses to find the right word. “... Different.”

A shiver passes through me as I recognize what he means. A few days ago, I was determined to get back home. To return to my job, to the mission. Now, armed with my paintbrushes, the thought of getting back to my world is actually dreadful.

Life out here, on the remote island, is peaceful and calming, allowing me to do the one thing I love more than paperwork or hiding behind an alias. Here, I’m free to be my most authentic self, swiftly stroking the bristles of my paintbrush to reimagine the beauty I see through my own perspective.

I am free to express myself. Free to speak my mind without fear of being judged.

And it’s all thanks to the dragon shifter, who doubles as a Greek God perched on the grass for my painting pleasure. Right now, I’m not even sure if I want to go back. I’m enjoying myself way too much.

I return to my painting, a sheepish smile curling my lips. “You could say it’s because I’m in my element.”

“Clearly,” he chuckles. “Ordering a man around seems to be something you’re good at.”

“Don’t distract me,” I warn playfully, deliberately not looking up as I paint the contours of his defined abs.

“I’m just pointing out the obvious, Van Gogh.”

“Pfft!” I blow out in amusement, forced to lift my gaze. “Van Gogh?! Really?”

Stryder rolls his eyes toward the sky, his lips cutely puckering to one side. “Nah! He never had the privilege of painting such a handsome character.”

“Wait…” I sneer. “Don’t tell me you met the man…”

“Ah! So you were listening to my lesson about history that day?”

I purse my lips and nod sheepishly. Even though I’d been feigning nonchalance, I’d heard about the many historic figures the dragon shifters had met throughout their lives.

“I’m good at acting,” I lament with a casual shrug.

“I’ve gathered that much,” Stryder titters, rearranging his position as he sighs. “I wonder what part you’re gonna play next.”

When he says that, it’s just in time for me to paint a particular human aspect of the dragon shifter. Stifling my urge to giggle, I look up and bite on the tip of the brush handle while ogling him.

“How about the part where I need to figure out which brush to use to depict the texture?”

Stryder catches where my gaze lingers, and his tummy visibly tightens. “How do you plan on finding out?”

“Hm…” I remove the paper from my lap, safely setting it aside on a rock and using the brush stand to keep it in place. Standing up, I meet Stryder’s curious eyes and slowly stroll forward. Pressing a finger on my chin, I pretend to give it some thought. “I’d need to test the texture with my hands. Get a feel for it, you know?”

Stryder rolls over onto his back and bends an arm under his head. While his gaze heats up and darkens, his manhood grows erect on his belly. Licking my lips in anticipation, I step between his legs and crouch.

Laying on his belly, his hard cock twitches where the pulsing vein running the length of the shaft is mapped out. With my bottom lip tucked between my teeth, I tentatively reach out and stroke my fingertips across his velvety length.

His tummy tightens again, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he gulps. “D-did you get what you n-needed?” he croaks, his body trembling when I brush my fingertips over the swollen crown.

“Not quite…” I muse, exploring the tip with the tip of my forefinger. A droplet of precum escapes the tiny slit, so I gather it with my fingertip and spread it in a circle over the smooth head. “If I want to get this right, I’m gonna have to be thorough.”

“H-how do you plan on doing that?”

“Some things need to be palette tested,” I murmur, leaning all the way down until his cock is in front of my face. When I blow warm air over the shaft, Stryder sucks in a breath through gritted teeth.

He looks down at me, reaching out and carding his fingers through my hair, removing it from my face so thoughtfully. I smile sheepishly, maintaining the eye contact as I wrap my fingers around the base and wrap my lips around the head.

“Hmmm…” he mewls, throwing his head back. “That feels so good, baby doll.”

His words of praise serve as encouragement to slide my mouth as far as I can until he touches the back of my throat. His moans sound like music to my ears, and I drink them up the way I drink his salty-sweetness from the precum leaking at the top. Bobbing my head steadily on his cock, his fingers tighten in my hair to guide me into a quicker pace. Stryder looks up again, his eyes glossed over with such heady lust, he appears to be on the brink of tears.

I’m prompted to keep going, forming a vacuum with my mouth and flattening my tongue to get as much of him inside me. He loses the grip in my hair, grabbing fistfuls of grass as he slowly bucks his hips, thrusting into my mouth.

I’m so wet right now, that I have to clamp my thighs together, craving his touch but needing to see this through. I need to taste all of him, and with a sturdy groan, he makes it known that he’s about to come.

“Please…. Olivia… Oh, gods!”

Running with the thrill of having him beg for mercy, I use my free hand to stroke his scrotum. The sack tightens underneath my touch before he grunts and grabs my head with both hands. Hot ropes of cum lather my throat as he spills his seed inside my mouth. When he’s done and his body melts to the ground beneath him, his chest heaving rapidly, I pop my lips off him. He watches me as my throat works to swallow his manly essence before he reaches out and grabs me to his chest.

He tastes himself on my tongue when he kisses me, the raw act mimicking the way he had me tasting myself before. When he pulls back, panting, he stares deeply into my eyes and rasps, “It’s your turn, now.”