Seeing Beck in his overalls with the sleeves tied around his waist made her want to squeal. Instead, she took off all her clothes and put on her own work shirt, which was just one of Beck’s old button-downs. Well that’s what he said it was, she’d never seen him in a button-down in all her life.

He was walking around the external Quag piece, the rectangular perimeter canvas they’d made to go around the original piece, with a foot of air between them.

Jaycee was lying on her side at one of the long sides of The Quag, facing The Abyss that was on the wall opposite. She didn’t know what to look at; it was like an overload on her senses. The original Quag was on an easel to the right with the bedroom far behind it. The art, the man, it was exciting, and overwhelming, and she was desperate to see him work again.

“You said it was nearly done,” she said, drawing a finger up and down the floor between her body and the piece.

“It is,” he said, his voice distracted as he scrutinized it. “I still have to show you how to seal it too, but we’ll have to give it time to dry before we do that.”

He kept walking, and looking, and although his brow got lower, moved up, and went back down again, he didn’t appear any closer to getting the brush that was in his hand wet. When he walked around to stop behind her, she rolled to her back and looked up at him, though he was still looking at the painting.

“You’re not inspired, Maestro?” she asked, disappointed with herself because that was sort of her job. Curling her arm around his ankles, she rested her head on his boot.

“No, I am,” he said, paying no attention to what she was doing. “I’m just struggling to find… direction.”

Hmm, direction, ok. “Does direction react to deadlines? Because there are two little boys down the stairs who don’t care about direction or inspiration.” The reminder of the twins made him smile. Good, he was relaxing, that meant he was taking some of the pressure off himself. She needed to distract his beautiful mind, get him out of his own head. “How come the boys only have blue or white clothes? Your work is a myriad of color of every shade and the boys have white, baby blue, or royal blue, that seems to be it. Did you lose a bet?”

“If you want to buy them clothes, knock yourself out,” he said, turning to The Quag.

Jaycee had suspected he’d been listening in downstairs, but she couldn’t even take that as confirmation that he had been because sometimes he was just in her head. Beck didn’t have to have heard what she said to repeat it.

“I put Van in red. He rocks red, Maestro.”

“Red,” he muttered, and his eyes got narrower. “Passion… it lacks passion.”

Rolling away from him, she cast her attention over the piece as he leaped into the middle of it and hunkered down. He dropped to his knees and leaned over to grab the paints from the tray at the perpendicular side. But after he grabbed the paint and his palate, he dropped them down at his side and set his focus on her.

Now it was Jaycee’s turn to be scrutinized like the piece had been. “What?” she asked.

“Unbutton your shirt.”

She exhaled a smile, but rolled to her back and started to unbutton the shirt that was fastened to her collarbone. “When did it become standard practice for me to be naked while you work?”

“Stop,” he said when she unfastened the button just beneath her breasts. “I don’t want you naked.” That was a surprise. Rolling onto her side, Jaycee propped her head on a fist to query what he did want with a silent frown. “I want you to juice the peach.”

“You want me to…” Her mouth fell open, only Beck would ask her to do something like that without shame or hesitation. “I can’t do that,” she hissed and glanced at the open studio door. Granted, it was thirty feet away, but still, it was open, and the guys were down the stairs.

“Why not?” he asked, squirting paint onto his palate. “I’ve seen you do it before.” Yeah, he had. It wasn’t the idea of pleasuring herself in front of him that had made her react with shock. Amused, she closed her mouth and her lips curled into a smile. He paused. “What? You want me to start you off?”

“No, I… I didn’t even think about being embarrassed in front of you,” she said and covered her laugh with a hand because she should’ve thought about that. Any other woman would be mortified to think of doing such a thing in front of a friend in the name of inspiration. But he was her maestro and it was her duty to do whatever had to be done to wring his potential from him. “I was worried about one of the guys walking in.”

“The guys aren’t allowed up here,” he said, but stood and made short work of striding to the door to pull it closed. “There, problem solved, they don’t have the code. Now they have to knock.”

“And I have to be quiet,” she muttered and turned to her back as he leaped into the middle of the piece again. “I told you it’s been a while. It might take me some time to get up to speed.” She opened and closed her hands at him fast. “Gimme your shirt.”

Tugging it off, Beck tossed it at her face. Inhaling his scent from the fabric, Jaycee sighed and realized it wouldn’t take as much time as it should. Something warm and soft touched her ankle and when she lifted her head to peek out from under his tee-shirt she saw he was trailing the tip of the clean paintbrush up the front of her leg.

“I’m supposed to be inspiring you,” she whispered as her blood pressure rose to heat her veins.

Lifting her first two fingers toward him, she didn’t have to tell him what she needed. He bowed over the piece, opened his mouth and sucked them in, wetting them with his tongue. That tongue had tasted hers, it had been inside her, he had been inside her.

Hmm… He better paint fast because she had a feeling this was going to be over for her soon.

Jaycee didn’t want to take her fingers away from him because it would mean tearing her eyes from his too. He had to work, and he needed her to start before he could.

“Beck,” she breathed out his name, her fingers slid off his lips and moved to her core.

Lifting her hips, she closed her eyes and pressed his shirt into her nose and mouth as her fingers skimmed over her clit. The touch of air on her breast told her that he’d exposed her, but it was the sound of the paintbrush smudging the paint that made her whimper again.

Pleasuring herself hadn’t been on her agenda since she gave birth, she’d told Beck that last night. It could be that he’d asked her to do this for her benefit more than his own, to get her back in the groove. Before giving birth, sex had been a big part of her life with him, before sex they pleasured each other, and previous to that she’d been her own best friend a couple of times a day.

It did feel different now and she felt more open, even as her feet came higher and her knees fell apart. She was testing the slickness of her flesh, smudging her juices over her clit. Her pelvis moved up into her hand and down.

She gritted her teeth. “Maestro,” she whispered, but her eyes didn’t open, she just rubbed his shirt on her face and moaned. “Mmmm…”

He didn’t speak, but she felt the heat of his eyes, the intensity of his passion.

The sound of the brush on paint cascaded around her.

It seemed so loud. Everything seemed loud here. The blood rushing through her veins, the rasp of her hair on the burlap floor, the pounding of her love for the man in the center of the piece they were creating together.

“Stop,” he said, and she yelped.

“Maestro!”

“I said stop, Muse!”

Her hand fell against her thigh and she turned her drowsy eyes to him. “I didn’t come.”

“You will,” he said, only glancing at her for a second before he moved onto another section of the painting. “I promise, Muse.”

“Are we going to have sex?” she panted, unable to lift her head.

One side of his mouth rose, and he peeked at her for a brief moment. “In the name of inspiration? Can I get away with that?” He made her smile and she slid her hand over her pussy again. “Ah-ah.” He pointed the end of his brush at her. “In a minute.”

“You used to be a more generous lover,” she said, boneless as she watched him work and took her fingers to her lips, but as soon as the tip of her tongue touched her fingertips, he seized her wrist making her gasp.

“That’s my part of the job,” he said, and pulled her up against the Quag to suck her fingers deep into his mouth.

Her heart was pounding in her belly and she had to close her legs tight to try to stimulate herself again. “Oh, Beck, we’re breaking so many rules.”

“I can enjoy how you taste,” he said, trailing his tongue up between her fingers. “Platonically.”

That statement did make her laugh, so maybe that meant she believed it was true, or that both of them were kidding themselves and she’d tipped into hysteria before the genius artist. “That seems unfair, I can’t enjoy how you taste.”

He stopped licking. “Do you want to?”

Did she want to? She always wanted to. Anything that intensified her intimacy with her maestro was on her list, though it was such a bad idea.

“Yes,” she said. “But it’s against the rules.”

“The rules out there have never applied up here.”

That was true. Nonsensical, but true. This wasn’t another planet. It wasn’t another dimension. This was reality. The same rules that applied everywhere else should apply here, but for some reason, when they were creating together, the line between should and shouldn’t, smart and not, became an invisible haze.

“Maestro—”

“What my muse wants, my muse gets,” he said and sucked her fingers again. “Go again, girl. Gentle, take your time.”

He wanted her to tease herself, maybe if she teased herself he wouldn’t cut her off like he had before. “I’m not good at going slow when I’m thinking about you,” she said. Burying his shirt against her face, she stroked herself with her fingertips. “Just being in a room with you gets me started.”

“You’re a beautiful creature,” he said in his work voice. “You fascinate me.”

She could tell, and it was that fascination that made her feel like the most beautiful woman who ever breathed. It was the attention he gave her that made her want to please him. Jaycee would do anything for this man. Anything. She’d been willing to die for him and the reminder of that made her mouth open in a gasp.

She’d have died for him. Her tormentor. Her lover. Her maestro.

Jaycee teased her flesh, caressing herself as she whispered her words of pleasure into the fabric of his shirt. But just like he told her, she went slow, taking herself close to the edge and pulling back, following his instructions as her maestro gave them.

Rolling left and right, she was panting hard, moaning for him, teetering on the precipice. “Beck,” she gasped. “Oh, Maestro, let me—”

“Come, Jaycee,” he said, his voice right in her ear.

Turning her head and opening her eyes, she was surprised to find him there, lying on the floor beside her. With her eyes matched to his, she inhaled her release in a sharp wheeze. His legs scooped under hers, closing them together and it was then she felt the head of his dick against her thigh.

“Oh, Beck,” she blew out his name in a whisper.

They couldn’t have sex, they couldn’t. But, oh no, how could she feel like this and resist him?

“Do you want to swallow for me?” he asked, and her body began to buzz. Nodding fast, she pushed on his shoulders, but he didn’t go onto his back, he stayed on his side. “Ah, ah, no contact, remember? Just open for me.”

So, she wasn’t allowed to suck him off? Wriggling down, Jaycee stayed on her back, but tipped her open mouth toward him as he jerked his dick just an inch from her lips. Oh, she wanted more, wanted him inside her, in her mouth, in her pussy. It didn’t seem right that he was so close and she still wasn’t allowed to be with him.

With his weight propped on one forearm, his body swayed closer to hers and she stuck out her tongue to catch the slick milk he pumped from his cock for her just a few seconds later. When she’d swallowed once, she tried to lean in to take the final drips, but he flopped to his back and used the shirt he’d given her to wipe her face before he dropped it over his groin.

Damn. He’d taken the last of her treat away from her. But if she complained, he might laugh at her. It was her initial impulse to lift onto him, to nestle herself against his side and rest her head on his shoulder. But she couldn’t snuggle with him.

What they’d done was against the rules, sort of, but she didn’t feel guilty about it. At the end of the day, the only real contact was when he’d sucked her fingers—that wasn’t intimate, was it? Anyone could suck anyone’s fingers.

Yep, they were cool. Friends. Just friends. Nothing more than friends.

“That was a productive session,” he said, his arm falling over his eyes. Climbing from the floor, she headed to the bathroom. “Babe?”

“Just washing my hands,” she called back to him.

If she didn’t get up and move now the urge would be for one or both of them to take things up a notch. They’d been lucky. Pleasuring themselves in front of the other wasn’t even quite MAC. It could be argued that it was, because they had both come, but they could just as easily have been in their own homes, alone, for that. So, yep, didn’t count.

Washing her hands and her face, Jaycee looked at herself in the mirror. Who was she kidding? Beckett Trent was the hottest man she’d ever known, he was the complete package and instead of putting her off, seeing him with the twins only increased her attraction to him.

Although she was reluctant to wash his taste from her mouth, she drank some water and used his toothbrush. The boys would be waking up soon and his friends were down the stairs, she couldn’t go down there smelling of Beck or they’d know what had happened.

Tying her hair onto her head, she jumped into the shower to wash her body. Jaycee had forgotten how great his shower was and the heat of the water on her breasts made them tingle. Damn. She was filling up again.

When she came out in a towel, she dried off and started to dress.

Beck was working on the piece again. It gave her a thrill to see him working, it always had, but the exhilaration was so much more concentrated when she knew she’d put that drive into him. A couple of days ago, he’d been avoiding the studio, and now he was back to full-strength… well, almost.

A squeak on the monitor made them both turn, and she started for the door. “I can get him,” Beck said.

Jaycee hadn’t known if her maestro had been aware of her. Though, that was stupid, he was always aware of her. “You have to clean up. It’s Van, so he won’t disturb Gogh, but if he’s hungry I’ll buy you some time.”

He smiled. “How do you know it was Van?”

She stopped with both hands on the studio door handle. “I… I don’t know. Am I wrong?”

“Nope,” he said, scratching the back of his head with the paintbrush. “No, Muse, you weren’t wrong.”

Pulling open the door, she was ready to go to the baby when Beck spoke again. “Muse?”

Somehow she sensed his uncertainty, knew that he needed some reassurance. “I love inspiring you, Beckett Trent. You are a wonder to me.”

 

 

When Beck came down the stairs, later than he’d meant to, he found Jaycee in the living room with Snick. Each had a baby and they were facing each other.

“Slide your hand up his leg,” Jaycee said. “Squeeze, not hard, just with enough pressure that he knows you’re there.”

Leaping down the last few stairs, Beck drew the attention of the adults. “Who’s hungry?” he asked, heading for the kitchen. Pine and Pete weren’t there, but he’d guess Pete had needed to get to AD. “What are you guys doing?”

“Baby massage,” she said, putting both babies in their bouncy chairs.

Leaping to her feet, Jaycee came to the kitchen and took his hand to pull him away from the cupboards. “What?” he asked.

“Uncle Stephen is going to watch your angels for a few minutes,” she said, locking her fingers between his.

“Who?” Beck asked as she took him toward the stairs he’d just descended.

She laughed. “You do know that’s his name; Stephen Nicholas.”

Right, he wasn’t thinking about his friends when she was touching him. “Yeah, I probably knew that,” he said.

“Put the TV on that channel I showed you,” she called to Snick. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Something else you want me to create?” Beck asked as she pulled him back up the stairs.

This time she didn’t take him into the body of the studio, she took him toward the bed. If she wanted some private time, he was up for it, but he’d have expected her to demand it when they were both lost in the mist of arousal, not after they’d calmed down.

Twisting to face him, she pulled his tee-shirt off and loosened his belt to shove his jeans down. Yes, good girl. Scooping a hand under her ear, he drew her up and ducked to go in for a kiss, but she slanted away and with a saucy smile, she shook her head.

No kissing? Was that going to be a rule? But she loved kissing him almost as much as he loved kissing her.

“Muse?”

“Lie down,” she murmured, and moved aside to give him a shove toward the bed.

Ok, she’d left his boxers on when usually she just took them off with his jeans. But Beck got onto the bed and was going to take his cock out for her when she straddled his feet, grabbed his leg and pushed it over.

“What are you—”

“On your chest, Maestro,” she said, walking on her knees, ascending his legs.

“My dick is right here,” he said, putting a hand at the back of his head and the other into his underwear.

Her smile got wider. “You think I don’t know where your dick is, Maestro? I make it my business to know where he is as much as possible.”

“Then slide right on,” he said.

But she slapped his thigh and he groaned as he rolled over onto his chest. Jaycee climbed up to sit on his ass. “You are going to get some sleep.”

“Sleep?” he asked, grabbing a pillow to stuff it under his head. She began to massage his shoulders and back. “I don’t need to sleep, Muse. I got enough of it last night.”

“I say you didn’t, and it’s my job to take care of my maestro.”

Like it was his responsibility to protect his muse. Straightening an arm down his side, Beck fingered her leg. “Lie down with me and I’ll sleep.”

“We can’t leave the boys downstairs with Snick for long,” she said, bowing over him to put a hand on his eyes. “Close your eyes, Maestro, please.”

“I can’t leave them alone with anyone. Have they been awake long?”

“Both fed,” she said and went back to her massage, his eyes stayed closed. “And I promise I’ll bring them up to you if they get upset… I know I’m not capable—”

“You’re the only one I trust with them,” he said.

It did feel nice to just let himself relax and enjoy the sensation of being under her professional hands.

“The guys and I were talking,” she said, continuing her massage, which felt so good he couldn’t stop himself from relaxing. “They told me about them helping out more and I think it’s a great idea… and now that we’re friends, having you back at AD would be good for me, selfishly.”

Opening his hands around her calves, he squeezed her. “It was you I thought about when they suggested that.”

How she could even think about suggesting that she might be selfish was baffling, she’d done nothing but take care of him and the boys all day. “They worked out that they’ll each stay over two nights a week. Pine will stay weekends, Friday and Saturday. Pete can take Monday and Tuesday off AD. So that leaves Snick with you on Wednesday and Thursdays.”

As much as he appreciated his friends wanting to help, he wasn’t sure he’d like having people in his home full-time. “Are they going to need entertaining?” he asked, but she laughed, probably because he sounded so grumpy.

“With those beautiful boys in the house, you’ll be lucky if anyone ever knows you’re here,” she said, skimming both hands down either side of his spine.

“Hold on,” he said and raised his hips, boosting her up so she had to brace both hands on his shoulders. Fumbling beneath his body, he adjusted his dick to accommodate the boner she’d encouraged with her damn massage.

When he sagged back onto his front, she bowed to kiss the back of his neck. “If any of my clients tried that, I’d call the cops,” she murmured.

He hadn’t been explicit, but she must have guessed what she’d done to him. But he cracked open an eye and twisted toward her. “Do you sit on a lot of your clients?”

“Is that why?” she asked, rocking her hips. “I still have one of my travel tables downstairs if you’d prefer—”

“Don’t you dare think about moving,” he said, settling back down. “Wasn’t so long ago that every massage you gave me came with a happy ending.”

Pushing her thumbs into his neck, she gripped his shoulders. “Do you think we accidently conditioned your dick into expecting relief?”

He laughed. Jaycee was the only one who could make him relax like this. “I think he’s conditioned to want it whenever you walk in.”

Slapping both hands onto his back, she climbed off him. “Ok, we’re done.”

“We are?” he asked, catching her waist before she could get off the bed. Pulling her to him, he closed both arms around her and squeezed tight. “Stay with me a while, Muse.”

“Beck,” she whispered, drawing her fingertips around his lips. The gentle tone made him open his eyes to seek hers. “Let me go… You have to let me go.”

She was talking about more than just here in this bed now and he recalled his dream when he’d promised to grant her freedom if her life was spared. Loosening his arms, he let her ease away, but she didn’t withdraw completely, she stayed by his side, stroking his brow.

“Close your eyes, my love,” she soothed with her delicate fingers and murmured tenderness. “Dream… dream of the boys, of the paint and the work. Dream of everything that makes you happy.”

“My muse,” he said, letting his eyes close.

“Dream of me. I’m here. I’m with you, Maestro.”

His eyes opened again. “Are you, Jaycee? With me?”

“Always.”