Page 173 of If You Give an Artist a Killer Muse

-It’s technically still the morning. Don’t be fucking ungrateful, brat.

-Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Happy now?

ME:

- I’m so grateful, Rurik. Thank you so much, sir. You’ve no idea how much receiving a text from you this late morning does to my bleeding heart. xoxoxoxo

RURIK MY ANGEL:

-Your ass is just begging to get slapped.

ME:

-*peach emoji* *paddle emoji* maaaybe.

-Will I see you tonight, angel?

RURIK MY ANGEL:

-Yes. Otherwise, who else is going to slap that bratty ass of yours? Certainly not Jamie.

ME:

-Who’s Jamie?

RURIK MY ANGEL:

-Good girl. Good fucking answer.

I blink, staring at his text. Am I… into this? Did my pussy just clench because he called me a good girl?

Fuck me.

ME:

-I don’t remember a Jamie, but okay. I can’t wait to see you tonight. Did you miss me?

RURIK MY ANGEL:

- Oh, you’re good. Maybe I’ll reward you instead, baby. Also, why do you keep asking me that? We saw each other a couple of days ago.

-I’ll text you when I’m coming over. I have to deal with family stuff.

Not me grinning like a fucking idiot because my angel just called me baby and told me he’s going to reward me for being a good girl.

Fuck.

What is wrong with me?

My phone vibrates again; my grin vanishes when I see Nat calling me. Sighing, I answer. “Yup, I’m on my way.”

*-*-*-*

I’m exhausted. We’ve been at it for hours, and I just want to go home and throw myself on the couch. Preferably, I would like to have Rurik massaging my head like he does every night.

“Just fucking tell us!” I snap, socking the guy in the face.

His head whips back from my force, blood splattering on the ground. He looks back at it and grins smugly, “Fuck you, princess.”