ZEPHYR
I shifted in the chair, raising a hand to scratch my neck, and Lyla nearly flew at me to bite me.
"Zephyr! You're not supposed to move!" she snapped, throwing the paintbrush down and pushing herself up from her chair.
She stalked toward me, her hands immediately going to adjust my head back to the position it had been in.
"How do you expect me to paint you well if you keep moving like that?" she muttered under her breath.
"You know, a true artist wouldn't mind a little movement," I teased.
She glared at me. "Shut up and stay still."
I chuckled. "Alright, alright, no more movement. I promise."
Lyla huffed in frustration but couldn't hold back a small smile as she turned and sauntered back to her chair, her jeans hugging her ass in all the right places
I stayed quiet as she
