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An assassin prepares for her interrogation.


I reached to the bench for tubes of yellow, burnt sienna and white.

"But maybe the best thing about red," she continued, "is that it's such a passionate color. Red makes no compromises or apologies for its fire, strength or boldness - it's about power, desire; maybe even lust, if that's possible for a color."

I squeezed a dollop of the red onto the palette as she spoke and grabbed another brush. I added a small dot of yellow and a tiny dab each of the burnt sienna and white and began mixing.

"I thought the first tube was already red. Why do you have to mix?"

"You don't just like red," I explained. "You breathed life into it; put a picture of a very specific red into my mind. So that's the shade of red I will create for you."

I mixed and tweaked for a few minutes. Suddenly she gasped softly.

"That's the red you love, isn't it?" I whispered.

It really was a stunning shade - just enough of the yellow and sienna into the mix to take the red a tiny bit toward orange; a fiery mix that walked the line between bold and sensual. The shade matched the feeling her smoldering eyes drove into my soul every time she looked at me.

She didn't take time to answer; instead she dipped her brush immediately into the paint and prepared to attack the canvas. But she stopped short of the first brush stroke.

"I don't know what to do," she giggled. "I've never done anything more than 'paint-by-numbers' in my life."

"Remember, it's about feel. Close your eyes for a moment and feel the image inside you, just dying to come out."

Her first brush strokes were tentative; slow, almost as if she were fighting to coax her imagination into action. Then her hand began moving more quickly, creating a series of lines radiating from an empty center - much like a child might draw the sun, but without the circle in the center of the image.

"I told you that you could do it - what did you feel?"

"It's not right," she griped. "The lines are all clumpy and thick."

"You just needed a softer touch on the brush, and maybe a tiny bit less paint. You develop a feel for those kind of things."

"Make me feel it," she whimpered again, melting me with her alluring eyes.

I stepped behind the stool, taking her hand in mine to lead it. She leaned against me ever so slightly; it took my breath away for a moment to feel the intimacy and closeness of the pose. We dipped the brush together, and I led her through removing the excess paint from the brush before we approached the canvas for a few gentle practice strokes.

"Now, a light touch is all that's needed - and loosen your grip on the brush a tiny bit."

The brush fell into her lap, leaving a bold red stripe on her bare thigh just below the edge of her bright green skirt.

"Not quite that loose," I chuckled.

"HEY! You painted me!" she exclaimed, feigning indignation.

She picked up the brush and dabbed my cheek with it.

"There. Now we match," she said with a smirk.

"Not exactly," I corrected, taking my mixing brush to dab her cheek in the same spot. "There, that's a better match."

"Oh, you did NOT just do that," she said, giggling through her attempts to sound stern. She ran her brush down the entire side of my face.

I thought you didn't know how to paint," I teased as I painted a squiggle across the portion of her chest exposed by her low-cut white blouse.

She leaned in closer. "I have a great teacher," she whispered in my ear. Then she laughed as she painted my forehead.

I pulled her close to me, devouring her lips in a passionate kiss. She dabbed paint on my other cheek and smirked again.

"Apparently I have a pretty good student, too," I laughed, dotting the tip of her nose with my brush as I spoke.

"This lesson seems to be getting a bit messy," she said, her breath sounding a bit ragged as she unbuttoned my shirt to paint zigzag lines across my chest.

I unfastened the first few buttons of her blouse and painted the silky smooth valley between her breasts.

"You m

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