Chapter 850: Late Honeymoon
She had expected a portrait. An image of her face, her body, her beauty. That was what she had posed for.
Instead, Cassius had painted her breasts!
No arms. No shoulders. No hint of her face or hair or anything that might identify the subject as a complete human being.
Just her breasts, presented in all their naked glory, as if they were the only thing in the world worth capturing.
And they were magnificent.
That was the truly infuriating part. Isabelle’s own painting had been beautiful, but it was clearly a painting.
You could see the brushstrokes, the artistic interpretation, the subtle elevation of reality into art.
But Cassius’s painting didn’t look like a painting at all.
It looked like he had somehow taken a photograph of her breasts and transferred it directly onto the canvas!
Her skin glowed with a healthy, luminous quality—ivory with just the faintest blush of pink in all the right places.
She could literally see the pores of her skin rendered in microscopic detail. How had he managed that? How?!
The shadows also fell perfectly across the swell of her bosom, creating depth and dimension that made the breasts seem almost three-dimensional, as if they might simply rise off the canvas at any moment.
She had to look down at her own chest, just to confirm that Cassius hadn’t somehow stolen her actual breasts and affixed them to the painting.
And the nipples. Oh, gods, the nipples. They stood at the peaks like two precious pink diamonds, the brightest points of color in the entire composition.
Isabelle was mesmerized. Completely, utterly mesmerized by the beautiful painting of her own chest.
Cassius leaned forward eagerly.
"Well? What do you think, Isabelle? Isn’t it beautiful?"
He studied his own work with undisguised admiration.
"Honestly, I had to physically restrain myself from licking the canvas."
He let out a wistful sigh. "I nearly ruined the whole thing by trying to taste those painted nipples."
Isabelle finally snapped out of her daze.
"I...I don’t..." She pressed a hand to her flaming cheek. "I don’t know what to say, Young Master."
"I want to be upset." She admitted, her voice carrying a helpless smile. "I worked so hard to pose for you. I didn’t move a muscle the entire time. And you only painted my..." She gestured vaguely at the canvas. "...these."
Cassius had the decency to look slightly guilty.
"But at the same time." She continued, her eyes glowing with genuine admiration. "I can’t bring myself to be angry. Because this is probably the most beautiful painting I’ve ever seen with my own two eyes."
Cassius’s chest swelled with pride.
"Even now, even though I literally saw the blank canvas and knew you drew this." Isabelle continued. "I still can’t believe you created something so realistic. Honestly, even though these are my own breasts." She glanced down at her cleavage. "I want to reach out and grab them, just to feel how soft you made them look."
A self-conscious laugh escaped her.
"Is that strange? Wanting to touch a painting of my own breasts?"
Then her expression shifted, becoming something more teasing.
"But Young Master...why did you only paint my breasts?" She fixed Cassius with an endearingly accusatory gaze. "Does this mean you see me as nothing more than a body to satisfy your urges?"
"A pair of breasts to play with whenever you wish, rather than a woman worthy of love and cherishing?"
Her tone was light, but there was a genuine question beneath the teasing.
"Absolutely not, Isabelle!" Cassius’s response was immediate and grave.
He set the painting aside and took both of her hands in his own, his grip warm and firm.
"I would never think of you that way! You are my wife! The love of my life! The woman who has been with me since the very beginning of my journey, before anyone else!"
Isabelle’s heart swelled.
"I would never dare treat you as someone I merely use to vent my frustrations!"
His voice softened, and his gaze drifted downward, specifically to her cleavage with tender appreciation.
"It’s just that...honestly, when I was looking at you, I couldn’t focus on your face at all. Your cleavage was so prominent, so mesmerizing, that my eyes kept drifting down again and again."
"I was literally drooling the entire time."
Isabelle let out a surprised giggle.
"Because I couldn’t concentrate on anything else." Cassius admitted. "I decided to simply paint what had captured my attention. Your breasts. They were all I could see. All I could think about."
Isabelle’s cheeks flushed as she realized something.
She had been the one to push her cleavage out so prominently.
In a very real sense, she had set this trap herself and then watched her husband walk directly into it.
But she wasn’t done teasing him.
"Alright, Young Master. I understand why you painted only my breasts." Her voice took on a sly edge. "But how exactly did you paint them naked? I never removed my dress. And yet..."
She pointed at the canvas, at a spot just beneath the painted breast.
"You even included the two tiny freckles I have right here. With perfect accuracy."
She traced her finger along the painting. "And my areolas—you captured the faint wrinkles around them. How did you do that without seeing me undressed?"
She gasped suddenly, leaning closer to examine the painting with fresh eyes.
"Wait—look! I didn’t even notice this before!"
She pointed at the smooth expanse of painted skin.
"You can see my veins, Young Master. The tiny blue veins running beneath my skin. Look—they’re right here in the exact same places as..."
She touched her own chest, tracing the matching patterns. "It’s identical. Every single one."
She stared at him with genuine amazement.
"How? How did you do this without me taking off my clothes!?"
Cassius scoffed, as if she had just asked the most foolish question in the world.
"Isabelle, please." He said, reaching out to casually cup one of her soft, heavy breasts through her linen dress, giving it a firm squeeze. "I hold these every single night. I’ve buried my face in them, sucked them, poured oil over them, and let you wash my back with them more times than I can count."
"I have every single millimeter, pore, and vein of your chest permanently burned into my photographic memory. I could paint these blindfolded in a pitch-black cave."
"So, it’s rather ignorant to ask such a question to me."
Isabelle’s face burned crimson, but beneath the embarrassment, a deep warmth was spreading through her.
Her husband knew her body that intimately. The image of her was so thoroughly ingrained in his mind that he could reproduce it flawlessly from memory alone.
And the way he was looking at her now—with such naked desire, such fiery appreciation—ignited something deep within her.
Her nipples began to stiffen, pressing visibly against the fabric of her dress.
Instead of feeling embarrassed, she leaned forward until her lips brushed against Cassius’s ear.
"It’s the same for me, you know."
He blinked. "What?"
"Just as you’ve memorized my breasts..." Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "I’ve memorized your cock. Every single detail. The massive shaft."
"The bulging veins along its length..."
"That thick, bulbous tip..."
"Even every wrinkle on your balls..."
She ran her tongue lightly along the edge of his ear.
"I know it all. I could draw it perfectly, if you gave me the chance."
Cassius’s throat went completely dry.
Isabelle was leaning over him now, her breasts hanging directly in front of his face.
Her nipples were clearly visible through the thin fabric, and he could see the vast, creamy swells of her bosom swaying gently with each breath. The temptation was overwhelming.
He broke.
"Kyaa!"
Cassius grabbed Isabelle and pulled her onto his lap. She let out a surprised squeak that quickly melted into breathless anticipation.
He chuckled darkly as he tugged down the front of her dress, freeing her magnificent breasts. They bounced into the open air, pale and perfect.
"You can draw my cock later." Cassius growled, his hands aggressively kneading her soft, yielding flesh like dough.
"Right now, I need to conduct an emergency inspection. I think I missed a detail on your left areola, and I refuse to tolerate artistic inaccuracy."
"Y-Young Master!"
Isabelle gasped, covering her mouth as he buried his face into her chest, taking one hardened pink peak into his mouth and sucking forcefully while his fingers teased the other.
"We’re...we’re outside! Someone might—"
But Cassius didn’t seem to care in the slightest. He sucked and nibbled at her sensitive peaks while his fingers kneaded the surrounding flesh like he was working dough, shaping and squeezing with reverent enthusiasm.
"These breasts." He muttered against her skin. "They deserve their own museum! I’m genuinely tempted to hang that painting somewhere public so the whole world can appreciate them."
"No!" Isabelle’s response was immediate and fierce, cutting through her haze of pleasure.
"My breasts are for your eyes only, Young Master! No other man will ever see them."
She pressed herself closer against him, offering herself more fully.
"But your cock..." Her voice turned teasing, sultry. "Your cock should be in a museum. If I hung a painting of that somewhere public, women from every corner of the continent, regardless of status or race would flock to see it."
"They’d travel for weeks just to gaze upon its magnificence."
She reached down, freeing his erection from his trousers.
It sprang forth, proud and rigid, and she wrapped her fingers around its length with practiced tenderness.
Then she paused, her expression shifting as if a sudden realization had struck her.
"No. No, that wouldn’t work at all."
She shook her head firmly.
"If I did that, every woman on the continent would come chasing after you. And while I do appreciate you bringing new women into our family..."
She stroked him slowly, thoughtfully.
"I don’t think the household could handle an entire army of women begging to be taken in."
"So, for the sake of domestic peace, I’ll simply have to keep your magnificent cock a secret from the rest of the world."
Cassius pressed a kiss to her cheek, his smile warm. "Then does that mean we’ll just appreciate each other’s bodies privately? Just between us?"
Isabelle nodded, her eyes dark with desire.
"Yes. And right now..." She stroked him more firmly. "I very much want to appreciate this."
They tumbled together onto a blanket spread beneath the pine tree, hands roaming, clothes falling away.
Within moments they were tangled in each other, all pretense of painting forgotten. Isabelle tried desperately to stifle her moans, but the pleasure was too intense.
Cassius had to grab one of the fruits from their picnic basket and place it between her lips—both to muffle her cries and because the sight of sweet juice dribbling down her chin and onto her breasts as he pounded into her was utterly intoxicating.
He was aware of his surroundings, of course. His senses tracked the area constantly, confirming what he already knew—there was no one for miles in any direction. The road was empty. The forest was still. They were completely, perfectly alone.
So he made love to Isabelle beneath the tree with reckless abandon, in the open air, the grey sky above them and the scent of pine surrounding them like a blessing.