It was just a regular night between you and Mel. She was just painting casually on the big canvas as you began to grind new red powder and crack an egg to make new acrylic paint for her.

You enjoyed her company and she enjoyed your silence. And your presence but she won’t ever admit it. As she glided the palette knife along the canvas, you stood to put the bowl of new paint near the rest as you stare at the painting.

“Thank you, darling,” she spoke. Her friendly pet name always got to you and you smiled brightly at her. “You’re so sweet,” Mel says, looking at you before settling the item down. She comes up and kisses your cheek. “Sweet? It’s being respectful,” you reply with a blush before going to sit back down on the couple of pillows and a sheet of blanket on the floor.

“Respectful is an understatement. You’re always so good for me,” Mel murmurs, clearly wanting to push more and get more from you as she sits down next to you. She hums gently, her hand innocently rubbing your thigh gently. But something makes you freeze. That touch was too familiar and it scared you. It felt… uncomfortable. Mel noticed and pauses, holding your face. “What’s wrong?” she asks in a much more concerned manner, the flirtatious tone fleeing her mouth.