On the right canvas...
Reaching down like some Renaissance master's vision, suspended by fantastic, perfect gull wings...
Me.
I stared upwards at my image.
"It's beautiful," Jezebel whispered. "What's it called?"
I bent forward to squint at the little name card.
Then I froze.
"Jezebel. You take that hand out from between my thighs right now."
"Can't blame...