Beneath The Skin(100)

Nell’s laughter rings in my ears, and it might be the most beautiful sound I’ve heard all day. I wonder if I’ve ever truly heard her laugh before.

We shove through a random door, which slams against the wall in our abrupt arrival. A classroom of ten or so students look up at us, startled from their apparent boredom.

“The End Of Year is just simply amazeballs,” I announce to them.

“Yes, really,” Nell agrees, clinging to me. “You should all be there instead of—um, what’s this class?”

We don’t wait to find out. Rushing back out of the room, I burst into laughter as Nell, red-faced and tittering excitedly, races by my side. Our hands fumble, finding one another’s again, and we tear down another flight of stairs. My foot catches on a step halfway down, but I manage to keep myself from falling.

And then we’re in a totally empty hall. Nell shoves me against a bulletin board full of “submit here” and “seminar there” and “sign up for this and that”. It’s against that bulletin board that her hand presses firmly against my crotch and her lips hover by my face challengingly.

“You want me, Brant?”

“I want you.”

“Come and get me.”

She slips out of my grasp as fast as a cat sprung by a sudden sound. Her hair whips around the corner and I follow, a dog in pursuit, until I turn the corner and find her so far down the hall, I have to wonder how the hell she runs so fast.

I pick up my pace, running faster. You’re not getting away from me.

When I make it around the next turn, I don’t see her at all—but I also don’t hear her. I slow down, my dress shoes tapping loudly on the tile. Annoyed with my utter lack of stealth, I pull off my shoes one at a time, hopping and grunting as I do so, then pitch each shoe in an opposite direction, forgetting their existence. Padding down the hall in my socks, I listen and look for her. Our chase has become a sudden game of hide-and-go-seek.

I see a classroom door wide open, the inside dark. At the foot of the door is a pair of jeans. Nell’s jeans.

I move inside quietly. Easels are sprinkled throughout the dark space, looking like giant pointy creatures protecting a treasure. My treasure. I stalk further inside and my foot catches a shirt. Hers. I pick it up off the ground and press it to my nose, inhaling her scent as I continue my slow, patient pursuit through the room.

A bra hangs from the easel to my left. I cast her shirt to the side, grinning as I move on. Then I see a pair of panties hanging from the next easel. I stop, take them into my hand, then press them to my face, inhaling so deep, the room fills with the sound of my breath.

It’s all Nell. It’s intoxicating.

And it makes me so hard, I ache.

With the panties still in my fist, I come around the final easel and happen on a little stage with a stool … a very familiar stage and a very familiar stool. Perched on it is Nell, completely naked, with a finger at her mouth and a set of seductive, lusty eyes locked on me. Her breasts are so full and perfect, it takes everything in me not to rush up and bury my face between them. Her thighs are smooth and glowing in the subtle light that washes in from the distant windows. Her hair, partly cascading down her supple shape, casts a shadow that masks the beauty of her petite shoulders and that irresistible ridge of collar bone that makes me want to lift her into my arms and protect her from all the darkness of the world.

I approach her.

“Not just yet,” she murmurs.

I stop, lifting an eyebrow. “What is it? You expect me to … take an easel and draw you? Are you the nude art model, now?”

“No. Just yours.” She crosses her legs the other way, which pulls my eyes straight to the prize. Fuck, she knows how to work me. “I need you to do something first.”

“Name it.”

She draws her hair behind an ear, lifting her eyes to meet mine. The green in them, even with so little light, seems to glimmer.

“Take my picture,” she says.

I give a gentle shrug. “I don’t have my camera.”

She smirks teasingly. “Have I taught you nothing, Brant?”

I lick my lips, understanding. When I reach the lip of the stage, I go to a knee, looking up at her and catching just the right angle. She watches my every move. I close just one eye and lift my fingers in front of my face, creating a rectangle with them.

“Turn your face, babe.”

She does, taking my directive.

“A bit more.”

She obeys. Just that tiny adjustment brings the light onto her cheek, illuminating her face perfectly.

“Bring a hand to your breast.”

She doesn’t move her head, but her face furrows. “Are we shooting a porn, Brant?”