“You don’t like my bedroom.”
“It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just not…” How can I say this without being offensive? “It’s one—”
I start laughing, hard, when I realize I’m about to tell him that his choice of décor is one-dimensional. Oh my God, I must be a color snob or something to think that I can judge a person of their color preferences. The irony, something I’ve learned a lot about lately, makes me bust a gut hard enough that by the time I stop laughing he’s looking at me curiously.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I was about to tell you that your colors are one dimensional, and…I can’t believe I’d ever say that to anyone after the criticism I get for my choices.”
His lips twitch a little, and I smile back, feeling the tension drain away to be replaced by need and anticipation.
An easel and clean canvas sit a few feet from the foot of the bed, the stool lined in padded velvet that I am strangely grateful for. An artist’s ass takes as much of a beating as the arms do, you know.
“Right. I’m going to go take a shower while you get naked and get your supplies ready. I’ll be out in a moment.”
“You want me to paint you? Now?”
We’re in the bedroom, for goodness’s sake. He’s just spent an agonizing few minutes getting me wet and aroused, and he wants me to paint him?
A small smile curves his mouth, and he nods, patiently.
“Now.”
“Naked?”
I croak the question and feel my eyes bug when he simply nods and walks away, pausing at the bathroom door.
“You didn’t seriously think I’d be the only naked one? You want equality? You want me to respect your independence? We’ll start here. Get undressed and set up. Unless you’d like to join me, of course? For just a shower.”
God, I can’t take another half-make out session right now if he has no intention of fucking me tonight. I’m just one woman, with needs.
I scuttle to the easel and grimace when the door closes with a click, his deep, husky chuckle echoing around me.
He wants me to paint naked, in the nude, totally unclothed and on display while — but wait. I grin wickedly and throw my bag to the floor, stripping quickly until I am left in nothing but a pair of tiny black bikini panties that only cover half of my ass.
He’s right, fair’s fair, and if I have to spend the next few hours tortured by the sight of his naked body, he can damn well get through watching my breasts bob and sway while I sketch him.
By the time he comes out, his hips draped in a low riding towel that does nothing to hide his erection, I am sitting calmly, ready and—
“God Almighty.”
Now I know why he said my proportions were off. His chest is a lot more muscled than even my lascivious imagination could have dreamed up—and his ass… Lord have mercy. I know I had never painted his ass, but even if I had, it wouldn’t have been accurate.
Vincent has a rock hard ass that bunches and flexes with every step he takes, an ass I would love to sink my teeth into just to test the firmness there.
By the time he reaches the bed I’m so turned on I squirm in my seat and press my thighs together. My breath comes out in audible shallow pants when he turns to me and sits, reclining back against the pillows with a knowing smirk.
“You’re cheating, dove. Panties off.”
“But I—”
“Need to take those panties off and spread your legs, or I put my clothes back on and you can go back to the studio to start the first portrait.”
If anyone had ever once told me I’d be letting a man blackmail me with his body, I would have laughed right in their face and told them to get a clue. The fact that I’m not only considering it but in actual fact taking my panties off right now…I should be ashamed.
All I feel, though, as I stand and shimmy them to the floor before kicking them away, is a thrill of excitement and heady power when his eyes land on my swaying breasts and heat before traveling down to my sex and going molten.
I retake my seat with an inner smirk of triumph and adjust my sketchpad on the easel before looking back at him and going into my artist mode of concentration.
I have this trick that he doesn’t know about, something that’s about to work to my advantage while he lies there in painful arousal and watches my breasts sway with every movement and my sex get wetter.
I can tune everything out and focus on capturing the perfect line and form. In that place, where nothing exists but the subject and my pencil, I won’t be at the mercy of—
Oh God.
“W-what are you doing?” I croak when his right hand rubs enticingly down his abs and curls around his shaft.