SeduceMe(8)
Yvette had warned her of the artwork that would be on display shortly. She had no delusions about naked bodies being used as blank canvases or how all the dots—er, body parts—were connected for the naughty murals, but a soft gasp escaped her lips anyway as she entered the backstage area. A woman covered from head to toe in turquoise paint stood in front of a tall fan, one foot propped on an overturned milk crate as another woman wielding a paintbrush whisked the coated bristles over the model’s bare pussy lips.
The model shivered. “Oh God,” she whispered. Her nipples were large turquoise beads and her eyelids fluttered, revealing her arousal. “That tickles. But in such a good way.”
“You wouldn’t be the first woman to come during this part of the process,” the artist told her as the brush stroked back and forth over the exposed flesh.
“I came when I saw the sketch for the mural and fantasized about the two men and the two women I’d be starring in it with tonight.”
Much to her shock, Shana’s own nipples puckered tight and a tremor shimmied down her spine as an erotic visual popped into her mind. Two men and three women?
Holy—
She shook her head and squared her shoulders.
Be a professional. Be an adult. And for the love of God, don’t be so jealous!
But she was jealous. The woman in turquoise had stripped down to nothing in front of another woman and had let her paint her from head to toe. She wasn’t squirming nervously or in embarrassment as the artist leaned in for an up-close-and-personal view of her labia while she continued her work. No, if anything, the model was clearly turned-on…and anticipating her multi-partner mural, if the quick rise and fall of her ample chest were any indication.
Shana found the woman’s courage and excitement arousing. Her own breathing picked up a few notches.
As they passed a male model also getting his final touch up, it wasn’t just her breathing that accelerated. Her sexual tension mounted. The model was well-built and fully erect. Funny, but before she’d seen him, she’d understood—in theory—that all of the painted models were joined together to create their body scenes, but she hadn’t given real thought as to how they got that way. And something told her it wasn’t as impersonal and mechanical as “insert Tab A into Slot B”.
Yvette had mentioned these people typically got it on after the show, but Shana hadn’t really believed her. Or somehow her subconscious mind hadn’t allowed her to fully reconcile what Yvette meant.
But she got it now!
Good Lord. How naïve could one person be?
Though, admittedly, she’d never had exposure to sexy situations like this. She was still a virgin, sad to say. A source of internal contention, but she wasn’t the type of woman men hit on. At least, not seriously. Every bit of flattery and the “va-va-voom” comments she’d been the recipient of had sounded lecherous and felt false to her, particularly when she was younger and on tour. As if the words uttered and the lascivious looks given her were bait to trap her and turn the tables on her, so the macho man could make fun of the fact she’d fallen for a line she was supposed to know was tired and bogus.
Meanwhile, all the pencil-thin French and Swedish girls in the international orchestra, in which she’d earned the prestigious first-chair position, had been swept off their tiny feet by suave men bearing extravagant gifts and eloquent professions of unwavering devotion.
No matter where she went, Shana always stood out. And no matter the compliments she received or how critically acclaimed her talent, she always felt like the fat girl at ballerina camp because of the delicate waifs she’d been surrounded by most of her life.
A sentiment that prickled the backs of her eyes even years later and forced her to concentrate on fighting back unexpected tears. Luckily, she was able to hold herself in check, especially when Toliver interrupted her painful thoughts.
“Ah, there’s Mr. Halston,” he said as he inclined his head toward a man dressed all in black. Black shirt opened at the neck. Black suit perfectly tailored. Black leather boots that made his designer ensemble sexy and trendy. And black-as-night hair to top it all off.
Good Lord. Bruce Wayne and Batman didn’t hold a candle to this man! He made the term “tall, dark and handsome” pack as much punch as “short, portly and homely”, for it simply didn’t do him justice. Her breath caught somewhere in her throat as she stared at the very unexpected vision before her.
Yes, Drake Halston was tall. But not like any other ordinary, tall man. His six-foot-three- or four-inch stature gave him a commanding presence, made all the more intimidating by his broad shoulders and muscular frame.