Now that I’m totally confident in my own art, sort of, I decide to be Ryan’s muse. He’s invited me over to his place, and fingers crossed there is nothing weird or painful behind his apartment door.
I knock, and when he swings it open, wearing ball shorts and a Beards Make Everything Better T-shirt, I blurt, “I have come to commission you. But I can only pay you in sexual favors.”
He blinks.
Ugh, instant regret. They can send a man to the moon, but they can’t come up with a way to stuff words back in your mouth.
“I mean, if you want…those,” I say. Gulp. “It was not a joke, but I think the crickets are telling me to pretend that it was.”
A slow smile lifts his lips. “I definitely want those.”
“You do?”
He nods. “I do.”
“Then draw me like one of your…stoner girls?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
He pulls me into his apartment. A quick scan reveals nothing odd. Colorful art hangs on the neutral walls. It’s cozy and masculine with no whips, crops, or bondage items in sight. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t hidden.
“Lie on the couch,” he says. “On your side.”
“Oh, okay.” I toe off my boots and hustle in my Bob Ross socks over the hardwoods to the mocha sectional. “Like this?”
His gaze sweeps over my leggings and tunic top as I casually trail my hand along the cushion, searching for any hidden pain apparatuses.
“Just like that,” he says. “Perfect.”
It might be forward of me, but, “Should I remove anything?”
“No,” he says. “I want to capture you just like this. Disheveled and flushed.”
Disheveled? We can work on word choice later, I guess. He wets his bottom lip and then rakes his teeth across in a tantalizing tease.
“Have you ever posed before?”
“For an artist?”
“Yeah.”
“No. Never.”
“Good. I’m glad I’m your first.”
Why am I such an awful person? He’s happy to take my posing virginity. Looks downright thrilled. Shamed by my actions, I make a mental note to delete my post on FriendsOfFriends.
He crosses to a large desk in the room’s corner and grabs a sketch pad and pencil.
“Relax,” he says, taking a seat in the recliner, “but stay still. This is the first time I’ve drawn for personal pleasure in a very long time.”
I pull a throw pillow under my head. “Why?”
“Artist’s block. Lack of inspiration. Lack of a muse, I guess.”
My heart slams against my chest. The thought of being his muse is heady. I wonder if I should add it to my Instagram bio. Gray eyes study me from over the top of his pad, and a lock of hair flops onto his forehead as he works, drawing and smudging.
“This is all very Titanic,” I say.
A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. “Let’s hope you don’t let go.”
“I never let go.” I kind of mean that more than I should.
His eyes narrow above the pad, and he stops drawing. “I’d just like to go on record that she could’ve, and should’ve, shared the door.” The dry delivery of his statement causes a giggle to erupt from me. “I’m serious, Chloe. She let him freeze to death while she lounged. Then pried herself free from his cold, dead hand.”
I put on a serious face. “No, I know. I agree.”
“Good.”
He resumes drawing, and it’s a tremendous turn-on watching him work. As he sketches, I feel sexy. And I didn’t even have to take my clothes off like Kate Winslet. Though, I’m fairly certain my boobs hold up to Rose’s.
But it’s not as easy to pose as one would think. Boring is the first word that comes to mind. It’s quiet, and the need to chitchat to fill the void is strong. But I resist, so he can focus.
It’s been eighty-four years when he says, “Done. You ready to see it?”
I sit up. “Yes.”
He rises from his seat and crosses to me.
“What do you think?”
The finished product differs greatly from how I see myself. It really looks nothing like me, to be honest. Maybe my mirrors don’t work. But art is subjective, and maybe this is how Ryan sees me? With much larger breasts and shorter hair. Also, taller. And thinner. With freckles on my nose. I’ll take it. Alternate me is cute. He’s very talented, regardless.
“My God, I would totally have shared the raft with you.”
He drops the sketch pad on the coffee table. “You could share the bed with me instead?”
Silent gasp. “Is it a twin? Raft-sized.”
“You’re so fucking cute.”
He tugs me from the couch and into a searing kiss. In a sensual invasion of my mouth, his tongue glides past my lips and seduces mine. I moan, clinging to his broad shoulders.
If there is such a thing as artsy sex, that’s what we have. Lots of touching and sensuality. Probably it is how French girls do it, but I haven’t watched enough of those movies to be certain.
“Fuck,” he says, breaking the kiss.
Panting, he lifts my shirt up and off, and leers at my red satin and lace bra with unbridled desire. “Damn. Red is my new favorite color.”
“Beard is mine.”
“You like the beard?”
“Love.”
He whips his T-shirt off and there’s barely time to ogle the chiseled expanse of hard abs because my eyes zip to his when he says, “Be right back. I’m going to butter it.”
“Butter what?”
“My beard.”
“You butter your beard?” I call out to the rippling muscles of his back as he strides away. “That’s very...decadent.”
“It’s a balm.” He opens a door and steps inside.
Moments later, he emerges and stalks toward me. “Makes it soft. So you don’t get chafing.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you.”
He discards his shorts and my leggings, sits, and tugs me to straddle his lap. The fine hairs on his thighs are sensory overload.
“This bra and panty set you’re wearing, fuck my life. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. You know what the best part is?”
The best part is his hooded gaze, like he’s drunk on me, but I shake my head, unable to speak.
“This tiny satin bow between your breasts.” He kisses it. “I’m not going to fuck you like I want to.”
“Why?” I ask.
His finger trails across my jaw. “I want to memorize every detail. Long lashes fanning your flushed cheeks. The swipe of your tongue on your lips.” He palms my breasts and squeezes my nipples through the material. “Tits bouncing while you grind against my cock.”
His hardness presses against my center, teasing me, and I rock my hips, grinding myself on his thickness. Whisper-soft, he traces his finger across the swell of my breasts, dipping his finger inside to explore the valley. Lust courses through me, ready for “everything but” sex.
“Where do you want me to start?”
“Since you like the bow so much, that area seems a good place to start.”
He eases the delicate material down and sucks a stiff nipple into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth.