Oh …
The bed has no spread, only blue-gray sheets, rumpled to give it a slept-in quality. I wonder if Damien has slept here and I move to sit on the side facing the ocean. A gust of wind catches the drapes and they blow in, brushing my arms, bare in the souvenir tank top. I close my eyes and lie back, no longer wondering why Damien isn’t here yet. He wants me lost in my thoughts with this bed and this breeze and the gossamer feel of the silky drapes on my skin.
“I like that view.”
I know that voice, and I don’t move. I stay on the bed, but allow a smile to creep onto my face. “Then why don’t you come enjoy it?”
A moment later, I feel the mattress shift. I keep my eyes closed as his thumb strokes my lips, then traces downward between my breasts to the waistband of my jeans. “I told you not to wear underwear,” he whispers.
“I didn’t,” I say.
In the silence, I think I can hear his smile.
I keep my eyes closed as he unbuttons my fly and unzips my jeans. They fit loose, and his hand glides easily inside. My trimmed pubic hair is already damp, and by the time his fingers slide over my vulva, I’m slick with desire, my hips rising off the bed to meet his touch, my clit throbbing with anticipation.
“Mmm,” he whispers, sliding two fingers inside me, the sensations so surprising and arousing I bite my lip to keep from crying out. “And no more jeans. I want you only in skirts. No underwear. A garter if you want stockings. I want you accessible. Anytime, anywhere.”
My sex clenches around his fingers with excitement, and he moans softly. “God, you’re so responsive.” He pulls his fingers out of me, and I want to whimper from the loss. “Keep your eyes closed,” he says, and then I feel his fingers on my lips. “Suck,” he orders, and I draw his finger inside. It is slick with the taste of me, and I shift on the bed, squeezing my thighs together, sucking hard on him as I try to reach satisfaction.
Slowly, he pulls his fingers free.
“Damien,” I whisper.
“Mine,” he whispers, the word telling me everything I need to know. I’ll come when he’s ready for me to. The knowledge is arousing in itself—and damn frustrating, too.
I feel the press of his mouth against my breast. He sucks me through the tank top, and I arch up to meet him, then cry out when his teeth nip at my tender nipple. My eyes fly open and I find Damien Stark grinning playfully down at me. “Well, hello. I take it you like the bed?”
I sit up, trying to present a prim and calm facade. “Is it yours?”
“No,” he says. “Not the way you mean. It’s for the portrait. And this week. That means it’s yours, I suppose.” His eyes skim over me, and I shiver under his inspection. “Or ours.”
I swallow. “Well, you’ve staged a lovely room. I’m sure the portrait will be wonderful. When is the artist getting here?”
“He’s already here,” Damien says, then laughs when my eyes go wide with horror. “Don’t worry, he’s in the kitchen. I don’t do public sex.” He nips my ear. “I do everything else, though,” he whispers, and I feel my body flush as I wonder just what “everything else” could mean.
“Blaine,” he calls. “Why don’t you bring your coffee in here.”
“Blaine?” I ask. “I thought you didn’t care for his work.”
“On the contrary. I think his skill is exceptional. He conveys an intense eroticism. I simply wasn’t impressed with his models or with the staging. I want that same erotic allure, but without the trappings. I’ll tie you up, Nikki, but I won’t put a picture of it on my wall.”
Tie me up …
I nod stupidly. He keeps knocking me off kilter.
A moment later, Blaine comes in carrying a mug of coffee and I quickly button my jeans and get off the bed. He’s more casual than he was at Evelyn’s party, just Dockers and a black T-shirt. He smiles in a wide, friendly greeting. “Great to see you again, Nikki. Are you nervous?”
“Hell yes,” I say, which makes him laugh.
“Don’t worry. I’m like a doctor. Purely clinical.”
I raise my brows.
“Okay, that’s not entirely true. But I appreciate beauty, and I get off on capturing it. It’s personal, but it’s not. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” I say, thinking of my photographs.
“We have to trust each other. Work for you?”
“I’ll try.”
“And just so you know, I signed Damien’s agreement.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, and my confusion must show on my face.
“The confidentiality agreement,” he clarifies. “I’m not allowed to talk about you or the sessions. And once it’s done, I’m not allowed to reveal who the model is.”
“Really?” I look to Damien, who nods. He turns and points to the wall opposite the ocean. It isn’t a full wall, in fact it’s not really a wall at all. There’s a huge fireplace, with a great expanse of stone rising above it, hiding the chimney, I presume.
“It will hang there,” he says. “You’ll be looking out on the ocean. You’ll see the sunset every night.”
I nod. “Where’s the canvas?” If it’s going to fill that space, it must be huge. But there’s nothing but an oversized sketchpad on the easel.
“Tomorrow,” Blaine says. “Today’s about getting us familiar with each other. I sketch your curves, you stand there and look fabulous.”
“I think you have the easier job,” I say dryly.
“Hell yeah, I do,” he says, and we both laugh.
“I’m still nervous,” I admit.
“Totally normal,” Blaine says.
I look desperately toward Damien. My skin is clammy and my pulse is pounding. Why on earth did I think this would be easy? I’m going to be standing naked in front of a stranger. Holy shit. “Do you have any wine?” I blurt.
He brushes a chaste kiss over my lips. “Of course.”
He disappears behind the fireplace, and returns quickly with three glasses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. He passes me a glass first, and I drink half of it in one swallow. The men look at each other with amusement and I defiantly swallow the rest.
“Okay,” I say, then reach for the bedpost to steady myself. “Yeah. I think that’s better.” I hold out my glass, but Damien pours only a tiny bit.