The second art class with Christian as the model is going much like the first one did.

Only this one is worse.

Every time I feel his gaze on me, I know that the situation is going to be reversed in a matter of hours. I try desperately to focus on my work, to execute my vision of Christian as I see him as he stands in front of me, but it's a lot harder to focus this time.

I know what's coming. I know the way me drawing him riles him up. And I know that it's going to be ten times more powerful after this experience with him drawing me.

On the upside though, the girl who sits next to me actually smiled at me when she came in. Maybe she realized that it was unfair of her to be angry with me for being with Christian. I hope so. We exchanged names, and her name is Kelsey. At the very least, I don't have to worry about having made an enemy in the class.

Well, I guess I don't know that for sure, since there are still plenty of women ogling Christian’s body. Normally, I'd say that women ogling my boyfriend would piss me off. But in this situation it's okay.

Suddenly I freeze.

My boyfriend.

I just called Christian my boyfriend in my head.

Oh. No.

This is a bad sign.

I'm getting too attached, but what should I do about it? Now that I'm in this deep, I know that I don't want to sleep with random strangers for a baby. I don't want to go back on my word, but I don't want to go through everything again. Like when I lost him the first time. We need to have a conversation, but I just don't know how.

I sense a presence behind me, and realize that Mr. Prince is standing over me, watching me work. I drag my eyes back to my drawing, and I take a deep breath. It’s not where I want it to be.

“You’re frustrated,” Mr. Prince says softly.

“Yeah, a little.”

“Why?”

“I—” I stutter to a stop. I can’t exactly tell Alexander Prince that I’m unfocused because I’m lusting after the model I recommended, that I can’t wait to fuck him later and am having an internal crisis about being too involved with him. “A lot of reasons.”

He stands next to me, looking back and forth between my easel and Christian. “Drawing people you know can be harder than the average subject. You can’t break them down into parts because to you they’re already a whole.”

“What do you do then?”

“Draw their face first.”

Normally I would wait until I had everything else, since the face is the hardest to capture. “Why first?”

“Because then you’re not putting a stranger on paper. You’re filling in the whole person that you know.”

I look at the vague bubble where Christian’s face is meant to go. I suppose it can’t hurt to try, since I’m already having a hard time working on the rest of him. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

“Regardless,” he says, patting me on the shoulder, “you’re doing lovely work.”

I go pink, and reflexively glance up at Christian. His eyes are already on me, and the corner of his mouth ticks up into a smile. I can read the words he’s putting into it. They’re all fire and heat and how he can’t wait to get me back to the apartment. I take another deep breath, and attempt to block him out. I look at the lines of his face, the way they come together to form an exquisite jawline. The actually delicate line of his eyebrows, and I put it onto the paper. The way I draw his face is stark. Stripped. I use as few movements with my pencil as possible. Because I want this picture to be mysterious, the barest version of him that I can manage. Something that isn’t steeped in my own feelings and hang-ups about him.

I draw, and hone, and fix the tiny creases by his eyes, until suddenly he’s there. Like magic, the way drawing often is, one tiny slip of my pencil has made it go from the face of a handsome man, to Christian. And Mr. Prince was right. There’s a feeling of relief when I look at the rest of the drawing. Suddenly I have a goal and a purpose to it, the rest of it being informed by his face.

I eagerly dive in to teasing the rest of his body from the paper, and Mr. Prince clears his throat just when I finally feel like I’m making decent progress. “That’s all for today. We’ll finish these up on Friday, and you can put them to bed. Dismissed.”

Christian doesn’t come and tease me in front of the class this time, he heads straight for the closet and his clothes. I think about going and meeting him in the closet again, but he emerges after just a couple minutes, fully clothed and approaches me. Without hesitation he pulls me against him, and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. And even though I’ve asked him not to, right this second I wouldn’t mind. I like the way he’s holding me—tightly, possessively. I’m growing damper by the second and I want something, anything, a taste of what’s to come.

But Christian doesn’t kiss me. He tangles his fingers in my hair, pulling back until I’m looking him in the eye. “Go to the apartment,” he says softly, fiercely. “I want you to be naked when I get there.”

“What am I? Your plaything?” I try to sound angry, but I’m unsuccessful. I can barely breathe.

“No,” he says, fingers tightening. “You’re my model.” He leans close to my ear so that I’m the only one who can hear his words. “And after I draw you, I’m going to take you until you’re screaming.”

I shiver, but I shake my head. “You’re going to have to work hard for that.”

Christian smirks. “We’ll see.”

“Where are you going?”

Releasing me suddenly, he’s still looking at me in a way that makes me want to rip off my clothes right here. “I’ll see you soon.” He turns and leaves the studio, taking more than a few gazes with him as he leaves.

Fuck, I’m shaking with lust and arousal. My pencils clatter as I try to put them away. This Christian, he reminds me of the man he was when we first met. It’s what attracted me to him in the first place, the sheer confidence that he could do anything, no matter the circumstances.

I thought he had changed, or that he wasn't the same person. But I honestly think I was hating him so much for what he did, I didn't see that all the parts I loved about him were still there. That, combined with the fact that I want nothing more than to be naked with him right now. I’m in so much trouble.

I finish packing up all my supplies, and throw my bag on my shoulder. Kelsey gives me a small wave, and says, "Good luck.”

“Yeah, I think I'm going to need it."

"Why?""

“He told me yesterday that he wants to draw me like this,” I gesture to the way the class is set up, “as a kind of retaliation."

She starts laughing. “Yeah, I think that you will definitely need it. I saw the way that he was looking at you. I would melt if he was looking at me like that. And he hasn't even started drawing you."

“I think that's the idea. I'll see you on Friday?"

She smiles. “See you then.”

I’m bouncing with nerves the entire way to the Upper West Side. I can't get his words out of my head—what he's going to do. I am aching between my legs, caught on his visceral promise. This passion, this sudden obsession with him feels even more powerful than when we first got together.

When I finally get to the apartment, it's strange. Every time I've been here before, Christian has been waiting for me. It feels empty now, but I can use it to my advantage. I have at least a couple of minutes, so I poke around the apartment. I haven’t been able to see the whole thing before.

The kitchen is still gorgeous, the living room perfectly decorated, and of course, I'm familiar with the bedroom. But the other rooms in the apartment include an office to kill for with a stunning view of the Hudson river, what looks like a library—as if you can actually have a library in a New York apartment—and another bedroom.

I never really stopped to wonder why or how Christian had access to this apartment. I never thought to ask, but I might now. This apartment is stunning, and I can't imagine the amount of money it costs to rent it for every day that we meet. Given the neighborhood and the building we’re in, it might be thousands of dollars. That’s a lot, even for a CEO.

After examining every part of the apartment, and reveling in the perfect views, I’ve taken enough time that he might be here soon.

Of course, nothing bad is going to happen if he shows up and I still have my clothes on. But the way he said it…like it was the only thing he wanted in the world…makes me want to do it. I want it to be exactly the way he imagined it, so that everything goes the way he planned.

Along with his little adventures, Christian has always had a powerful imagination. And when things go as planned, I’ve found that it’s usually impressive, fun, and incredibly pleasurable. Besides, if I don't do it, he's going to wonder if something is wrong. And once Christian think something's wrong, all bets are off. He’ll ask me why, and he's going to want to know.

In spite of my realization, I am just not ready to broach the conversation of the way I feel about him. Does it matter that I thought of him as my boyfriend? I don’t know. It should matter. But I’m not sure it will. It feels like there's almost an insurmountable gap between the two of us, our present, our past, and our future. I push it out of my head. I can’t think about this right now. Rather, I don’t want to. Christian will be here any minute, and when he is, we’re going to make a baby. I’ve said that to myself before, but I feel it tonight. There’s a certainty that I hope is true and not just my wishful thinking.

Christian didn't give me any instructions as to where I should be when he arrives, only that I shouldn’t be wearing any clothing. I head into the bedroom and strip down to nothing. This gives me a chance to fold my clothes without having them ripped off at least, I think with a laugh.

But it feels strange, I’ve never been one of those people who just wanders around their house naked. I know there are people who do that, but it's always seemed unnecessary. So when I wander back into the living room—stark naked—I’m not exactly sure what to do with myself. I’m almost embarrassed, even though I’m alone. I don’t know where to put my hands, and I’m not sure if I should sit on the furniture.

I go to the library, grab a book, and come back. I sit on the couch, though I debate whether or not I should put a towel down. Is this what this apartment is used for? Are there other people who have sat here naked, waiting for their lovers? I realize I’m nervous. It’s why my brain is all over the place.

The book I grabbed was random, and it turns out it's a book of essays. Essays have always been hit or miss for me. They’re either fascinating and engrossing or some of the most utterly boring literature ever. The one I start to read is actually pretty good—the story of a woman's car and how it was built, and how it later affects her life. At first glance I would never read something on the subject, but it's written in a charming, endearing way.

I'm about halfway through when I hear the chime of the elevator outside. Only a few seconds later, the door opens and there’s Christian in all his glory.

He's wearing the suit he was wearing at class, but he has a briefcase with him that he didn't have before. Ohhhh. He had to go get his art supplies before he could meet me here. How will he draw me? I wonder. It's been a long time since Christian and I talked about his art, and I'm not sure what medium he prefers now. Will he draw me in pencil the same way I'm drawing him? Or will he opt for something a little messier? Maybe charcoal or pastel. Maybe he'll smudge me, making the lines blurry and erotic.

"I wasn't sure you'd actually do it," he says, looking me up and down. His eyes haven’t lost any of the fire he had when he left the art studio.

"I wasn't quite sure either," I say. "But here I am. I never asked how you got this amazing apartment. It must cost a fortune.”

He takes off his suit jacket, draping it across the couch and puts his briefcase on the coffee table. “It didn’t cost anything. It’s a display apartment, and my company owns the building.”

“Oh. Well that’s nice.”

“Certainly convenient.” He sits next to me, and I shiver as he leans over me, and slowly takes the book from my hand. I feel the heat of his want and my own matches his. “I’m amazed we didn’t do this before,” he says.

“Draw each other?”

He nods, but he’s preoccupied with tracing the line of my collarbone with his finger that is leaving goosebumps on my skin.

“I wasn’t doing much art then.”

“You were,” he says, calling my bluff, “just under the radar.” He pulls me to my feet and into the center of the room. “Here.” He places me, and begins to pose me. One knee slightly bent, body angled slightly away from where he’ll be drawing. My face he turns towards him, and then he arranges my arms. One crossing my body, only partially hiding my breasts, and the other reaching out towards the viewer. I can see the pose in my mind, it’s a good one, the illusion of shyness and wantonness at once.

“I don’t think I can hold this for three hours,” I say.

Christian smirks, glancing down, and I notice the bulge in his pants. “Don’t worry,” he says, “neither can I.”

He retreats to the couch and opens his briefcase, and sets up a station with quick efficiency. Pencils, paper, smudger. His pencils are not like mine. Some of his are the square kind, pure graphite sticks that can be good if you want really precise lines or a unique angle. No easel. He just holds the paper and begins to sketch.

The silence is loud and full of our thoughts. I watch as his gaze travels my body, catching and stopping here and there as his hand moves, catching the outline of my body. Already I understand. The way he’s studying me, I feel more metaphorically naked than literally. He’s studying every part of me, every curve and crevice and flaw, and he’s doing it with dispassionate ease. It’s at once intimate and separating, thrilling and dehumanizing, unsettling and arousing.

Suddenly his eyes flick up to mine, and I have to catch my breath. That ghost of a smile appears before his eyes flick to the rest of my face, and I blush. I blush with my whole body, and I find myself clenching my legs because my pussy is wet with need. Christian’s eyes drop to my breasts, and God, it’s like he’s touching me. “It really is a shame that I’ve never drawn you before, Audrey.”

My mouth is dry. “Why’s that?”

“Because it lets me look at you. I like looking at you.” He takes a breath, eyes traveling across my skin. “The curves of your hips are fucking sexy.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I like—”

“Audrey,” he cuts me off, “I didn’t say it intending for it to become a compliment battle.”

I blink, reminding myself not to move even though I’m surprised. “How did you know?”

“Because I know you. You take compliments and reflect them back. But you don’t have to because I’m going to keep doing it and I want you to just absorb it.”

For a second, I’m ready to protest, and then I stop. He’s right. I do nearly always compliment someone back, and I bite my lip to keep my mouth closed.

Christian smiles, full and bright, because he knows he won. God his smile could power the whole city with its energy. “I like that you’re made up of curves. The way your neck blends into your shoulder and your ribs into your hips. And your tits,” he stops and stares at them, and I feel myself get wetter. “Your tits make me hard. I love to look at you and think of all the things I’d like to do to you. With you.”

He starts to sketch again, and I’m starting to ache with tension and anticipation. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that Skype call,” he says. “And how much I want my cock to be between your tits.” He grins. “And I haven’t even started to tell you all the things I love about your pussy.”

“Christian,” I say.

He looks up, gaze fierce. “Yes?”

“I can’t do this.”

“Good.” He tosses the sketchpad on the couch, and I catch only a glimpse of his drawing of me before I’m in his arms and he’s lifted me off the floor and put my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bedroom without hesitation. We tumble onto the bed together, and I’m pulling at his clothes while his lips are on my skin. God, it’s like being drawn by him has lit me up from the inside. I can feel his lips everywhere, and even the scratch of his clothes on my skin is making me shudder.

I manage to get his belt undone and he tries to pull away to get them off. “No time,” I say, keeping him locked against me. I need him inside me now. Christian fits himself against me and slides in in one brutal stroke. I gasp, back arching off the bed. It’s pleasure and brief shocking pain as my body adjusts and fades into pleasure. I reach for him, and he catches my hand, pinning it above my head. I give him the other one, because I want this. I’ve missed this feeling of being completely wrapped up in him, giving him just enough control that I don’t have to think.

Christian slams into me harder, and my body responds with deep, exquisite pleasure that makes me close my eyes. His other hand slips under my ass, tilting my hips upward toward him so he can push deeper. “Tell me what you want,” Christian says, voice low and rough.

My eyes fly open, and I see desperate, wild lust in his eyes. “More.”

“Come on, Audrey,” he says, grinding his hips into mine. “Tell me what you want from me.”

I arch against him, aroused by his words, and I feel the new slickness in my pussy ease his thrusts, and suddenly there’s a new speed and rhythm and I’m not sure if I can breathe let alone speak. “I—” it turns into a moan.

His hand tightens on my wrists as he pounds into me, and I feel the orgasm on the edge of the horizon. Still far away, but approaching at a gallop. “I want you.”

“That’s not good enough,” he growls against my neck. “You know what you want. Ask for it.”

There’s a sudden chill in my mind. I did ask for what I wanted three years ago, and you didn’t give it to me. “A baby,” I manage to say. It’s the first words I can form that are true. “I want you to come in me so hard and so deep that there’s no chance I won’t get pregnant.”

Christian groans, abandoning my wrists so that he can brace himself, fucking me with a speed and power that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. And then, he comes. I feel it, his cock jerking, warmth spreading inside me, easing inward and outward. He lets his head fall against my shoulder, holding himself still while he finishes, pushing cock as far into me as it will go while he spills himself. And then he’s done, and pulling away. Stepping into the bathroom and leaving me alone, I feel dazed. He gave me exactly what I asked for, and I’m thankful even though I’m far from satisfied.

I grab a pillow and tuck it under my hips, lifting them so I can wait and let the semen creep upwards. Christian steps out of the bathroom, clothes in place. “Now, for you,” he says.

“What about me?”

He gives me a look. “Did you think I wasn’t going to make you come?”

“You did what I asked.”

“You’re right, but orgasms help the process.” Before I can protest, he spreads my legs and his mouth is on my clit. Nowhere else. Just there. Tongue swirling, suction making me dizzy with pleasure and renewed arousal.

“Oh, fuck,” I say as he grabs my hips. I was closer than I thought, and it feels like suddenly the orgasm is bearing down on me like a freight train. I’m not going to be able to stop it, not that I would ever want to. He’s licking, licking, licking, and each flick of his tongue takes me higher until I’m begging him not to stop. And then I’m not begging because I can’t form the words. It’s one long sound, and that sound breaks into a scream as I go over the edge in a torrent of pleasure. Christian sucks my clit deep into his mouth, grazing me with his teeth and I’m breathing in this feeling that’s surrounding me, passing through me like I’m a lightning rod for the best orgasm ever.

It’s over too soon, and I come back to myself with Christian lying beside me on the bed. I don’t remember him being there. I gently turn on my side, and we stare at each other for a moment. I can’t believe that he’s here, that he’s willing to do what he’s doing. I never thought I could feel like this again, and I don’t know if it’s going to last, but I don’t ever want it to stop. “Kiss me,” I say breathlessly.

Christian’s face goes still with shock. “But you said—”

“Kiss me,” I say again.

He only hesitates for a second, and then he’s kissing me, and I’m in heaven. Christian pulls me close against his body, and I can feel everything about him even though he’s clothed. It’s familiar and warm and something clicks deep inside. This is perfect. His hands roam my body, not in a way that’s going to have us fucking again, but an exploration. A relearning. He presses me back onto the pillows, and I love the weight of him. It’s a sensation I didn’t realize I desperately missed.

Christian’s tongue grazes my lips, and I open to him. Every last breath in my body is stolen away, and I kiss him back just as hard.

It feels like forever, and it’s still not enough. Even though we’re not kissing, we don’t separate, and I’m suddenly tired. Exhausted. I let myself slip down towards sleep, warmed by Christian’s body. Just for a few minutes, I tell myself. Then I’ll go home. I just need a little bit more.

* * *

I wake in the morning to an empty bed, morning light streaking through the windows. I’m covered in a blanket now, but Christian is nowhere to be found. I flop back against the pillows, trying to make sense of last night. That was insane, and yet it wasn’t. Did that change things between us? It must have. There’s no other choice. But it’s not something I can just text him about.

Friday. I can ask him Friday. I make a mental promise that I won’t let myself chicken out of it this time.

I put on my clothes and grab my bag. I won’t have enough time to get home and back before work, so I hope no one notices I’m wearing the same clothes. As I step into the living room, I see a piece of paper on the coffee table. It’s Christian’s drawing of me. I swear it’s more completed than when I saw it last night. I look…amazing. Alluring and virginal and empowered and sultry. He’s drawn me like I’m a goddess, and the fact that anyone could come up with this as an interpretation for me is…stunning. There’s a note on the coffee table too. Less of a note than a message, only two words.

Love, Christian.