CHAPTER TWO

BY THE TIME WE REACH the front of the house (which is on the opposite side from the deck), and Chandler comes to let us in, he has his shirt on. I can’t say I’m unhappy about that. I’m already a blushing mess, and it would be hard not ogling his naked torso if I had a chance to see it up close.

The rest of him is just as stunning, though. His hair color matches his eyes. Dark brown. He’s tall, probably a little over six feet. I feel like a hobbit in comparison, a paltry five-two. He still dwarfs me despite my wedges giving me a few inches of extra height. The t-shirt he’s wearing is so tight that it’s stretched around his biceps. They have to be as big as my thighs. The shorts he has on hug him crudely. There’s a definite bulge between his legs, and I don’t even think he’s erect. I stare at it in my peripheral vision, wondering if he knows I can see so much of him.

“You must be Emma,” he greets me.

“Mhm.” I clutch my purse in front of me. My nervousness is shining through full force.

“Thank you for bringing her to me, Joffrey. I’ll take that.” He reaches past me to take my suitcase from Mr. CIA. “You can go now.”

The man in the suit nods and does an about-face, not even telling me goodbye before he heads back in the direction of the waiting helicopter.

“Would you like to come in?” Chandler steps aside to allow me entry.

I glance back at the forest, thinking that it’s a strange invitation when there’s no other option. Whether I like it or not, no matter what happens, I’m stuck here now. Soon the helicopter will take off. There’s no telling if there’s even another human being on this island besides the two of us.

I take a few apprehensive steps inside before turning to wait for Chandler. There’s a sterility to the entire house that’s a bit off-putting. While the side that faces the river was inviting, as soon as we reached the front of the house, the view was a lot different. Boxy is the best to describe it. Flat wood surfaces with an occasional glass wall. The walls that aren’t made entirely of glass have no windows at all. And now that I’m inside, I see a continued theme. Just walls. Flat, plain brown walls. There’s no art anywhere. No sign that this place has been lived in.

“Did you just have this built?” I ask as Chandler closes the door behind us. There’s a panel next to the door. As soon as the door closes, I hear a lock click into place. The green light on the panel turns red.

“It’s been here for a little while,” he tells me. There’s a comforting warmth to his voice. I wish it put me more at ease. “I imagine it was a longer flight than you expected. Were you able to sleep on the plane?” He takes the lead, his steps slow and casual.

“Unfortunately not,” I confess, following him.

“Then I should probably show you to your room first so that you can get some sleep. I want my model to be nice and refreshed before we begin.”

Thank God. I’m so tired right now that I’m practically loony. As it is, I’m running on pure adrenaline—the excitement of being here with him.

The further into the building we go, the more it reminds me of a secret facility. Every room has a panel next to the door. They’re all red. All locked. The floors are a dark gray marble. There are no windows. If the lights went out, we’d be cast into complete darkness; it’s a frightening thought. I’m not sure why someone who creates such vibrant paintings would build a place like this.

Chandler stops in front of one of the rooms and pulls a key card from his pocket, swiping it across the panel before the door unlocks and he’s able to open it. He pulls the door open and flips on the light switch inside before stepping back so that I can enter.

I poke my head inside first before my body follows and I’m relieved to find that it seems a lot more liveable than the rest of the house. Everything is modern, from the bed to the furniture. All contemporary and angular, done in the same dark browns as the rest of the house but with touches of white to make the room seem lighter. The one thing I do not like is that there are no windows. A large flat screen on the far wall depicts rotating landscapes. I know it’s supposed to simulate the real thing, but it does little to make me feel less claustrophobic.

“This will be your room for the week,” Chandler informs me as he sets my suitcase down on the chaise in front of the bed. “You can set that television to whichever landscape you prefer.” He must have noticed I was staring at it. “My room is adjacent to yours. That door connects them together.” He points to a door next to the entertainment center. There’s no panel beside it, so I can only assume that it’s unlocked. The thought that I’ll have Chandler so close and accessible is both exciting and unnerving at the same time.

“Here’s your key card.” He pulls another key card from his pocket and hands it to me. As his fingers brush mine, I feel a jolt of electricity. My cheeks flame and I chastise myself for getting so excited just from being touched by him. It’s not going to be like that. This weekend is completely professional, I have to remind myself. “It will grant you access to all the rooms you’re allowed to enter. Everything else is off limits. Feel free to explore if you get bored.” He grins at me, but there’s something mischievous about it, like he actually expects me to be nosy. He takes a step backward toward the door. “You’ve had a long day, so I can only assume you’ll sleep for several hours. I’ll meet you for dinner in the dining room. Have a good rest.”

By the time I think to ask where the dining room is, he’s already gone. I sigh to myself, sitting on the bed and peeling off my wedges, thankful I don’t have blisters. I guess that’s the advantage painting has over photography, though. If I did have blisters, Chandler could just paint them off. Maybe that’s why he didn’t care to inform me that getting to his place was going to be challenging. Whatever the case, I’m here now, and I can finally rest.

After massaging some life back into the soles of my feet, I stand to explore the room. There’s not much to see. It’s set up like a standard hotel room. The best thing about it is that there are three Chandler Lexington original pieces in the room. I take a few minutes to examine each one. The first is of a woman holding an infant. Judging from the woman’s serene expression, it’s a mother and her child. The other is a man in a suit standing on the railing of a bridge. You can’t see his face, but the gloomy backdrop of the picture sets the setting for a suicide. The final painting is a naked woman lounging on a maroon chaise. The scene looks rich. There’s a gold scarf tastefully draped over her, but all of her most intimate parts are still exposed. I wonder if he’ll have me pose like this, I think as I look at the picture. I hope not.

Chandler is more well known for capturing human emotions in his paintings than for creating nude art. There are several nudes in his overall collection, though. The vast majority are of the same woman. I’ve seen enough of his paintings to know that this one is different. This woman is the mother from the other picture.

Once I’m done gazing at the paintings, I head into the bathroom. The only cool thing about it is the clawfoot tub, though I’m a bit disappointed to discover there’s no showerhead. There’s no shower curtain either. It appears I’ll just be taking baths while I’m here.

Having seen all there is to see, I return to my room and rummage through my suitcase for something more comfortable to sleep in. Not knowing what we would be doing, I brought a variety of nightclothes from pajamas to lingerie. For now, assuming that I won’t be interrupted, I change into a long turquoise t-shirt with the words ‘Nap Time’ on it, because it is indeed nap time.

I crawl into bed, but my mind is abuzz with everything that’s gone on, and I can’t seem to sleep. I think about the foreign location, wondering where in the heck I am—why this place is so private. I consider the many reasons why the building’s interior design might be so sterile and dull. And then my thoughts drift to Chandler standing on the deck shirtless—to everything I felt when I saw him. I think about the jolt of electricity when he accidentally touched my hand. How many women have yearned for his touch?

The more I think about him, the more I think about doing the one thing that might relax me enough to help me pass out. It’s a bit embarrassing and awkward slipping my fingers into my underwear, and I pause several times before they actually find my clit, looking around like a scared prey animal going out into a clearing in the forest. I can’t help but feel like I’m being watched, even though I know that’s ridiculous. Finally, I give myself permission, not so much because I’m horny as because I’m so damn annoyed with being this tired.

I do my business, picturing all of the naughty things I’d like to do with Chandler Lexington, most of which involve me on my back on that deck with him writhing on top of me as the sun sets in the background. It’s movie-perfect. Relief finds me with a soft sigh, and I cuddle down beneath the plush comforter for some much-needed sleep.

I wake to the sound of knocking at my bedroom door. My eyes don’t want to open, but I immediately roll over to look at the clock with a groan. Eight PM. Holy crap, I can’t believe I slept that long.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I call to Chandler as I fly out of bed and head to my suitcase, wishing I had taken a bit of extra time to unpack so that I wouldn’t have to dig through everything I brought. Then again, I had planned to do that after I woke up, having thought it would be at a decent hour.

Frustrated that I can’t find the dress I’m looking for, I throw back on the one I wore on the plane. The last thing I want to do is piss Chandler off by keeping him waiting any longer than I already have. Within five minutes, I’m halfway presentable—presentable enough for dinner, I hope. There was no time to fix my makeup and barely enough time to run a brush through the tangles in my hair.

I grab my key card off the bedside table and open the door to leave, gasping as I come face to face with a woman. She smiles at me pleasantly as I clutch my chest.

“Sorry if I startled you,” she says in one of the most generically friendly voices I’ve ever heard. “Chandler asked me to retrieve you for dinner.”

As soon as the shock wears off, disappointment takes its place. I had thought that Chandler and I would be alone together all weekend. Instead, I have this fox of a woman to compete with. She’s easily five-ten, model height. With her perfect proportions, ivory skin, jet-black hair, and large brown eyes, I have no doubt she’s either Chandler’s girlfriend or his fuck buddy.

At least, that’s what I think until she seats me at the dining room table and then immediately gets to work serving us. A maid? Is that what she is? She’s dressed in a white pantsuit and looks as sterile as the rest of the place. When she finishes setting plates in front of us and retreats back to wherever she came from, I start to see her as less of a threat. Though I don’t know why I saw her as a threat in the first place. This isn’t a competition for Chandler. I’m just his muse for the week. If they have any type of non-professional relationship, it’s none of my business.

“That’s Susan. She’ll be taking care of us while we’re here,” Chandler informs me.

She certainly doesn’t look like a Susan. More like a Gia or an Everly. A name that generic does not do such an exotic-looking woman justice.

I turn my attention to the food laid out before us, various sushi rolls. I’ve never tried sushi before, which is ironic given my love of Japanese culture, but I’m not a big fan of fish in general.

“Did she make all of this?” I ask as I awkwardly pick up the chopsticks laid out on the cloth napkin in front of me.

“Yes. Susan is quite the chef.” Chandler holds his chopsticks like an expert, immediately transferring a few pieces of sushi over to his plate like he’s done it a million times before. I mirror him to the best of my ability. Despite my struggle to use the chopsticks, he doesn’t offer to teach me or switch them out for silverware. He simply smirks in amusement at my plight while I try my hardest not to get irritated. “I take it you’ve never had sushi before.”

“That should be obvious.” I finally give up and stab a piece with the sticks, no longer caring about looking refined in front of him.

He chuckles in response, which should put me at ease if not for that he’s staring at me. In fact, he’s completely stopped paying attention to his own plate and is leaning back in his chair observing me. It’s making me nervous—making my hands shake.

“A little help here,” I say when I realize that I’m almost to the point of just using my fingers.

Keep some dignity, Emma. And for the love of God, don’t sound like an ungrateful bitch.

Chandler finally springs to action. “What would you like?” He hovers above the sushi with his chopsticks.

“Well, I don’t know what any of this is, so I’ll take whatever.” I submit to whatever he feels like feeding me, remembering that I’m not supposed to have any free will here anyway.

“So what do you think of this place so far?” He piles my plate with way more than I can possibly eat.

“It’s interesting.” I nod, noticing that there isn’t any art on the walls in here either. I suppose that doesn’t matter when the backdrop is one big window. We’re facing the river. This is where I first saw him, the wall of glass when we were walking up. It’s a nice view for eating.

“Just interesting.” He doesn’t seem pleased with my answer. “You can do better than that.”

I shift my weight, feeling like he’s putting me under a spotlight. “It has a very sterile feel to it. For you being a famous painter, I figured there would be art on the walls. Did you not have time to fly any in? Or would it have been too difficult getting it here?”

“There’s art in your room,” he points out.

“Yes,” I reply hesitantly.

“But that was what I was going for—the sterile feeling. I want this exhibit to be uninfluenced by the outside world and all of its distractions. That’s why the walls are all bare.”

A bit eccentric, but who am I to question or complain? No questions asked. That’s what I signed up for.

I do my best to scoop up the most safe-looking roll on my plate with the chopsticks. Everything in it is identifiable: cucumber, avocado, and crab meat. I think this is what they call a California roll, except that the crab meat in it is real instead of the imitation kind. I stick it in my mouth and give it a good chew, happy that it doesn’t taste horrible.

“Sake?” Chandler offers to pour me a drink from the tokkuri sitting between us.

“I’m underage,” I remind him.

“You’re not underage here.” He smiles at me before filling his sakazuki.

“Where is here exactly?” I cast a glance outside at the towering mountains and serene greenery that are only still visible because of the light of the moon.

“No questions, remember.” He lifts the glass in cheers before downing its contents.

I expect him to fill my cup as well when he goes to pour himself a refill, but he doesn’t. As I watch him, I think that maybe having some alcohol wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It would take the edge off of my nerves.

He sets the tokkuri down but doesn’t pick up his sakazuki, looking at me across the table with a serious expression. “Let me tell you a bit about how this is going to work. I assume you came out here expecting to be drawn or painted, but that’s not going to happen while you’re here. This facility is set up with cameras. You can’t see them, but they’re everywhere, catching every angle of everything that we do.”

I gulp from his words. Everywhere. Does that mean my room, too? Does that mean he took pictures or video of me masturbating and I didn’t even know it? Why couldn’t I have gotten this speech as soon as I arrived instead of right now? Then again, I suppose he didn’t expect me to go to my room and immediately pleasure myself. Oh, my God, I’m such an idiot. This is so embarrassing; I’m never going to live it down. I kind of just want to crawl under the table and die.

“Throughout the week, I’m going to expose you to a variety of experiences. They’re all going to be very… intimate in nature; some of them may be a little intense. There are seven specific pieces that I want to create for this exhibit. I hope that you can help me capture the essence of what I’m trying to accomplish.” His wording is vague and doesn’t give me much of a sense of what he’s trying to accomplish. I’m also having a hard time concentrating on what he’s saying because I’m still freaking out about the fact that he’s going to see me masturbating whenever he watches the video of my room.

“So, Emma, tell me about yourself.” Chandler returns his attention to his food. My appetite is gone. I’ll nibble on something here and there, but just thinking about my blunder has me sick to my stomach.

“There’s not much to tell.” I shrug, staring down at a brown sack-like piece of sushi on my plate wondering what’s inside. Not being able to ask him questions is quickly becoming annoying, but I do my best to just go with the flow. “I just graduated from high school this past summer. I’m not really sure whether or not I want to go to college, but if I do, I’ll probably major in foreign studies. I eventually want to move to Japan, so I should probably learn more about the culture.”

“And eat more sushi.” He grins at my full plate.

“Yeah. And that.” I cast a sideways glance, forcing myself to grab another piece. The bag-looking thing will do well enough.

“It’s inari,” he tells me. “The brown part is double-fried tofu. Then it’s boiled in a sweet sauce and filled with sushi rice. There’s no raw seafood in there if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Perceptive. To be honest, I’m not a big fan of fish.”

“Which explains why you seem to be lacking an appetite. I can have Susan make you something else if you’d like.” He looks to the door that Susan left out of.

“No.” I shake my head quickly. “This should be fine.”

“It would be no trouble. The kitchen is fully stocked.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.” I take a bite of the inari to show him that I’m willing to eat it. It doesn’t taste half bad.

We spend the rest of the meal in relative silence. There’s an awkward tension between us that I just want to go away. I fix my gaze on the sake several times, hoping he’ll get the hint and serve me. He seems intent on observing me, and I’m not bold enough to go for it on my own.

“Shall we retire outside after dinner? I believe a small celebration is in order for you agreeing to do this bizarre experiment with me.” Chandler pushes his chair away from the table and sets his napkin on top of it. “I need to set a few things up. If you’d like to change into something warmer, I’ll meet you out on the deck in fifteen minutes.” He pulls his jacket from the back of his chair. It’s a black leather biker jacket that matches perfectly with his distressed jeans and tight white t-shirt. He looks like the quintessential bad boy. It also makes me realize that he had going outside planned from the beginning. I doubt that anything we do will not have been planned weeks in advance by him.

I return to my room, once again scrambling to find something suitable to wear. I settle on a pair of black tights with a red tank top with a dream catcher on it and a long black cardigan, hoping I dressed warmly enough. Not knowing what country I’m in, the only thing I have to go off of is the temperature when I was outside earlier. Piecing together something that’s both warm and stylish is a bit difficult when I didn’t pack a lot of long-sleeved clothing.

As soon as I step out onto the deck, I realize that I chose poorly. I wrap my arms around me for warmth as I approach Chandler. Thankfully, he’s lit an outdoor fire pit table, so I won’t have to freeze to death. I sit on the loveseat across from him, my eyes landing on a decanter and two wine glasses along with a bowl of chocolates. I try not to make it into something romantic, but being outside under the starlight, my teenage brain begins to go in illogical directions.

“Is that the warmest thing you brought?” Chandler looks at my attire with disapproval.

“I hadn’t expected to be flown to the Alps,” I joke, extending my fingers towards the fire to warm them.

“Here.” He stands and takes off his jacket, walking over to put it on me.

I blush as I slide my arms into the sleeves, thinking of how heavy it is. More than that, of how it smells like Chandler. There’s a strong muskiness about it with notes of citrus and rosemary. Totally money. Completely man. I close my eyes, wrapping myself in the warmth of the jacket and the scent, knowing that I’m wearing a stupidly content grin. This is the happiest I’ve been since arriving here.

Chandler moves everything over to where I’m sitting. Apparently, he had assumed I would be brave enough to sit beside him. He was wrong. I’ve been trying to keep a safe distance because I have no idea about his personal life—if there’s someone of the female variety in it. I want to keep things between us as professional as possible because I want him to see me as a professional. I want to walk away from this experience with his respect.

“I would ask you if you like port, but I can only assume you’re not a wine connoisseur.” Chandler picks up the decanter from the table and pours us each a glass of the liquid that’s so dark red it’s almost black.

“That I am not,” I admit.

“Dark chocolate compliments it well. You should try it.” He hands me a glass.

The way he’s staring at me makes me nervous. He’s watching me so intently. It reminds me of how I was gazing at his paintings in my room earlier, studying them.

My eyes follow his hand as he picks up one of the chocolates. It’s a small round disc, not like anything I’ve seen before, though I’m not really a chocolate connoisseur either. More than likely, this stuff is expensive like everything else here.

I reach out to scoop a few chocolates from the bowl, but Chandler stops me. “Here. Allow me.”

I retract my arm, confused by his intentions until he offers me a chocolate from his own hand, bringing it up to my lips and silently requesting that I open my mouth. I can only hope that the darkness around us hides the heat coming to my cheeks. I can’t believe that Chandler Lexington is hand-feeding me chocolate. And the way he’s looking at me… I don’t feel the cold anymore at all.

“Let the chocolate settle on your tongue, then take a drink of the port.” His fingertips brush my lips as he slips the chocolate into my mouth. For being so subtle, it’s one of the most sensual things I’ve ever experienced.

Chandler seems absolutely fascinated with me as I raise the glass of port to my lips. As it begins to melt on my tongue, I taste the bitterness of the chocolate. Dark chocolate has never been my favorite, but I have no problem with it in small quantities. I’m not sure how much I’m supposed to drink, so I take a sip of the port, not wanting to look like a lush. The initial taste of it is strange, sweet but bitter at the same time with a bite of acidity. When it melds with the chocolate on my tongue, the bitterness smooths into something palatable, the chocolate, despite its lack of sugar content, lending some sweetness to the wine. Or maybe the wine is lending sweetness to the chocolate; I can’t really tell. All I do know is that I definitely wouldn’t enjoy the wine as much without the chocolate.

“What do you think?” Chandler asks.

“It’s good.” I nod, slurring slightly around the mixture before swallowing it. “The wine is strong.” I can already feel the heat that was in my cheeks sliding down my throat and into my stomach to settle there. It probably won’t be long before I catch a buzz.

He chuckles, far less elegantly popping a chocolate into his own mouth and tossing back a large gulp of the port. I find him to be intriguing. There’s a precarious balance of finesse and realness to the way he acts. For the most part, he seems like a creature leagues above me, but there are moments when unscripted humanity shines through. I can’t help but wonder if he’s more act than truth—if he’s purposely trying to impress me.

“Please, help yourself.” He gestures to the bowl of chocolates. I’d much rather him hand-feed me again, but I dare not say it. Instead, I hesitantly take a chocolate from the bowl, repeating the process.

“The paintings in my room are really good,” I say, wanting to know more about him—to be closer to him.

“Thank you.” He lounges back. “You won’t see those pieces anywhere else in the world. They’re from my private collection.”

I feel honored that I get to see them. I want to ask if I can take a picture of them, but then I remember that I was made to leave my cell phone at home. I’m to have no contact with the outside world while I’m here. It makes sense, though, considering how private Chandler is trying to be about this whole thing. And if the paintings in my room haven’t been on display anywhere in the world, that obviously means he doesn’t want anyone seeing them without his permission.

“My favorite is the mother and the baby,” I inform him.

“What do you like about it?” He looks at me with interest.

“Mostly the emotion in her expression. You can tell that she greatly loves the child. There’s a sereneness to it, a sort of innocence.” I swirl what’s left of the wine in my glass, picturing the painting.

“That’s a very deep assessment. I’m impressed.” Chandler props his elbow up on the armrest, cupping his chin with his hand.

“I like art. I’m a bit of an artist myself,” I confess.

“Oh, really? What’s your medium?”

I internally cower in embarrassment, not wanting him to think of me as a child for liking to draw what many would consider to be cartoons. “Mostly digital. I draw with a stylus and paint using software.”

“A lot of people are more digital these days. I think it’s because it’s easier to fix mistakes when you make them.”

“That’s just how I learned.” I shrug, fearing that this might degrade into a conversation about how creating art digitally is less refined, though he’s made no indication of disapproval.

“What do you draw?”

“Mostly people,” is the simplified version.

Chandler smiles warmly at me. “I would like to see some of your work sometime.”

“It’s nothing impressive.” I shift my weight away from him, feeling unworthy. “It’s never been on display anywhere important or won any awards. I mean, I have a DeviantArt profile, and I’ve sold a few prints, but I don’t do anything as intricate as what you paint.”

“Everyone has to start somewhere.”

It’s a generic response, the same one I’ve heard dozens of times before. I know it should mean more coming from him, but it just makes me feel hollow about my future. No doubt he’s told that to hundreds of other budding artists because it’s the easiest thing to say. I’m not sure why I was hoping for something deeper. All I know is that I don’t really want to talk about myself anymore.

“The woman in the paintings in my room, she hasn’t been in any of your public works. Is she someone important to you?” I know the question is highly personal, but I want to make him squirm just like he unknowingly made me squirm, if that’s even possible.

“She is.” He nods. “Was.” There’s a touch of sadness to his eyes that makes me immediately regret asking. “She was my mother.”

“Your mother.” I mouth the word, thinking about the nude painting.

He snorts, the mood suddenly changing. “Do you think the nude is a bit bizarre?”

If he can read body language well, then the fact that I tensed up already gave me away. “Why did you paint it?”

Chandler chugs the last few gulps of the port in his glass before setting it down on the table. “Have you ever heard of the Oedipus complex?”

“No.” I shake my head, finishing my wine and hoping for a refill. My head is already buzzing with the beginnings of inebriation, which is making me more relaxed around him.

“It’s basically the theory that every man wants to sleep with his mother. Or in broader terms, that every child subconsciously wants to sleep with their parent of the opposite sex. It stems from the Greek mythological character Oedipus, who killed his father to wed his mother.”

“I think I remember reading about that in school.” I search my memory banks for lessons on Greek mythology. The story is vaguely recounted in my mind, but it’s still there. “So does that mean…”

“No.” He laughs. “No, I never slept with my mother nor did I ever want to. I just thought it would be an interesting concept to paint. Challenging myself, I suppose.” Chandler gazes up at the stars. The light reflecting from his eyes makes them seem like endless pools of darkness. “You can see why I haven’t made those paintings public.” He glances over at me.

“I imagine it might spark some controversy,” I muse.

“Especially since my mother passed away a few years ago.” He relaxes back against the sofa again.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I sulk slightly, once more feeling bad for having brought up the paintings.

“It was cancer,” he informs me. “Those paintings were in honor of her, something deeply personal that I’m not ready to share with the world yet. Maybe someday.” Chandler picks his glass up from the table, wets his finger with the drop of port still left in it, and circles the rim slowly so that it resonates. The humming draws my attention to his fingertip, to the slow swirl of it. It also makes me think of how skillful he is with his hands. The alcohol is getting to my head and reaching other parts of my body, creating arousal that is filling my mind with irrational fantasies.

I stare at Chandler under the light of the moon. He’s built so solidly, but there’s vulnerability to his expression. I feel the need to comfort him in the most sexual of ways. On my knees. In a bed.

What’s wrong with me? I need to forget about it. I’m here for an art project, not to get laid. Besides, he just shared something personal with me. I should be sympathizing with him, not selfishly thinking about jumping his bones.

I need something to focus on other than him, so I boldly reach out to take the decanter and refill my glass. Before I can get to it, though, Chandler shoots forward and grabs me by my wrist. His grip is so firm that it makes me look at him.

“No,” he tells me gently.

“All right.” I recoil slowly when he lets me go.

“I need you to be sober for what happens next.”

“What’s happening next?” I bite my bottom lip, suddenly feeling nervous. I didn’t realize there would be a next after this. It’s already late. I figured we’d just have a pleasant conversation and go to bed, not that I’ll be able to sleep anytime soon.

“Would you like to see?”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He simply stands and offers me his hand.

I slide my hand into his, yearning for the physical contact. Every time we touch, no matter how subtle, I feel a burst of electricity between us. I wonder if he feels it, too. Probably not. This is all just business to him. This place doesn’t hold the same sort of magic for him because he built it. And I don’t hold any magic for him because I’m plain. He’s likely been with dozens of girls far more beautiful than me. Bona fide models.

Continuing to fantasize about him is just going to leave me sexually frustrated. And I can’t even masturbate. This week is going to be far more torturous than I could have ever imagined. Maybe caving in to signing up for the contest was a bad idea. Are fifteen minutes of fame really worth a week of wanting to hump everything in sight because I’m trapped in a building with one of the most handsome, talented men on the face of the planet? I’m beginning to think not.

As soon as Chandler leads me back inside, the warmth is almost overwhelming. I find myself conflicted about whether or not I want to shrug off his jacket. Having anything that belongs to him wrapped around me makes me content, but the alcohol has my body burning up.

Thankfully, the decision is made for me when he offers to take the jacket back, hanging it on a coat rack just inside the door. I sniff my shoulder when he’s not looking, hoping that his scent lingers on my skin. It’s so fucking pathetic. Maybe when I fully sober up, I’ll be less horny. I’m mildly buzzed right now, and it’s certainly not helping my libido any.

Chandler takes my hand again to lead me further into the building. The beauty of the scenic backdrop fades, and brown walls close in around us, making me feel claustrophobic. Thankfully, we don’t go very far before Chandler stops in front of one of the doors.

“Are you ready for this?” he asks with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be ready for,” I reply hesitantly.

He responds by pulling his key card from his pocket and swiping it across the door panel. The light turns green, the lock clicking open. He opens the door and turns on the light, pushing the door open but not really moving aside. I have to wedge my body next to his to see into the room, and when I do, I’m utterly confused.

It’s like stepping into another dimension. The room is barely large enough for the circular piece of furniture inside. Soft piano music is playing, something slow and soothing. The walls, ceiling, and floor are white, the light in the room so bright that it’s almost blinding. The piece of furniture, which I can only assume is a circular bed, is covered in a thick white fur. On top of the fur, meticulously placed in a large circle, are blood-red rose petals, offering the only color in the entire room. It reminds me of a strange artistic target, and I have no idea what any of it means.

Chandler is watching me intently as if he’s waiting for me to decipher the puzzle he’s laid before me. I’m completely clueless and not the least bit embarrassed about it. He’s the artistic genius, not me. And there’s absolutely zero indication of what he expects from me or how I should react.

“What is this?” I turn to him finally when it becomes obvious that he has no intentions of explaining the room to me.

“It’s where you’re going to lose your virginity.”

My mouth instantly goes dry, and I feel my pinky twitch. I have to have heard him wrong. “Excuse me?”

“I’m going to fuck you in here.” He nods into the room.

No, I definitely didn’t hear him wrong. Did he just say…? Yes, yes, he did. I don’t need for him to repeat himself a third time. He said we’re going to have sex in here, and I’m so floored that I don’t even know how to respond.

“Okay.” I nod… because what else am I going to say? I signed my life away in that contract. Anything he wants, that’s what he gets this weekend. And if he wants to fuck me seven ways to Sunday, then I have no legal say in it unless I just want to leave. And there’s no way I’m leaving. This is better than just winning the contest to be his model. An added bonus. How many girls can say they lost their virginity to the world-famous Chandler Lexington? Maybe a couple, but I certainly don’t mind joining their ranks.

He chuckles in amusement. “Wow, you’re a lot more compliant than I thought you would be.”

I lean against the door frame. “Why wouldn’t I be? No questions asked, remember.”

“This is a pretty big deal for you, isn’t it?” I hear the first hint of concern in his voice.

“Well, you’ve certainly made it a bigger deal,” I admit. “I mean, how many girls are challenged to lose their virginity in an obscure little room out in the middle of nowhere and have it recorded by a famous artist? Forgive me if I have some performance anxiety.” I smirk at him.

A brilliant smile lights up his face, and he moves aside to allow me to slip past him into the room. “It appears that you’re more than I bargained for.”

“What? Did you expect me to resist and struggle?” My eyes flash with amusement.

“I’m not so sure.” He scrubs his hand across his face, assessing me. I can’t tell if he’s happy or annoyed with my lack of resistance, but I choose to believe the first of the two.

“So how are we going to do this?” I ask, feeling nervous now that he’s allowed the door to close behind us. The room is only slightly bigger than the hallway. My legs are brushing the edge of the bed from the close proximity. Again, I feel the walls closing in around me, but I try to keep my focus on Chandler, thinking about what’s to come.

“How do two people usually come together?” He crosses the distance between us, cupping my chin and tilting my face up to him. His eyes are already dark with desire, casting a spell over me. It feels like all of my free will drains from me, and I give myself over to him completely. This is going to be a night that I’ll remember for the rest of my life, and though I barely know him, there’s no one I’d rather share it with.

Chandler’s fingertips brush my shoulders as they reach up to peel off my cardigan. He takes another step forward, and I feel the heat of his body close to mine. “Can I touch you?” My cheeks flame as the words leave my lips. Touching him feels forbidden, though. I need permission.

“Touch all you want,” he whispers against my hair as he inhales my scent. I imagine that my Garnier Fructis shampoo and conditioner is probably underwhelming to him. But this must be what he wanted when he put together the contest. Not some perfect woman drenched in expensive perfume. Just a girl.

When he puts his hands on me, I shiver all the way to my core. Every touch is skillful, just as I imagined it would be. He slides his arm around me to draw me to him, and a tiny gasp escapes my lips as my body presses against a wall of hard muscle. His other hand reaches up to rake over my breast, and I immediately feel my nipple bead beneath the touch of his fingertips.

His lips find my cheek, placing kisses on my skin, and I crane my head for him, closing my eyes and basking in the moment. Feeling bold, I allow my own hands to begin to explore. The material of his shirt is soft, but everything beneath is so solid. I remember what he looked like the first time I saw him on the deck, and I can feel the work he put in to get this body.

“Kiss me,” I whisper, needing to feel his lips on mine. I’m not supposed to be making demands, but if I’m going to give him my first time, then I think I should be allowed to be greedy.

He straightens himself, his eyes hooded as our mouths come together. In here, I feel like we’re almost on equal ground. He’s not demanding things of me. Not telling me to be quiet or back off. He’s giving me what I want, and I’m not afraid to take from him. It’s almost like we’ve known each other for a lifetime instead of just a few hours.

Maybe it’s the romantic setting. Maybe it’s the soft music in the background or the sensuality of his touch, but everything feels right.

Chandler grabs my ass, pulling me hard against him, and I can feel the front of his jeans straining from his arousal. A blush comes to my cheeks as my mind fast-forwards. I’m going to get to see him naked. Even better, I’m going to get to know what it feels like to have him inside of me. My underwear moistens from the thought, from knowing that his sex is so close to mine—that there are only minutes before he changes me forever with his body.

“I think you’re wearing too much,” Chandler whispers into my ear before pulling my tank top over my head and tossing it aside. It hits the wall and slides down it, feeling oddly out of place in the colorless room. I don’t have time to pay much mind to it because Chandler pulls one of my bra cups down and circles my nipple with his mouth.

I gasp from the warm wetness of his tongue swirling around the bud, my fingers flying into his hair to hold him to me. I tilt my head back and moan as he nibbles and sucks until I’m certain my nipples are hard enough to cut through glass.

His hands reach around me to take my bra off, unceremoniously tossing it against the wall where my shirt is. Then he buries his head between my tits, nuzzling me as he kisses a path to the other nipple.

I want his shirt off too, but I also don’t want to stop him. It’s not like I’ve never had my nipples sucked before. I may be a virgin, but I’m not entirely pure. But I’ve never experienced it like this. I’ve only made out with boys, never men. Never anyone assertive or who even remotely acted like they knew what they were doing.

Chandler’s mouth seems every bit as skilled as his hands. He gropes me unabashedly, his focus laser-targeted. His tongue flicks across each erect bud, causing waves of electricity to course below that make me press my thighs together. I feel like I might come just from him playing with my tits. Already, tiny contractions are firing off—a warning that the second he touches my clit, I’m done for.

By the time he comes back up to kiss my lips, something carnal has taken over me. I’ve never wanted a man more in my entire life than I want him right now. If he tells me that this is all just some joke and we aren’t actually going to have sex, I may rape him. I have very little control anymore.

Aggressively, I fist my fingers into his hair and crush my lips against his, showing him that he doesn’t have to be gentle with me. My other hand claws at the front of his shirt. It’s probably an expensive shirt. Something that looks like you could get it off the rack at Walmart but actually costs a small fortune. I don’t care if I rip it; he can afford to replace it. He opened Pandora’s box, and now he has to pay for the peek inside. If he wanted some meek, shy thing, he picked the wrong girl for his exhibit.

I back him up towards the bed with an onslaught of rough kisses before pushing him down onto it. There’s surprise in his eyes. This is not what he expected from me.

I’m on him before he has a chance to recover, straddling him and kissing him, stealing his breath as my long hair cascades around him. He keeps up with my pace, his fingertips sliding down into my tights. He pushes the waistband over my ass, and I maneuver so that he can take them off.

“You’re undressing me, but you still haven’t shed a single garment.” I hint to the fact that I want him naked… like five minutes ago.

“All in good time.” He smirks at me before his eyes trail down my body to my thong. “You are full of surprises, Emma Jones.”

“I hope that’s a good thing, Chandler Lexington.” I say his name in a playful mocking tone.

“Exquisite.” His palms rub over the globes of my ass before he sits up and gives each cheek a kiss.

“Are you an ass man?” I bounce on his lap, wanting to arouse him until he’s going crazy for me.

“I like every part of a woman’s body.” He gives my backside a hard slap, making me gasp.

I giggle and moan as he kisses over the welt forming. Knowing he left a visible handprint behind has my pussy drooling.

Chandler sits with my ass draped over his lap, his hands set on exploring. He squeezes and gropes, spreading my cheeks and spanking me when I least expect it. It’s the perfect mix of gentle and rough.

Finally, he slides from beneath me, his fingers working to pull my thong to the side. I arch my back slightly, offering him the first glimpse at my exposed pussy, hoping he’s impressed that I waxed. More so hoping that everything looks good back there. I’d never waxed before, but fearing that Chandler might want to paint me nude, I wanted to make sure that my cunt was perfectly hairless. It was painful as hell, but totally worth it now that I’m going to get to feel his mouth on me. And I know that’s what’s about to happen because he’s looking at me like a man starved.

I expect him to go straight for my snatch, but instead, I feel the flat of his tongue lap roughly across my asshole. The unexpectedness of it makes my body jolt, but Chandler soothes me with a palm on the small of my back, keeping me in place. It feels strange having the tip of his tongue tunnel into my pucker, but not unpleasant. He definitely has to be an ass man if that’s the first thing he went for, I think. I’m not going to complain, though. To be honest, the spreading sensation is quickly growing on me, and everything he does feels amazing.

I writhe on the bed, enjoying his mouth slurping at me while I stare down at my tits and the rose petals surrounding them. This is incredibly sexy, and the more we mess around, the more I start to see his vision coming together. If he’s recording all of this, then he’s looking for certain special moments to paint. The thoroughness of it is endearing.

I reach around and place my hand on the back of his neck, wanting to touch him. Even though his mouth is on me and I can feel his palm on my ass spreading my cheeks, he feels so far away. Still, I moan to spur him on, wanting to feel everything that he wants me to experience.

After a few minutes, he emerges, giving my ass another hard slap. I get the feeling that he wants to move on to something else, so I come up onto my hands and knees.

“That felt amazing,” I tell him, knowing that the compliment wasn’t required. His confident expression speaks volumes that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I bet your pussy is getting jealous.” He gives me a smirk that can only be described as sex on fire.

He’s reading my body like a book, and every turn of the page is driving me more wild.

Chandler grabs my thigh and my ankle, flipping me over onto my back. I brush my hair over my shoulder, smiling at him and following his lead. He pulls me to the edge of the bed, splaying my legs as he kneels between them. Again I think that he’s still wearing too much, and I have to resist the urge to pull his shirt off, remembering his ‘all in good time’ comment.

He kisses me a few times, and I’m pleasantly surprised that I don’t taste my ass on him. Then he pulls the crotch of my panties to the side. The second his tongue licks me from asshole to clit, I lose myself completely. The white walls around us seem blinding as I’m cast off to heaven, my pussy clenching from contractions.

“Fuck,” he curses, staring at my O-face over my mound. “If you look like that when you come, I might never allow you to stop.”

He makes good on his words, his lips wrapping around my bud to suck and draw out my climax. It feels so fucking good that I can’t breathe. Tears fill my eyes, threatening to mess up my makeup as they spill over the edge.

“Yeah, baby. Just like that.” I give him praise, not wanting him to stop. Never wanting him to stop.

If eating pussy was an Olympic sport, he’d win the gold medal. His tongue deftly laps at my clit before dipping into my channel. It’s a soothing wetness to my heated parts. Just when I think my body is about to settle, that the contractions are finally going to stop, he wraps his lips around me again, sucking and vibrating his tongue across my clit until my body erupts from pleasure.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he moans into me before gently clipping my clit between his teeth and making me squeal and claw at the sheets.

“And you’re so fucking good at this.” I bite my bottom lip from the foul language leaving my mouth. If Chandler is offended by it, it doesn’t show. He chuckles in amusement, kissing my inner thighs.

I slip my fingers into his hair, directing him back down. Just in case this is a one-time thing, I want as much of his pussy-eating as I can get in one night. He goes back to work, his hand reaching up to grope my breast, his fingers twisting and tweaking my nipple to add an extra bit of pleasure. I hump his face, using him, trying to milk out one last orgasm because I know we’re about to move on to other things.

He rolls me over onto my side and slaps my ass before grabbing the waistband of my underwear and finally pulling them down and off. I don’t get that last orgasm that I was seeking, but I don’t mind so much because he was between my legs for a long time. He’s already given me far more than I could possibly ask for. I shouldn’t be so greedy.

Chandler places a fingertip beneath my chin, drawing me to him for a kiss. I’m all smiles as I think about how perfect he is—that this is perfect. He stands, urging me to sit up. All the while, he keeps my face in his hands, kissing me.

Something brushes my chest, and when I finally glance down, I notice a giant veiny cock standing straight at attention just waiting to be sucked. His giant veiny cock. When did he take his pants down? And my God, that thing is huge. Is it even going to fit? My stomach tightens from the thought of having it inside of me. I know a lot of girls who are size queens, but I’ve never wanted to be with a big guy my first time. I always thought that working your way up was smarter, not that there’s ever really much of a choice in the matter. But this is like going straight for the big leagues.

“Wow.” I can’t seem to take my eyes away. I know what he wants me to do, but I’m too busy being in awe.

“Wow?”

“That’s big.” I look up at him finally.

“And that’s a bad thing?” He quirks an eyebrow in amusement.

“No. It’s just… bigger than I thought it would be.” I gesture awkwardly. “Not that I thought you would be small. I mean…” Oh, God, digging your own grave, Emma. “I’ll just shut up now.” I nod to myself, deciding that’s the best course of action to take. My mouth is better used for other things besides talking.

I take his shaft in both hands, marveling at the fact that there’s still room to spare. My fingers don’t touch. His skin is smooth beneath my palms, his pink helmet peeking up above my thumb and forefinger.

“Wow,” I say again, more to myself than to him. “It’s amazing.”

Chandler tips my face up to kiss me while I begin stroking. I’m admittedly clumsy, having not had a lot of experience with jacking guys off. My hands move lazily over him, and when I realize that I’m uncoordinated using both hands at the same time, I switch to just one.

Chandler grips at the bottom hem of his shirt, and he finally pulls it over his head, exposing his gorgeous torso to me. I can’t resist putting my lips on his chiseled abs. He’s not completely hairless, but he definitely manscapes, which I appreciate.

I moan lustily as I kiss from his navel down to the base of his cock. This is heaven. Pure heaven being with him like this.

Down below, he smells less like his cologne and more like soap and sex. I stick my tongue out, dragging it all the way down his length. When I get to the tip, he groans, giving me the first sign of his enjoyment. It only makes me want to do better, to blow his mind and his cock. I’m sure I won’t be the best he’s ever had, but I’ll damn sure try because I want this to be memorable for him, too. I don’t want to just be filed away with all the other women he’s been with when this is all over.

I nibble down his length, dragging my tongue up and down it and giving a few intermittent strokes between. Chandler pulls my hair over my shoulder so that he can see my face better, and I eyefuck the living hell out of him, trying to show him that I definitely want this—that I want everything we’re going to do in this room tonight.

I take to all fours, arching my back slightly and darting my tongue out to tease and lightly suck his tip. He rubs his palms down the curvature of my back before grabbing the globes of my ass. I use the opportunity to take him all the way to the back of my throat, and he moans loudly, straightening himself and tangling his fingers in my hair again.

“Oh, fuck.” He tilts his head back.

I cup his balls, massaging them, and he begins to buck his hips, sliding in and out of my mouth at a steady pace a few times before giving me back control. His girth hurts my jaw, so it’s not long before I have to take a break. I sit on my calves, and Chandler places his hand on my throat, bending to kiss me. His pre-seed is on my lips, and it doesn’t seem to bother him at all to taste it. His grip on my throat tightens, his other hand coming to join the first, cradling and locking my face into place at the same time as he kisses me, his pre-come creating a sticky web between us every time he breaks free from the kiss to catch a short breath.

He keeps his hand on my throat as he guides me back to his dick. I open for him, sliding it to the back of my throat as if he’s using me as a sheath. The gentle yet demanding way he controls me is a major turn-on. He’s romantic and dominant at the same time, a mix that I’ve never heard of before. Most men are usually either one or the other.

He pushes balls deep into me, challenging my gag reflex. I’m amazed that I can swallow this much of him. It hurts a little, and I desperately want to cough, but I refuse to give in and look sloppy. Chandler holds me in place, and I do my best to breathe through my nose. Just when my resolve is about to die, he lets me go with a groan.

I lick the trail of pre-seed clinging to my mouth and wrap my hand around his shaft, stroking him gently. I know that my throat can’t take much more abuse, so I grab my tits, pressing them together and dropping a dollop of spit between them for lubrication. Chandler knows exactly what to do, crawling onto the bed to slide his cock between my breasts. I hold them in place while he thrusts gently, grateful for my D’s. While I don’t have much of an ass, I have tits for days. It’s honestly one of the few things that I think makes men attracted to me despite my overall plainness.

“Does it feel good?” I ask, a little self-conscious. He’s given me so much pleasure, and I feel like I’m under-delivering on my end.

He replies by kissing me again, and when we break free from the kiss and I crane my neck to give his cock head equal affection on his upthrust, he responds with an, “Oh, yes.”

I do the best I can, taking his glans into my mouth as he bucks up between my tits. He holds my hair in a pile on top of my head, keeping it out of the way. When I feel like I’m copping out too much, I take him in both hands again, stroking him while I tease at his tip with my tongue. Then I go for the grand finale, impaling myself on him a final time. My jaw aches as he uses his grip on my hair to buck up into my mouth, my gag reflex just about to surrender.

When he pulls out this time, I gaze up at him longingly, hoping he’ll see it as a sign that I’m ready for more intimate things. He cups my chin between his thumb and forefinger, bending to kiss me again. I take his face in my hands, feeling the light layer of stubble on his cheeks that’s barely visible to the naked eye. Every time our eyes meet, it’s magic. I can’t believe we’re connecting so well—so in sync.

“Are you ready for me to be inside of you?” He brushes his thumb across my bottom lip, causing my mouth to reflexively open for him.

“I’m ready for whatever you want,” I confess, my body more than warmed up for him.

“Get on all fours,” he tells me, letting me go.

I crawl on my hands and knees as seductively as possible, arching my back and giving him my best come-hither look over my shoulder. He grabs my thighs and pulls me back to the edge of the bed. The rose petals that stick to my forearms feel cool against my skin. I look down at the white fur and the rose petals scattered about, thinking of how I messed up his perfect circle. I wonder if he’s secretly mad at me for it. I try not to let the thought linger because it will ruin the moment for me. This is no time to worry that things aren’t going exactly as he envisioned them, because right now this is honestly more about me than it is about him.

My lips tremble as he lines up behind me and lightly spanks my cunt with his cock. Every time his glans hits my clit, a tiny pulse fires off, and I think about how close I am to losing my virginity—that there’s no going back. There’s a flash in my mind that I may not be ready for this, but I brush it away because I know deep down inside that this is what I want. I want Chandler inside of me more than I’ve ever wanted another man. This is a fantasy made flesh, and I plan to enjoy it to the fullest. No more doubts. No more apprehension.

Moaning, I press my hips back towards him to show him I’m ready, and he lets out a small chuckle. “I don’t know about you.”

“I know you should fuck me,” I challenge him.

“I’ll try to be gentle,” he tells me, all amusement fading from his voice.

The mood shifts, and I appreciate that he seems to care. He’s not one of those guys who’s just going to charge in for his own pleasure.

Chandler puts a knee on the bed, angling himself between my legs. I hold my breath as I feel his helmet nudge between my folds. He places a hand on the small of my back to steady himself, pushing forward ever so slowly. The stretching feeling is exquisite. It’s as if he’s getting bigger and bigger the further into me he goes.

“I just have the tip in. Are you ready for the rest?”

My body shudders at the thought that he’s barely inside of me and it’s already so intense. I mutter my approval, and when he bucks in the rest of the way, I cry out from the sudden burning sensation. It feels like so much. Too much.

“Oh, God,” I pant, biting my forearm.

“Shit, you feel incredible,” he breathes, pulling back and then pressing in again with a groan.

I moan and whimper as he fucks me slowly, closing my eyes and drowning in the mixture of pleasure and pain. It doesn’t take long before the scale begins to tip. My body is squeezing around him, my cunt pulsing from having a cock in it for the first time.

“I never knew it would feel this good,” I whisper against my arm, consumed by pleasures I’d heard about but never experienced before.

“It’s one of the best things ever,” he tells me matter-of-factly, picking up the pace. The friction of him pumping in and out of me is enough to send me over the edge. He thrusts into me all the way, cursing as I come all over his dick. “Jesus Christ, you’re going to make me nut.”

“You’re not wearing a condom,” I remind him.

“Do you think that would stop me?” He snorts, sounding absolutely wicked.

“I’d hope it would stop you,” I mutter.

“Don’t worry. I won’t knock you up.”

Good to know. Just hope he’s sincere about it, not that I want to focus on it too much in the heat of things.

He reaches around and gropes one of my breasts, pinching my nipple and drawing one last contraction out of me. Then he slaps my ass, returning his attention to fucking me raw. I moan as I bounce on his dick, feeling his cock stretching my insides with each thrust. There’s no doubt I’ll be sore tomorrow; he’s so much to take in.

“Come here.” Chandler crawls up onto the bed beside me, pulling me over with him. I reach a hand back, sliding my fingers into his hair and craning my neck to kiss him. “Put your leg up.” He repositions me so that my foot is resting on his knee. Then he slips inside of me again, the wetness of my cunt easing the entry, though it still stings.

He holds my leg up, bending and twisting around me so that he can take my nipple into his mouth while he fucks me. I tilt my head back and soak in the sensation. It feels like he’s everywhere at once, touching all of my most erogenous zones. The only thing missing is a good clit massage, so I slide my hand between my legs and get to work, quickly driving myself to another orgasm.

“Oh, fuck, Emma. I want to come inside of you so badly. Fill your little pussy up for the first time.” He looks at me as if asking for permission. He’s not getting it. I’m not on birth control right now. Hell, I hadn’t even anticipated that sex was going to happen on this little excursion.

“That feels really good.” I ignore him in lieu of focusing on my own pleasure, milking the last few contractions out with my fingers while he continues to pump into me at a fast pace as if he’s trying to make my inner muscles atrophy.

As soon as my climax settles, Chandler stops thrusting. He reaches around to caress my cheek, all passionate kisses and seductive looks. I realize now that I could do this all night with him. I’m sore, but I can’t seem to get enough. Maybe because it feels so good. Maybe because I’m afraid this is the only time we’re going to do this. Whatever the case, I want to spend as much time in this room as I possibly can.

“Lie down,” I whisper to him, placing a palm on his chest to push him onto his back.

He gives me a curious smile but complies, resting back while I climb on top of him. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out what I’m trying to do, and he grabs the base of his cock to position himself while I mount him reverse cowgirl style, my thighs already beginning to burn from balancing myself. I lower myself slowly, a bit surprised by how different this position feels. He’s angled so that he presses into my inner walls, pushing at places he couldn’t seem to reach when I was on all fours and on my side. Chandler groans when I take him all in and start rocking slowly, my lack of coordination making me feel a bit self-conscious about my decision to try to ride him. Thankfully, he’s more than willing to take the reins, wrapping his hands around my waist and leveraging his grip on me to start thrusting up. I decide to play the lazy card, leaning back and placing my hands on his chest to allow him to do most of the work. It seems to feel better when he’s in control, probably because he knows what he’s doing and I don’t.

“My pussy is going to be so sore tomorrow,” I whimper as he presses me down on him, going so deep that it causes a bite of pain.

“Is it?” he muses.

“Yeah. From having such a big cock inside of me.” I turn to pout at him over my shoulder.

“Aw, fuck, I can’t take this anymore,” Chandler says before aggressively tossing me down onto the bed. My body bounces, rose petals briefly fluttering around us as he crawls on top of me and hikes one of my legs up over his shoulder. The few years of gymnastics I took when I was younger must finally be paying off, because he’s putting me in some positions that require quite a bit of flexibility.

I gasp when he enters me roughly. There’s a darkness to his eyes that wasn’t there before. Carnal desire bubbling up to the surface. He looks almost like a different person, a whole new kind of sexy.

I bite the inside of my lip as he pounds into me with far more vigor than before. He slows momentarily to grind his pubic bone against my clit. “You will come for me one last time.”

I’m not sure if it’s his words that drive me over the edge or the deep clit massage combined with him being inside of me. Whatever the case, he gets what he wants. I gaze up into his eyes and shatter into a million pieces, feeling like I’m stuck in some wonderful dream that I never want to wake from.

All dreams must end, though. And only seconds after my contractions wreck me, Chandler is pulling out and stroking himself. Streams of hot semen shoot out onto my stomach and tits. There’s a deep sense of satisfaction that I was able to get him off with my body, but also sadness that our little tryst is coming to an end.

He hovers over me, breathing heavily, holding his cock so tightly that it’s all purple and bulging veins. His chest rises and falls, and he looks up at the ceiling and lets out a deep breath before climbing off of the bed and offering me his t-shirt to clean myself up.

I watch him pick his boxers up from the floor and pull them on, silently crying out for him to come back to me. I want more of his passionate kisses and affectionate caresses. I don’t want this to be over. Don’t want it to be a one-time thing. I want to spend the entire week in his arms and pretend that he’s mine. But I know that’s not what this is about. What we just did… it was all about the art. Hell, it even felt artistic. Sex on a higher level. Not just sex. I got to be a part of something amazing. How can I possibly ask for more from him? But my greedy heart wants what it wants, and now I’m scared because I’m feeling things that I shouldn’t this soon after meeting someone.

“Would you like something to help you sleep tonight?” Chandler asks me over his shoulder while he puts his jeans back on.

“Sure,” I reply, feeling a little awkward as I climb off of the bed to find my clothes.

What happens now? I mean, obviously he’s ready to go to sleep. But after that? What happens tomorrow and the next day and the one after? How will I make it through the week if he treats me coldly after this?

“I’ll have Susan bring you a cocktail in a little while.” He makes his way to the door, opening it before turning back to me. “Do you remember how to get back to your room?”

“Yes.” I nod.

“Good. Then I’ll see you in the morning.” He offers me a smile before leaving, and it feels like a piece of my soul goes with him.

With Chandler gone, I take my time getting dressed. I sit on the side of the bed and sigh, running my fingers over the fur. It was a little scratchy against my skin during sex, but I didn’t really think much of it until now.

Rose petals are strewn all over the place. Some of them have even made their way onto the floor. Chandler’s perfect circle is completely destroyed.

There’s another shade of red on the fur. It’s barely visible, a simple spot here and there, but I know what it is. The sign that my purity is gone. I squeeze my thighs together, feeling my muscles strain from the labor of being held open for so long with Chandler between them. Everything is going to hurt tomorrow, including my heart. Like a hapless idiot, I’ve already allowed myself to become attached to Chandler. I’m afraid of what the rest of the week will hold for me and how I’ll handle things once it’s all over. But I suppose I shouldn’t linger on it for long right now… because this is only the beginning.