Katherine
My lips mechanically move to the mug, and my brain only kicks in when the liquid touches my lips. I cringe. I hate lukewarm or cold coffee, but it’s the only thing within reach.
I feel his eyes on me. They caress my face, my lips, hover at my v-neck tight fitting blouse and keep going. It’s as if he is slowly undressing me from head to toe.
Not now, I tell myself, but lust is creeping through me like weeds creep through the garden. How can he do this to me?
Part of me wants to rip my own clothes off before doing the same to him. But we can’t be having sex all the time, can we?
“You don’t like it?”
Was that worry in his voice?
I smile. “Don’t be silly. I love it.”
Words, I’m an expert with words, and here I’m struggling to come up with the right ones. Maybe I should write to him.
The idea is so silly I laugh.
I catch his eyes and see he is not sure what to make of my reaction.
I put my coffee down and walk over to him. A dangerous move, I know, but I feel like reassuring him the only way I really know how.
When my lips move off his, his hands stay on my hips.
“I know I’m a writer and words should come easy to me,” I hesitate. “I just don’t know what to say.”
Something moves across his face. Hurt? Anger? Disappointment? I’m not sure.
“The way you have captured me on paper,” another hesitation as the genius in me gropes for something to say to make him feel how I feel when I look at the artwork, “No one, and I mean no one has ever looked at me like this.”
I take the picture and move away from him. It takes great effort to resist his physical charm, but I must let him know how I feel about his work before things get out of hand.
“Look at the tiniest of a hint of a dimple in my right cheek. Only someone who had looked at me really closely would be able to reproduce it.” I continue to stare at myself on the paper. For some reason, tears well up and I quickly bite my bottom lip.
Tears are the last thing Blake will want to see.
I feel him beside me again and I glance at him.
“I think I almost look beautiful the way you have captured me.” I pause again. “I look serene. You’re an amazing artist.”
My emotions tell me to stop talking and get on with kissing him and ripping his clothes off so my hands can get creative with his body.
His left hand reaches under my chin and lifts my head, so I have to look at him. His touch is so gentle. A wave of desire engulfs me.
As I struggle with my emotions, he leans in toward me and kisses me ever so lightly on the tip of my nose.
“Did you see I even captured the lonely freckle on the right side of your nose?”
His hand is stopping me from turning my head. I have to take his word for it. I had not noticed it.
“And,” Blake continues, his hand still holding my chin and his index finger caressing my cheek. “You are one of the most beautiful women I have seen.”
His words, spoken with utter sincerity, release millions of butterflies in my stomach and leave my heart galloping wildly in my chest.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I manage to whisper and I wonder how much longer before my legs will simply give way underneath my own weight.
Blake chortles. His other hand now cups half of my face.
“Katherine. Kath.” The way he says my name melts the last of my resistance from me. “I mean every word I just said.”
This time his lips come for my mouth. His kiss is soft.
Slowly, his tongue pushes past my lips to find mine. A groan builds deep down in my throat.
Fling. It’s a fling, I try and remind myself.
When he pulls back, I want to protest.
“Every time I look at you, inspiration washes over me in great big waves.” He points at the picture. “This is just one of a few I’ve drawn of you,” he confesses.
“I don’t know what to say.” It’s true; Katherine the author is suffering from some form of communication block. It’s almost funny.
“From the first time I saw you I knew I needed to draw you.” Blake continues.
My eyes move from the painting to Blake and back again.
Something is still stopping me from giving in. Posing nude is such a personal thing. I cannot imagine myself parading around in front of Blake without any clothes on as he is standing, fully clothed, in front of easel and canvas, paintbrush in hand.
“Since I have met you,” Blake’s words bring me back to the here and now, “I’ve felt so inspired. I’m filled with ideas. I can’t stop painting.”
I feel the heat and color rise to my cheeks.
“Katherine,” he has taken hold of my hands. “You are my inspiration; you are my muse.”
“I don’t think Dale ever said I was beautiful or pretty.” The words are out before I can stop them.
To my surprise, Blake laughs. “Dale’s an asshole and a prick who doesn’t know when he has possession of a real diamond.” Blake plants another kiss on my mouth.
“He does not deserve what he does not value. He does not deserve you.”
I’m not sure exactly what has my wall of resistance crumble, but crumble it does.
“Okay,” I say and this time I give him a little kiss on the cheek. “I will pose for you. Nude.”
Blake smiles then, his whole expression changing.
“You won’t regret it.” He promises.
“Make sure you make me look good.” I say only to say something.
Now he pulls me into his arms and whispers into my ear.
“I can’t fix perfection.”