Blake
Before Katherine arrived this afternoon, I put a bed into the studio and covered it with white Egyptian cotton sheets—a thousand thread count. They’re expensive and they feel damn luxurious.
My mind’s eye has been working overtime, imagining Katherine on that bed.
My muse.
She’s finally here, and now all I need is for her to lie quietly as I take care of the rest.
“I’m ready,” Katherine says, and she comes out of the dressing room.
She’s smiling but I can see the death grip she's got on the towel that’s covering her. Katherine’s nervous and I have no idea why; it’s not as if I haven’t already seen and touched every square inch of her.
“Just get comfortable,” I say as reassuringly as possible.
I need her to relax, so I pour a glass of champagne and hand it to her.
“Here.” There’s a slight tremble in her hand as she takes the glass. “Take your time, and when you’re ready, just lie on the bed.”
“Thanks.” She smiles and walks over to it. “Nice sheets.”
“You might want experience them up close. Why not have a lie down?”
“Yeah, I’m getting there,” she says, and takes a deep breath, throwing back the champagne in one swallow.
“There. Much better. What’s to be nervous about?” she says, smiling.
She drops the towel to the floor, and crawls onto the bed, lithe as a lioness. “You know me, I know you. Let’s do this.”
“Damn, you’re gorgeous.”
Katherine throws her head back and gives a throaty laugh. “Come on Blake, you’re making me self-conscious again.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” I say, because there’s nothing shy about her pose.
This is a woman who is meant to be naked. All the time.
I gotta get my mind on work. I’m here to paint. Period, I say to myself. Because right now, what I see in front of me is the perfect picture.
The bed seems to be floating in the center of the room, as the late afternoon sunlight filters in from the tall windows behind her. I like that she’s backlit. It gives the scene an almost dream-like quality.
Katherine’s back is arched, her knees are bent, and her feet are planted on the bed. She looks so damn sexy, I’m almost coming…undone.
I take a breath and say, “That pose is one-hundred percent working for me, but I’m afraid you may not be able to hold it for as long as I need you to.”
“Oh, no?” she says licking her lips, “then how about this?”
She turns her body towards me and puts her hand between her legs. I’m a little surprised at how uninhibited she is. Just a moment ago she seemed tense and fragile. Now she’s showing me a side of her I haven't seen before, and I’m definitely digging it.
But I’m torn. While it’s obvious she’s signaling an all-out invitation to take her right this minute, I have work to do.
Shit, when did I become the guy who’s too busy for sex?
I shake my head and walk toward the container holding my brushes, “Just get comfortable,” I call out, “you’ll need to stay in the pose for a while. If there are any adjustments that need to be made, I’ll let you know.”
“I could use a little adjustment right about now,” she says in hoarse whisper.
“I heard that.”
“You were meant to,” she says laughing.
She’s playing with me, but I need to concentrate. “Katherine, there’ll be time for that later on. But I need to get something down on this canvas.” My tone has taken on a mock annoyance, but she’s not buying it.
“Well, if you want to get down…” she says leaving the sentence hanging.
“Katherine…” and this time I am a touch annoyed, “the colors are waiting.”
When I turn to face her, my muse is perfectly posed, the light is where I want it, and my fingers have the creative itch. Since that itch has been missing of late, I intend to scratch it, regardless of the fact that a sexy, beautiful and obviously aroused woman—who I am immensely attracted to—is lying on a bed screaming to be messed up.
Yes, despite all that, I’m going to get down to business and paint.
I make a conscious decision to concentrate on my palette, and it calms me as I begin.
“I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass,” Katherine interrupts, “but there’s something missing.” She pouts.
“The only thing that’s missing is the absence of any paint on this canvas,” I say in an effort to just get on with it.
“Nope, I’m sure there’s something missing. We need a little something-something.”
I have no clue what this something is that she’s referring to.
“Blake, you get to have all the fun, while I just lie here.” She brushes her hand across her breast.
“I rather thought you’d enjoy lying around since you seem to do it so well,” I counter.
She gives me a ‘come hither’ look with hooded eyes and in a low voice says, “How ‘bout some music. Then I won’t be bored while you’re busy playing with your...canvas.”
And there it is again, that pout. The way those luscious lips press together sends blood from my brain to my…Damn, I need to get on with this.
“If it’s music you want, then it’s music I’ll play. What’s your pleasure?” I ask.
“Are you asking me what music I want to hear? Or are you asking me what’s my pleasure? Because those are two distinctly different questions.”
Katherine is really working me. From every angle. But I can’t let myself be dissuaded. I need to focus.
“How about a classic?” she asks.
“Fine, Beethoven, Brahms?” I ask.
“No, silly,” she’s now genuinely laughing at me. “I’m talking a classic, like Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing,’ I love that song and I have no doubt it’s on your phone. So plug it in and play. Please.”
She’s right. It is on my playlist. I set it up and it's slow suggestive beat flows out of the speakers.
“Satisfied?”
“Not yet,” she teases.
She’s staring at me; her naked body is glorious. She’s slowly moving her hips to the beat of the music and I’m mesmerized.
Katherine is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. I’m not that strong. I can’t help but stop and watch.
“Hey,” she says, “I thought you needed to paint. I don’t see any strokes happening. Stop gawking and work. I don’t have all day.”
There’s no doubt, she’s working me. The entire time she’s talking she continues to slowly move those hips, making it almost impossible for me to do anything else but watch. Oh, hell, blood is definitely rushing south.
“Katherine…” I reprimand, “You’re bad. Very bad." Her pout turns into a lascivious smile as I put down my brushes.
"It seems I have no choice.”
And I really don’t. I want to be inside her right this minute and these paints, well, hell, they’ll be here when we’re done.