Painting Her

A Bad Boy Artist Romance

By Natalie Knight

Copyright 2017 by Crimson Vixens

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

Natalie Knight

Blake

Call it a universal truth. All men want sex, myself included. But why then—with this hot, naked woman in front of me—am I feeling…uninspired? I'm in my studio, mixing paint and brushing it across a canvas in fast strokes. I've even found the perfect pink to brush on a nipple. It's night, and the lights of New York City can be seen just outside of my window.

The model—Mia, or Marissa, or Melanie—has one hand shoved down my pants, and she's petting me and parting her legs, and all I can think about is how pathetic this art is. It feels like something I've done a million times already.

"Blake, baby, you feel so good," she purrs. "Give me that one-eyed python."

"Don't do that."

"Do what, baby?"

"Give it a pet name," I say.

"But it's so impressive," she purrs again, "that it deserves its own name."

She slides her hand down further, and I don't stop her, but I ignore her advances.

Why? Because this painting can't wait.

When I start a new piece, I'm compelled to finish it, and like a fish on a hook, I have no choice but to be pulled in and see it through.

Art is as much a part of me as breathing, or eating. It's my life.

I place the long, wooden handle of the paintbrush between my teeth and sit back.

Something is missing…

It's flat.

I decide to bring in white paint, mixing it with my current palette and hoping to add light to the piece. Maybe give it some depth and dimension.

I use a palette knife to scrape on rolls of paint for texture. I use a thin brush for details, and work with the concentration of a greyhound eyeing a rabbit—my focus is singular.

I drag the brush against the canvas again, adding color here and there, then finally finishing the last of the model's curves—her legs and the curve of her inner thighs. I just need to get those right. There's something about legs that can be so expressive.

"It's perfect," she coos, looking up at the canvas.

The truth is, it's far from perfect. Sure, it's good, but it looks like every other piece I've painted.

I want something new. I want something more.

No, it's more than a want; it's a need—to elevate my art.

The media will tell you that what all men only care about are a woman's physical attributes—her scent, what she's wearing, whether or not her push-up bra is bringing her tits front and center. Don't get me wrong—I'm more than happy to sleep with a hot woman with any of those attributes, but what the media doesn't tell you is that guys also like a woman who is confident and independent.

And this model here in front of me? She isn't showing me any of that.

I walk away from the canvas, and the model stops me.

"Should I stay?" she says, with one hand on my arm.

"For what?"

I can tell that my answer disappoints her.

"I could stay and pose some more," she says, "so you can finish the painting."

"It's done. I don't want to look at it anymore."

"In that case," she says, "we can have a little fun now."

Her mouth curves into a suggestive smile.

She walks over to me, swaying her hips, and presses her lips to my neck, giving it a playful nibble.

Then she brings her mouth to my ear and whispers, "Tell me, baby…what's your biggest fantasy? Do you like it rough or romantic? Did you dream about me last night?"

Those words send a thrill down my body but I resist the urge to react, and when I don't respond, she continues.

"Where should I put my mouth next?" Her eyes wait for an answer, but when I don't give one, she returns to my body, both of her hands on my chest.

"Here? Or maybe here?" she asks, moving her mouth down my bare chest in slow circles.

I still don't respond.

"No? Well, how about here?" she says, moving her warm lips down until they are resting at the top of my waistband. My cock is now standing stiffer than any of the tools in this studio, and she smiles.

"I think I'm getting warmer," she purrs. She starts to unbutton my pants. "Now let me kiss that big, hard—"

But I stop her. I need a woman that inspires me in this studio. Not another nameless model eager to get into my pants.

Been there, done that…and more than just a few times.

"Maybe some other time," I say.

Her surprise turns to shock, and I watch as she gathers her things, still in disbelief. As soon as she leaves and I hear the door to the studio shut behind her, I walk back over to the painting.

It's not a bad portrait, but it's not great either.

There's simply no emotion. It doesn't evoke anything in me.

The longer I stare at the painting, the angrier I become. I can feel a new sense of irritation wash over me.

I can't hold back. I ball my hand into a fist and punch it through the canvas. The material rips open, and where the model should be, there's now a gaping hole.

There. Now no one will be able to look at this.

Then I grab a can of black paint, along with a wide brush. I dip it into the paint and in big angry strokes I destroy the remaining canvas, painting obscene Xs over my work.

I'm destroying the canvas so hard and fast that I feel a bead of sweat zigzag down my face.

I look down at the destroyed art and kick it away in disgust.

What the fuck am I doing with my life?

I need to be creating great art, not mastering mediocrity.

I need a new muse.

Katherine

Writer’s block.

I’ve heard about it. But for all the years I struggled to become a published writer and even after my first book sold, I was never at a loss for words. Until now. They say this happens after you’ve had a bestseller.

Well, I’m not only blocked, I’m paralyzed, motionless, incapable of putting one word next to another.

My agent called today. Just like every other day for the last two weeks. I’m behind with the first draft. I’ve sent every call to voice mail. I just can’t face her.

“Katherine, I know you’re listening to these. At least send me a text. Let me know you’re alive.” The messages are beginning to sound frantic. But I still can’t respond.

What would I tell her? That I feel like Jack Nicholson in The Shining ? That I don’t have a first chapter, let alone a first draft.

No, it’s better for everyone concerned that I let it go to voice mail.

Maybe she’ll get the hint, and tell the publishers I’m dead, or at the very least I’m in a coma.

That’s the bad news.

The good news is, Dale is coming home tonight and I’m planning on holding on to all six feet, two inches of his deliciousness. His light-green eyes pull me in every time. And tonight will be no exception.

Besides, I have writer’s block. And I personally know of no better way to unstick the flows than to, well… sometimes a girl just needs a good release…or two…or three.

My best friend Robin thinks I should leave him.

Robin and I have been bffs since forever. Well, actually since we were both kicked out of Mr. Stubbin's ninth grade science class for giggling uncontrollably while he explained the reproductive system of a frog. We just couldn’t image kissing a frog no matter what they say in fairy tales.

Anyway, from that day in detention until now, we’ve been besties, and pretty much agreed on everything.

Except when it comes to Dale.

She called the other day and when I told her he was out of town, she made some cryptic comment about him staying away longer. I didn’t respond so she took it as a sign to launch into one of her infamous diatribes.

“Look, girl. I’ve held my tongue for two years. But you’ve gone past my threshold of watching what is surely going to be a future train wreck. He’s not the one. He’s a player. He thinks the world is in love with him. And he’s never going to ask you to marry him.”

Robin was never one to mince words. But I couldn’t agree on this.

“Dale is the guy I want to spend my life with,” I said, sounding just a tad too whiney. “I want to be married to him. I want children, the seven-thousand-square-foot loft in SoHo. I want the whole thing.”

Robin just sighed. Loudly.

Yes, I know Dale could be arrogant. But his attributes outweighed his arrogance. As the owner of the hottest gallery in New York, a little haughtiness is sometimes necessary. It's gotten us on everyone’s opening night guest list and the best tables at all the must-be-seen-in restaurants.

Okay, so the sex isn’t completely mind-blowing. But after two years, you’re likely to hit a bit of a dry spell. Like my writing.

But tonight’s going to be different. It’s a surprise. Dinner and a show.

Oh, and I’m the show.

His plane lands at seven and he’ll be home by eight. Just enough time for me to get to his apartment, cook his favorite steak dinner, open a bottle of red, get the candles going and slip into that barely-there slip I got at La Perla. A little red-laced thingy that will reignite the spark. And hopefully spur my creative juices. A girl can hope, can’t she?

Checking to make sure I have everything, including those three-inch red numbers I couldn't say no to at Manolo Blahnik’s last month–yet another ding in my book advance money–I hail a taxi and within 20 minutes I'm at Dale's on Christopher Street. I'm humming in all the right places as I waltz into the loft.

Except for the bedroom, the place has no other doors. The floor-to-ceiling windows along the north wall offer a spectacular view of the Hudson. Putting the groceries on the kitchen island, I make my way to the windows to take in the last rays of a most remarkable sunset.

I've always thought the one disadvantage to this ridiculously beautiful space is the constant drone of city traffic below. Only tonight, I’m not hearing traffic. I’m hearing…wait, could that be…

“Well shit.” I say loud enough to be heard over the moaning.

Stomping over, I fling open the bedroom door.

What’s behind it? Dale’s naked butt.

It’s not as if I haven’t seen his bare ass before. It’s just that I’ve never seen it from this angle, banging back and forth like a hammer on a stubborn nail.

“What the fuck!” I yell.

Dale looks over his shoulder and I can see he’s searching for something to say.

I can’t believe it. His first reaction isn’t to immediately stop what he’s doing with a woman whose every body part has been enhanced.

From the dyed platinum hair (top and bottom), to the implanted ginormous breasts. And I will bet large sums of money that flat stomach is the result of a surgeon’s scalpel.

“We are sooo done!” I say, in my most outraged voice. In fact, I can’t get out of there fast enough. I’m stunned.

Stunned because he’s with another woman. Stunned because Robin was right, he had no plans to marry me. Stunned because he hurt me.

Really hurt me.

“Hey, baby. Don’t go,” Dale calls out.

I’m moving as fast as I can, gathering up my stuff as I go. There is no way I’m leaving behind a fifty-dollar bottle of wine and a hundred dollars’ worth of steaks for this asshole.

As I pack up, Dale is hopping up and down on one foot, trying to get his other leg into his trousers, while attempting to explain that this little romp means nothing.

“We met on the plane, baby,” hop, hop, hop. “ It's just sex.”

I, of course, ignore all his pleas and force myself to hold back the tears. With my arms full, I head for the front door.

“Come on, baby, you’re my world.”

“Well then, from now on your world will be empty!”

Throwing his keys at him, I walk out.

Blake

“Of course, ladies, I’d be happy to show you my private collection,” I say with a smile I’ve plastered on for the occasion.

“If it’s half as good as what’s hanging on these walls, you’ve got a buyer.” The brunette responds in what has to be the breathiest voice I’ve ever heard. I think she said her name is Monica.

Her friend, the redhead, hasn’t let go of my hand since I gave her my card when she walked through the gallery doors.

“Blake , what a sexy name.” Monica is practically purring as she looks me up and down. “It goes with the whole package.”

I’m feigning interest, because a sale, after all, is a sale. It’s clear these women don’t have a clue what it takes to be an artist. What do they think? I just throw paint on a canvas? Even Pollock had a plan.

I hate being here, up close and personal with prospective buyers. Apart from an opening night, I’m not one to hang around galleries. I’m getting restless and would rather be out on the street with the crowds.

My agent, Beth, brushes by and whispers in my ear, “Keep smiling.”

“I’m working on it,” I say through a clenched toothed grin.

But I’d rather be outside. The Fall air is crisp, the sky crystalline, and the streets full of people. It’s the one week every year when hundreds of New Yorkers go elbow-to-elbow with tourists as they tromp, wide-eyed, up and down the cobblestone streets of the West Village, in search of their next art acquisition.

“You’ve chosen one of my favorites,” I hear Beth say.

By the intonation of her voice, I know we’ve made a sale, and I turn and smile in earnest. After all, money is money.

I feel I deserve a reward, and decide on a triple espresso.

“I’m out for a coffee,” I call over to the Beth and her assistant. “Want anything?”

They both decline, so I’m free to take my time.

The cobblestone streets and old brick buildings take me back to when I walked this neighborhood, going door to door with my rolled-up canvases, trying to get any gallery owner to show some interest. In some ways, those were the best of times, when ideas flowed freely and I was more fun. Not now.

I shake off the melancholy.

Pulling up the collar of my blazer, I tuck my hands inside the front pocket of my jeans. There’s a slight breeze, but I can think of nothing better than sitting outdoors with my coffee, watching women go by. Maybe I’ll find my muse.

I grab a small table outside Maxwell’s Coffee Bar when the inside of my jacket begins to vibrate. A text.

“Damn.” I thought I could have a moment.

Looking at the screen, I see there are several messages and I begin thumbing through.

Hey baby so much fun in that elevator, wanna try my escalator.

“Nope,” I mutter under my breath and swipe left.

Blakey where have you been xxoo I’m hot and ready.

“Blakey has left the building,” I say and swipe left.

Now this is interesting. Somehow the woman who just bought my painting is inviting me to her place.

“Oh, hell no.” Hard swipe left.

What are you doing, Blake? In frustration, I put my phone away. This is my time. My coffee. The world is going to have to be put on hold. I’m recharging.

Two triple espressos later, I’m slightly wired and ready to walk off the caffeine. That’s when I see her.

“Damn.” This time I say it out loud. I know this because the woman with the two-year-old next to me gives me a raised eyebrow. She thinks I’m crass, or crazy. Either way, I don’t care.

The dark-haired woman with the blue eyes, alabaster skin, and sexiest pixie cut I’ve ever seen is getting away, and I need to find out who she is.

I throw ten dollars on the table.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” I say as I squeeze my way around the baby stroller and diaper bag. When I’m finally out on the street, my legs begin moving faster than they do when I’m on the treadmill at the gym. This woman has definitely caught my attention.

I come up short as I round the avenue, because she and a friend have stopped at a gallery window and they’re chatting. Now’s my chance.

“Interesting color palette,” I say as a conversation starter, but all I get are quizzical looks from both of them. “I mean, the choice isn’t what you’d expect. It’s a bit angry, don’t you think?”

Miss Pixie isn’t talking, it’s her friend who speaks up. “Yeah, there’s a definite disconnect in the color structure,” she says.

If I’m not mistaken, she’s batting her eyelashes at me. Could that be right? In my most nonchalant, non-committal tone I look at her and say, “You think?”

I don’t really care what she thinks, I just want to keep the conversation going in the hopes that ‘pixie dust girl’ will say something, and I can get her number. Instead, her friend whose- eyes are now busy taking a grand tour of my body keeps talking. But I -want her to shut up. I re-pose my question to pixie girl, “And what do you think?”

She looks at the painting, reflective as she purses her valentine-shaped, deep red, lips. Kissable lips.

“Hmmm…I’m not sure,” she says, “this one doesn’t speak to me at all.”

I’m instantly enamored. She’s right. This is a pile of shit masquerading as a painting. I look her in the eyes and try to engage her.

“I suppose art is personal,” I say.

She gives me that quizzical look again.

It’s clear I haven’t got her completely into my orbit, so I continue, “I mean, what we see, and what the artist intended for us to see, can be two different things.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Pixie says.

“For example, you,” I say smiling by best I-have-to-have-you smile. “You are someone who should be painted.”

She blushes, and then she steps back. It’s clear she’s offended, and that’s a first for me. I always have women eating out of my hand, and other parts too. This one's not buying it, and for the first time, I’m on 'virgin' territory.

When she turns to walk into the photo gallery next door, all I can do is follow.

Katherine

I've never taken a photography class in my life, and I'm not well-versed in the art of it all—if you don't count taking pictures with my cell phone—but I do know what I like. And this photo exhibit is…interesting.

It's a photographer's portrait collection called Red Hot .

The theme that binds each and every one of these pictures is that the models in these photos are all redheads.

"I've always thought gingers were sexy," Robin says, secretly giving me a wink as we walk through the gallery. "If this doesn't inspire you with your writing, I don't know what will."

In one photo, a man is flexing, and seemingly deep in thought with his gaze somewhere in the distance. The background is blue, matching his eyes.

In another portrait, a man stares down the lens of the camera, his red beard and chiseled chest acting as focal points.

"Like what you see?" The guy following us asks, walking up behind me and nudging me playfully. “The name’s Blake, by the way.”

"Katherine,” I say as I try to think of a reply. “You could say that," I smile.

Two can play this game.

"Just so you know," he says, pointing and looking straight at my neck, "that freckle is more beautiful than anything I'm seeing on these gingers."

"Nice try, but I don't have freckles."

"You do," he says, stepping closer and brushing his fingers just below my ear. "It's right there."

The second he touches me, a thrill runs down my body. I find myself blushing against my will.

How did he notice that freckle? I completely forgot about it. It's such a small detail…but I have to admit, he's right. I do have a small freckle on my neck. It's there all right, and always has been.

I look him up and down for a moment. If I'm being honest, there's something hot about Blake.

Sure, he's a great looking guy—built and charming, with piercing eyes, the intensity of a blowtorch. But there's also a poetic confidence about him that is unusual. He seems to view the world through the lens of art—looking through color, symmetry, and shape—and he isn't apologetic about it. I can respect that.

But…and this is a serious but —he has some major personality flaws.

He's arrogant, and probably goes through women faster than he changes outfits.

And I'm not about to get played by another man again—not after Dale. And something tells me that getting involved with Blake is like holding a match to a gas tank.

Total chaos and drama.

Robin walks ahead us, scrutinizing the walls of photos, and Blake takes the opportunity to walk beside me.

"I have a question and need a woman's advice," he says, changing the subject.

"Sure," I say, shrugging my shoulders.

"Let's say—hypothetically speaking—I see an attractive woman," he says. "Do I approach her, or is that too direct?"

"Why are you asking me?" I say. "I'm the last person you should ask."

"Humor me, will you?"

"Fine," I say. "I think you should approach her. Honesty is the best policy."

With that, Blake's lips turn up into a smile.

"I'm glad you said that. Because in that case," he says, stopping and turning to me. "I'm Blake. It's nice to meet you."

He reaches his hand out to mine and shakes it.

I laugh. "Does that work on women?"

He ignores my question and gives me one of his own.

"Have you ever considered modeling?" he says.

"Me? You're joking, right?"

"Serious as a heart attack."

"No," I say, shaking my head. "That's not what I do."

"I think you should model for me."

I can't help but laugh out loud.

"You have the wrong girl," I say. "I'm not the type to give you a private show in your apartment, romping around naked for your sole pleasure."

"Not so fast," he says, resting a hand on my arm. "That's not what I mean. I'm a painter, and I'm looking for a new model to paint. Fresh inspiration, if you will."

I shake my head. "Of course you are," I say, laughing. "And I'm a secret princess. Nice try, but I call bullshit. I'm not buying it."

"You seriously don't believe me, do you?"

I shake my head and then watch as he pulls out his phone.

"Here," he says. "I'll prove it to you."

He scrolls through his phone, bringing up various websites that have done interviews with him—the Huffington Post art column, Juxtapose magazine, and more. The list is impressive. Then he brings up his Instagram profile.

"And this is some of my work," he says, scrolling through pictures of his art."

"I had no idea," I say, feeling slightly embarrassed. It's bad enough I'd never heard of him before, and according to his Instagram account, he has close to 750k followers, but I just called him a liar.

"So what do you say? Want to model for me?"

"Even though you're an artist and Instagram-famous, I'm still not interested in posing for you," I say.

"Come on," he says, smiling. "I don't bite."

Instead of answering, I just shake my head.

"I have an idea," he says. "How about you come to my apartment and look at my work."

Just then, Robin walks over to us. She's apparently been eavesdropping because she says, "You should totally go Katherine! This could inspire your writing."

"I don't know, I–"

But before I can finish, Robin cuts me off. "Oh wow, look at the time," she says, pulling her cell phone from her purse. "I've gotta go. I uh – I have some plans this evening," she says, in a tone that's not totally convincing.

I watch as she gives me a quick hug and kiss on the cheek and leaves the gallery. I watch her until I can't see her anymore.

Now that she's gone, it hits me. I realize that I'm standing here, alone with Instagram-famous-superstar-artist Blake.

And he's wearing a grin wider than Texas.

Katherine

Agreeing to come to the gallery is one thing, but actually making my way there is proving a point. I’m not going to become another Blake statistic.

That’s right, after I met him I did a little digging on him…Blake has a serious reputation (fast cars and women), and he isn’t just Instagram-famous. He’s a heavyweight in the world of art – and he has the bank account and lifestyle to prove it.

But I’m still getting over having my heart broken by that two or three timing prick Dale, and I’m not about to stumble right into the next disastrous relationship. No, thank you.

When Blake asked me to show up at his exhibition, I was getting ready to say ‘no’ when I remembered Robin’s words – this might be the inspiration I need. If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t have come at all.

But I promise – I’m not going to fall for any of the usual one-liners from men like Blake, particularly the ‘please model for me, you inspire me.’

As if.

It might work on the blonde, big busted, cleavage-revealing models Blake seems to be typically photographed with, but not on me. Besides, I have to focus on getting my creative juices flowing and to write my next bestseller.

The unfortunate reminder of my unfinished work unleashes thousands of butterflies in my stomach and little beads of sweat form in the palm of my hands.

“Someone got dressed up,” a familiar voice from behind interrupts my thoughts.

I pivot and smile at my friend, hoping I haven’t turned red like a tomato.

“Just because I’m not interested doesn’t mean I can’t look my best.”’ I defend myself, pleased to push thoughts of current failings aside.

To feel good you should look good, I’ve read somewhere.

“What are you not interested in?”

Blake has materialized next to me. He’s so close to me that I can’t help but be acutely aware of his maleness. Broad shoulders, rugged features, a partly open shirt to reveal a body honed to the point of perfection, and well-fitting pants. Despite my best endeavors, my eyes take in the full package and betray me.

To regain my composure I take a step back, only to have my heel find a crack in the pavement of the footpath. I lose my balance and instinctively reach for something to hold onto so as not to fall.

A strong hand steadies me.

Each and everyone one of my nerve cells starts to tingle. He pulls me toward him. My heart races a million miles an hour and I have to fight a sudden desire to melt in his arms. Images of two naked bodies entwined flash through my mind.

“Shall we go in?” Robin’s voice penetrates my foggy brain.

“Thank you,”’ I mutter and pull my little black dress down a little, desperate to regain composure.

Blake links arms with me, pulling me in close, in a possessive manner.

“I think I better hang on to you.” He smiles brightly at me.

My skin is burning where he’s touching me and I curse the weakness of my flesh.

Inside Out Art is not the small gallery I was expecting, the grey bland concrete exterior betraying the vast, expansive treasure hidden inside.

As soon as we enter, I catch my breath.

Waiters in black suits and white shirts balance trays of champagne, weaving their way expertly through the large crowd of attendees.

I notice all the envious stares most of the women aged eighteen to eighty shoot in my direction as we try make our way to a less busy part of the exhibition. Of course the stares are because at Blake, not me.

“Wow,”’ Robin exclaims and stops in front of a smaller painting.

I am swept away by the beauty of the young woman in the work of art. I tilt my head to the side and glance at Blake, acutely aware of his intense gaze on me.

“You should model for him,” Robin says loud enough for everyone to hear before she moves onto the next painting.

I would have liked to hit her, best friend or not. It is as if all eyes are suddenly upon me. The women shoot poison arrows in my direction and if looks could kill I’m sure I would be a pile of ashes on the floor beside playboy Blake, who ‘s clearly enjoying the spectacle.

I decide not to reply and instead follow my ex-best friend. Oh, I’ll have some words for her next time we were alone. I feel conscious of the sound of my stiletto heels echoing on the concrete floor and I wish I had chosen different footwear, something less attention-drawing.

As I walk from painting to painting I cannot help but be impressed. Art isn’t exactly my forte, but I know enough to appreciate good paintings when I see one.

Most of the subjects are women, of course. But they’re not the nudes I had expected. There are nudes apparently, but they’re not in your face. Most are surprisingly discreet.

“I still want you to model for me. You’re the perfect combination of beauty and sex appeal.” I can hear Blake speaking softly in my ear and those butterflies have come back in millions. My knees wobble a little and I hope they won’t give way.

I can’t remember the last time Dale said I was pretty, sexy or beautiful.

“I bet you say that to all the women you want to have your way with.” The words are out before I can stop them.

Moving on to the next painting my eyes feast on a young woman who is leaning on a windowsill. She has a faraway look in her eyes. Blake has captured the longing of the woman perfectly.

I focus on the finer details. Her arms folded. Pink lace of a bra is just visible with her white blouse unbuttoned to just above the gap between her breasts. It is suggestive, but not offensive.

“You’re jumping to conclusions.”

His voice brings me back to reality, as does the gesture of his left index finger stroking my cheek.

“Um,” I’m lost for words.

“Will you at least have dinner with me?”

I feel my resistance crumble and desire sweep through me.

Before I can stop myself I nod.

Blake

"You know what's sexier than chocolate?" I say, looking over my shoulder at Katherine from the stove.

"Nothing is sexier than chocolate," she says with a smile.

"Chocolate and chili."

"I don't know," she says, scrunching her nose. "That sounds strange as a combo if you ask me."

"Try this," I say, motioning for her to join me in the kitchen. I spoon some of the sauce from the pan and hold it out to her. "I think you'll like it."

She leans in, parting her mouth. I place the spoon on her tongue.

"Good, right?"

"Oh wow, there's some heat to that, but it's…amazing," she says.

"Fun fact – chilis are an aphrodisiac."

She seems interested in that, but also hesitant to believe anything I say. I don't know if it's from the heat of the peppers, or talking about aphrodisiacs, but I notice that her face suddenly looks flush.

"How do you know so much about food?" she asks. "I had no idea you have culinary skills."

"I know my way around the kitchen," I smile.

I watch as she steps away from the kitchen and looks around the apartment.

"Nice place you've got here," she says.

"It's my own private oasis in the middle of the city."

"You do have a lot of privacy here."

"So," I say with a grin, "what do you do for a living besides making men excited?"

That catches her attention.

"You can try to butter me up all you want, but that's not why I'm here," she says.

I can tell this isn't going to be easy. She has her guard up higher than the Empire State building.

"What? I can't give you a compliment?"

She considers this for a moment.

"I came here to have dinner, not to be pet like some lost pussy cat."

"A lost pussy," I say, smiling at the pun. "Now that's an interesting thing to think about."

"Can you get your head out of the gutter for even five minutes?" she says. But as she turns her head away, I detect the hint of a smile forming on her lips.

It's working. She's slowly letting her guard down.

"I can't help it," I say. "You're so hot, even my zipper is falling for you."

I reach down and pretend to pull my zipper up.

This causes her to laugh. "So, you're an artist, chef, and comedian."

"Sometimes," I say with a smile.

"I'll give that one to you," she says. "That was pretty funny."

I finish cooking dinner, and carry it to the dining table. The entire table is set atop a checkered tablecloth and I made sure to add a bouquet of flowers from the farmer's market.

Because who doesn't love flowers?

"You outdid yourself," she smiles. "This looks incredible."

"Never miss an opportunity to see something beautiful," I say.

She considers this and nods. "Beauty is such a strange combination of things."

"It's so hard to qualify, isn't it?" I ask. "I mean, what pleases one person may not please the next. It's sort of like this giant, fascinating puzzle that we're all trying to figure out. But do you know what I think the best part about beauty is?"

Katherine shakes her head. "No, what's that?"

"The best part is that no art can truly and fully express it," I say. "As an artist, that's the goal. You chase it, and try to re-create it, and you can come very close, but it's never the exact thing in your mind's eye. I find it fascinating."

"How many layers do you have?" she smiles. "You can paint, cook, make me laugh, and you're also a philosopher."

"Is that a good thing?" I ask.

"A very good thing," she says, and she seems to be blushing all over again. "Consider me charmed."

"You know, I have a confession to make," I say, pouring her a glass of red wine.

She looks from the wine to me, and arches an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I've read your book."

"Wait," she says, surprised. "You have?"

"It's really good. You have so much talent as an artist."

"Look who's talking?" she says, her grin widening. There's a new sparkle in her eyes when she turns to face me. "I think you're one of the best painters I've ever seen."

"You're just saying that," I chuckle.

She places a hand on my arm. "It's true! I mean it. The way you capture a person's personality in their portrait is incredible."

I lean forward in my chair, moving closer to her. My heart seems to be kicking in my chest now. Here I am, sitting across a woman who is not only incredibly hot, but who is also an artist. She understands it.

"Being a creative person is hard," I say. "For the most part, the world doesn't understand it. It's frowned upon in many circles, and every painting I do is a passion project."

"Yes, exactly" she says. "But only because it has to be fueled by passion. The most beautiful and creative art in the world isn't seen or touched — it's felt with the heart."

As soon as she says the word 'heart' I'm acutely aware that mine is already close to bursting. This woman is driving me crazy, and in the best possible way. My pulse feels as if I've just climbed a few flights of stairs.

I want to touch her. Hold her.

"I want to show you something," I say, extending my arm across the table and taking her hand in mine. "Come with me."

We both get up from the table and I lead her into my studio.

"These are my private works," I say, turning to her.

"That's incredible Blake," she says, just above a whisper, her eyes scanning each of the paintings. "And what are those?"

She points to a group of paintings at the other side of the studio. "These pieces are a little more…sensual."

"I can see that," she says. "Actually, I can feel it."

I step toward her. I lift my hand, slowly moving it from her face to her hair. I place my hand on the nape of her neck, my fingers tangled in the soft strands of her hair.

Our gazes lock, and I lean in, pressing my lips to hers. She moans, softly and faintly, and her breaths come in hot little pants. I move my other hand down and wrap it around her waist, pulling her even closer.

She reaches up, one of her hands caressing my hair now, and the other one softly cupping my neck. She parts her lips, and her warm tongue brushes mine.

Time officially stops, and for the first time in a long time, I know I'm in trouble.

Fuck, she just gave a whole new meaning to the word ‘hot’.

Katherine

Kissing.

It’s a simple physical act, but sometimes it can be so much more. Just like putting down words on a page, or slowly moving a brush over a blank canvas…it can be an art form. How it is expressed really depends on the artist.

And this kiss…

Blake’s mouth fits perfectly on mine like our lips are matching pieces of the same puzzle, and I just close my eyes and surrender to him. His hands are on my waist as he pulls me into him, our bodies pressed tightly as I use my tongue to part his lips and explore his mouth.

He tastes differently from all the other men I’ve kissed; his kiss is brimming with desire, but there’s also a certain softness to it as well. The two blend together into something wonderful and pleasurable. Like two contrasting colors mixed beautifully together to create something new, something unique.

Our tongues dance around one another softly, and I feel myself getting wetter with each passing second. The fabric of my thong is already sticking to my skin, my fluids drenching it as desire takes over me.

I’ve never been a naive woman – I’m a writer, after all –but I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a man this much in my entire life. It’s as if there’s something special about Blake, something that tells me he’s so much more than meets the eye. There’s an aura about him, one that envelops and subjugates me without a word passing between us.

“Katherine,” he says, my name hanging heavy in the air around us. I stare into his eyes, my mouth slightly ajar as my heart starts drumming a wild song of lust and sin.

“Take me,” I find myself saying, the sound of my voice coming out of my lips sweet as honey.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this direct with a man but, with Blake, I just know small talk isn’t necessary. We merely exchange a glance and we already know everything there is to know.

He doesn’t reply –he just smiles, his lips curling into a satisfying grin, and then kisses me again. His hands go around my waist and then down, over the curve of my ass cheeks, and he pulls me into him harshly.

I thrust against him without even thinking, needing to feel my crotch against his; there’s something big there, something long and thick. I can feel it pulsing with a raw hunger that makes my insides clench.

I place one hand on his chest and slowly slide it down his shirt, only stopping when I find the hem of his pants. I feel his leather belt under my fingertips, and I bite my lower lip as I open my hand wide and prepare to go for his crotch.

He responds silently, grabbing my hand and, all the while looking into my eyes, places it over the hard shape pushing back against his pants. I bite harder on my lower lip, realizing that his cock is far bigger than I thought it’d be. I try to curl my fingers around its thick shape, but I can barely hold it with just one hand.

“It’s so…” I start to say, lowering my voice until it becomes just a whisper, but I don’t know how to finish my sentence. It’s so what? Big, huge, enormous? For a writer, I’m suddenly at a loss for words. He’s all that and some more, and I can’t wait to really feel it.

My heart is beating so fast now that I can barely think straight, but my unconscious mind is still working; letting go of his cock, I go for his belt and unbuckle it. Then, taking a deep breath to steady my hands, I undo the top button on his pants and pull the zipper down.

His cock is making an impressive tent in his boxer briefs, and I can’t help but look at it. With one finger, I trace its contour, going from its root to the tip. Oh, Jesus, he’s really big.

I grit my teeth and, moving fast, slide my hand under his boxer briefs and, turning my wrist, I grab his thick shaft. The warmth of his cock spreads to the palm of my hand, and that’s all it takes for me to become a truly wet mess. It won’t be long before my fluids start dripping down my legs.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks me, grinning, and the look in his eyes tells me he already knows the answer.

I just nod, running my tongue between my lips. Holding my breath, I start moving my hand up and down, stroking him softly as the hunger in eyes keeps on growing.

“Yes…yes, I am,” I admit, suddenly feeling dizzy as I imagine his thick cock trying to push its way past my pussy lips. Is that even physically possible? How will it feel? I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell willing to find out.

You know, maybe it’ll inspire me. And God knows I need some good inspiration.

“I’m right here,” he says, leaning into me and brushing his lips against my ear. A shiver climbs up my spine as his deep rugged voice caresses my eardrums. I stop stroking him and just tighten my fingers around his shaft, feeling it pulse against the palm of my hand.

With one hand on my waist, he pushes me until my back’s against the wall, and then he takes one hand right to between my thighs. He flattens the palm of his hand against my pussy, bunching up my dress in the process. I gasp as he does it, but then I moan as he takes his hand off and slides it under the hemline of my dress, his fingers finding their way to my drenched thong.

“Fuck, I need to have you,” he says, rubbing his fingers back and forth over the wet fabric, fondling my pussy lips. My muscles tense up under his touch, and it feels like his fingers are made of fire and electricity. There’s something magical to his touch, that’s for sure.

“You seem tight,” he whispers, that grin of his widening until it becomes devilish, “are you tight, Katherine?”

“I…I…” I mutter, but I don’t even know what to tell him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll see that for myself soon enough,” he says, and that image of his cock pushing its way past my drenched folds bubbles up to the surface of my mind once more.

He presses harder on my pussy and I gasp again, my insides clenching with anticipation. Clasping his hand on the fabric, he pulls on it, and I close my eyes as I feel my thong leaving my wet pussy. He pushes it down my legs and, once it falls in a bunch at my feet, I just kick it off.

His hand is back between my thighs in a heartbeat, and this time it’s a moan that leaves my lips, feeling my naked pussy burning at the touch of his fingers.

He finds my clit quickly enough and, rubbing on it, he forces my brain to go on overdrive. But he doesn’t linger there for too long –no, his fingers start caressing the length of my pussy, going up and down my wet folds with a maddening slowness.

Before I know it, I’m moving my hips, thrusting against his hand in pure desperation. I’m not in control of my body anymore –I’m just like a puppet, pleasure pulling the strings and assuming all control. And I don’t care, I don’t care one little bit.

Using his middle finger, he presses it right on my pussy and starts sliding it in, feeding it into me with that frustrating patience of his. He curls it upward, only stopping when his fingertip feels that hidden spot of pure delight tucked away inside of me.

“Yes, you’re really tight,” he whispers, pressing so hard on my G-spot that bright lights explode behind my shut eyelids. He doesn’t move his hand –he just holds it there, his finger pressed tight on my G-spot as he rests his thumb over my clit. Pressing on these two spots at the same time, he waits while that high voltage current builds under my skin, electrifying every inch of my aching body.

Then, he starts fingering me at a furious pace, all that patience thrown to the curb.

“I can’t wait to be inside of you, Katherine,” he continues, fingering me so hard that I can’t even speak. Even if I could somehow force my mouth to make a sound, I doubt my brain would be able to produce a coherent sentence.

“Oh…God,” I groan, grabbing at his shirt so hard that my knuckles turn white. I’m gritting my teeth, every muscle in my body tensing up as if concrete was being poured inside them.

The electricity crackling inside of me turns into an electric storm, and it rages through my brain so suddenly that I can’t help but to scream. Or, well, at least try to, because the moment I open my mouth to do it, the only sound that comes out is a whispered moan of pure ecstasy.

“So good,” I manage to say, forcing my eyelids open and staring at him as if I’ve just woken up from a thousand years of deep sleep.

“You call that good? There’s more to come,” he grins, narrowing his eyes in such a seductive way that I almost melt. He just shrugged off my words as if I had no idea what I was talking about…As if there’s a lot more –and a lot better at that –to come.

And somehow, I know that’s exactly what’s going to happen. And rightfully so.

“I’m going to make you come so hard you’ll forget your name,” he promises me. He doesn’t wait for my reply to that, as he proceed to go down to his knees in front of me, both his hands on my waist.

Grabbing at the hemline of my dress, he pushes it up and holds it around my waist. I feel exposed, knowing that his eyes are now focused on my pussy, but that just makes me even wetter than before –and, really, I don’t know how’s that even possible.

With his lips on my right knee, he starts kissing me up my leg, going straight to my inner thigh. I throw my head back, pressing it against the wall, and sigh loudly. He keeps on teasing me with his mouth, taking it as far as my groins but never further.

He does it until the desperation inside me becomes a burning need, and I reach for him and tangle my fingers on his hair, trying to pull him into me while I thrust. He doesn’t budge, though, and just keeps on kissing and licking until I’m ready to beg.

“Blake…please, please,” I repeat over and over again, my whispers brimming with lustful desperation.

I’ve never wanted a man’s mouth on me as much as I want it now. And that’s saying something –the way I see it, a man going down on you can be a lot more intimate than just fucking. But, hell, right now all that I want is to get intimate with Blake –and in every possible way.

Finally putting an end to my torture, he reaches for my clit with his tongue and presses down on it. It feels like I’ve stepped on a live wire –thunder erupts inside my body. I almost scream as he starts circling my clit at a steady and growing pace.

My fingers are still on his hair, but I’m no longer trying to force him –no, Blake isn’t the kind of man with whom you can dictate a pace. He does what he wants, when he wants, and there’s no way around it. If I ever get to take the lead, that’ll be because he wants me to, not because he has submitted.

And that’s exactly how I like my men.

“Oh, God,” I moan as he takes his tongue out of my clit and slides it down, running it between my pussy lips. He does it all the way, and then goes back, repeating his coming and going motion until I can barely think straight. God, where has he been all of my life?

He’s a good kisser, he’s good with his fingers, and he’s even better with his mouth…It’s almost unbelievable how good he is. Oh, sweet mercy, I can barely wait to push his pants down his legs, curl my fingers around his cock and guide it home. But, right now, that’s on hold.

He licks me until my legs start growing weak, my knees buckling under my weight. Leaning back against the wall, I somehow manage to remain standing up; and that’s exactly when he chooses to open his mouth wide and press it harshly against my wetness.

My muscles burn, my skin boils; there’s fire in my mind, and poison in my bones. Forget about all the other men I’ve been with –not one of them has been able to make me feel what I’m feeling right now.

And Blake is only using his mouth.

Taking one hand around my waist, he places it under my right ass cheek and forces my leg up. I let him do it willingly, lifting my leg and resting it over his shoulder. Now with the perfect angle, he buries his mouth against my pussy and starts devouring me as if my wetness is the most delicious thing on Earth.

He jabs inside of my pussy with his tongue, running it up and down my length and circling my clit at exactly the right times. He works me like he knows my body even better than I do, and it’s almost hard to believe that this is really happening. Is he even real?

I think of pinching myself, just to make sure that I’m not dreaming, but I give up on the idea fast enough. This feels like a dream…the most perfect dream I’ve ever had. But, ah, even if this is a dream, I don’t care –just let me sleep forever.

I’m yanking on his hair hard enough to almost rip it out from his scalp, but he doesn’t even seem to mind. In fact, that just makes him eat me out more eagerly, his lips and tongue hungrily sucking in my fluids and ravaging my pussy.

“Don’t…Stop…Don’t stop…” I say, my head thrown back against the wall. My muscles are already tensing up again, and I feel that electric tension building inside of me once more. It feels like I’m a dam about to burst, tiny cracks showing on the surface right before all hell breaks loose.

“Don’t stop,” I moan again, but he doesn’t need my instructions. Still, I need to say something, to moan, to scream to release…I want to do it all at the same time.

“OH GOD!” I shout, and then grit my teeth as the dam finally bursts.

Yanking on his hair, I trust at the same time, pressing my pussy against his mouth as hard as I can. His mouth his wide open, his tongue inside of me, just makes my orgasm even more delicious. I sway my hips from side to side, smearing his face with my fluids, and then I finally let go of him.

I’m breathing hard, my eyes closed, and leaning back against the wall. He stands up then, and takes one hand to my face. I open my eyes as I feel his touch, and I can’t hide my smile as I see his chin glistening from the fluids coating his skin.

“Perfect,” I say, and then he’s on me.

He crushes his mouth against mine, pushing his tongue inside my mouth, and I can do nothing but to savor the taste of my own pussy on his lips.

“Perfect,” he repeats back at me, his hands once more on my waist. He grins and then, a heartbeat later, he makes me turn on my heels and face the wall. I place my hands there for support, and jut my ass back at him by instinct.

Taking one hand behind me, I find the hem of his boxers and tug them down as viciously as I can. His cock springs free immediately, and he’s so close to me that his huge shaft slaps my ass cheeks with a maddening sound.

He pushes my dress back up to my waist. He then takes one hand around my body and squeezes one breast under his long fingers. I thrust my ass back at the same time, resting my forehead against the wall and closing my eyes as I feel his shaft right between my ass cheeks.

My body acts on its own, I find me moving in a flowing motion, grinding against his cock as hard as I can. I feel it pulse against my ass, hungry and eager, and it doesn’t take long for Blake to take one step back and grab his huge cock.

Looking back at him over my shoulder, I choke down a gasp as I see his cock for the first time. He’s holding it in his hand, but it looks so huge that it’s almost unbelievable.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” he tells me, as if reading my thoughts.

I face the wall again, my heart feeling as tight as a closed fist, and prepare for what’s coming.

“Or at least I’ll try…” He continues, coming up to me and whispering these words into my ear. Oh, God, this is going to be interesting.

Angling his cock down, he pushes it between my inner thighs, his thick shaft forcing me to spread my legs wide. I bend over at the same time and, as I do it, he positions the tip of his cock against my pussy lips. I take one deep breath.

“Do it,” I breath out, and then all hell breaks loose.

He enters me with one sudden thrust, his shaft sliding inside my pussy and straining against my inner walls on the way in. I feel my insides stretching to accommodate him, but he’s so big that I can’t help but feel that my pussy is gripping his cock like a vice.

This time I scream, unable to stop myself, my brain almost exploding as it tries to process the fact that something as big as Blake’s cock is inside of me. It’s almost too much for me to take, but the key word in here is almost . You don’t think I’m going to waste such as this, do you? Oh, no, I’m going to take this chance.

I hold my breath as Blake slides his cock, stopping when only his tip is inside of me. I only start breathing again when he trusts, sheathing his shaft to the hilt. Building up the rhythm, he rocks his hips at a gentle pace, but it only takes a few seconds for his pace to reach new heights.

Soon enough, the sound of his thighs slapping my ass echoes around us, and it sounds like the most amazing symphony I’ve ever heard.

“Fuck, you’re really tight,” he exhales sharply, hooking his fingers deeper on my thighs. I can’t help but wonder if I’m as tight as he says –his cock is so huge that every pussy must feel tight as hell for him.

Pistoning into me like a madman, he stabs me with his cock so hard that locks of hair are already plastered to my forehead, beads of sweat making their way down my face. And still he keeps on growing his rhythm, fucking me so fast I don’t even know how he’s doing it.

“Blake…This is…So good…” I pant, his name leaving a sweet taste on my tongue as I say it.

Gritting my teeth, I try and match his rhythm, thrusting my ass back at him. The sound of flesh on flesh grows even louder, and I can feel my mind dangling over the edge of pleasure’s cliff. It won’t take long, that’s for sure.

Feeling me close, he takes one hand around my waist and presses two fingers over my clit. That’s it –he doesn’t even start rubbing it. He just presses down on it, and it’s as if a bomb has gone off inside my skull.

My arms grow so weak that I take my hands off of the wall and just support myself with my forearms, my pussy tightening so hard around Blake’s shaft. The fact that he still keeps on thrusting is a small miracle.

My muscles are twitching, and I’m trembling so hard that my teeth are chattering. Blake starts taking his cock out of me then, and I moan as I feel his long inches making their way out. It pops out of me with a wet sound, and I turn on my heels right away, pressing my back against the wall and looking into his eyes.

“We’re not done,” he says, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat. Placing his hands under my ass cheeks, he lifts me up and pulls me into him. I react by instinct, crossing my legs on his lower back and placing my arms over his shoulder.

“Then fuck me,” I tell him, “as hard as you can.” I don’t need to say more. Grabbing his cock with one hand, he angles it down and presses its tip against my wet pussy. One thrust and he’s in me again, his cock stretching me so wide I doubt my body will ever be the same.

And what the hell, if that happens. It’ll be completely worth it. This is the experience of a lifetime.

He fucks me hard and merciless, obliterating my rational mind with each thrust of his. I’m clawing at his back, feeling his rugged hard muscles under his shirt. I close my eyes, imagining how he must look naked. I wish I had ripped his shirt out before we started fucking, but oh well.

I hiss through my gritted teeth as he keeps on thrusting, my pussy gripping his shaft viciously. I already feel on the verge of coming again, and that means I’m about come for the –oh, I’ve lost count already! This is the first time something like this is happening to me.

“I’m about to –” I start, but the words die in my throat as he thrusts harder than before, burying his cock so deep inside my pussy that I’m actually surprised I’m still conscious. My muscles start spasming as if I’m having a seizure, my eyes rolling in their orbits. I’ve lost all control of my body and if he wasn’t holding me I’d just fall to the floor like a ragdoll.

“Come, come for me,” I tell him, resting my head on his shoulder.

Maybe it’s because I told him to, or maybe it was already going to happen anyway, but the moment my words reach him his cock pulses almost too violently inside my pussy. I moan as that happens, ripples of pleasure spreading from my loins to the rest of my body, and then he starts coming with a groan.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his cum gushing a river of warm cum inside of me. I press my mouth against his shoulder, a shiver going up my spine each time his cock pulses and shoots his seed inside of me. He keeps on coming for what seems like forever, his cum dripping out of my pussy and making its way down my thighs and legs.

Groaning again, he takes his cock out of me slowly and then puts me down. I lean back against the wall once more, taking a deep breath as I feel strands of cum sliding down my legs.

I slide down to the floor, sitting down on it while I try to catch my breath. My lungs feel as if they’re on fire, and my heart is beating so fast I wouldn’t be surprised if it rips a hole through my chest and simply jump out.

I hear Blake sitting down next to me, and without knowing what I’m doing I reach for his hand. I softly place my fingers on top of his, and simply hold his hand.

When I open my eyes, he’s looking straight at me. There’s something about his gaze that I can’t really describe, and so I just smile at him while squeezing his hand in mine.

“I was right,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re different.”

“Different? How?”

“I exactly don’t know yet…I’m just sure of it,” he tells me, smiling warmly back at me, and his words make me feel…I don’t even know. God, why am I suddenly at a loss for words? Why do I even call myself a writer?

That’s beside the point anyway.

Thing is, all this should be nothing but a fun romp…but I’m finding that there’s more to all this than just ‘fun’.

Blake

There’s a buzzing…or maybe it’s a low hum. Either way it’s pulsing through my body and I’m wide awake at 4 a.m.

What I feel is nearly impossible to describe, except to say it’s the complete absence of the dullness that’s filled me for months. Call it boredom, call it a lack of inspiration. Whatever name you give it, the gigantic red stop sign that's been sitting in front of my face, the one with the words, “The struggle is real”, is finally gone. Can I get an amen?

Yeah, yeah, I know, what am I whining about? From the outside looking in, my life is one long conga line of fabulous. I’ve got a dope apartment, serious cash, women whenever I want them, and my career is…well…who wouldn’t want it.? Everyone thinks I’m living the dream.

Well, fuck ‘em, because until right this minute, something was definitely missing – and now, for some inexplicable reason, I feel energized.

Maybe it’s her.

Next to me, Katherine stirs and the sheet slips just enough so that I can see the sensual curve of her hip and her long legs. Her bare back is exposed and my fingers recall the softness of her skin. I lie on my side propping my head up with my hand, and stare at her. I can’t help it.

I’m not used to women spending the night, but Katherine is… different. Beautiful. Sexy. Alluring. She's all those things…and something else. I just can’t give it a name yet.

But I’m not making a move, which is unusual for me. There’s something going on here.

Between the buzz I feel, and naked Katherine a few inches away, I’m actually torn about what to do. Unmoving, I watch as her chest rises and falls with each breath, and in my mind’s eye I imagine her against the warm golden tones of an evening sunset as I sketch the outlines of her body on a canvas.

It’s clear, I’m bewitched and I chuckle to myself thinking she’s somehow put a spell on me. There’s no other way to explain the gravitational pull I feel for her, because women don’t usually affect me like this. It’s always been the other way around. But this one…

I chastise myself. Okay, don’t get stupid. The only powers she has she used last night. They may have felt supernatural, but it was just flesh on flesh. Don’t put too much into this.

I raise my hand to touch her luscious skin but stop short. I can’t believe I’m restraining myself from reaching over and taking her because this is not how I play this game.

I want her, but at the same time there’s an equally powerful sensation tugging me away. It’s that feeling I’ve been trying to grasp since I woke up.

With each deep breath I take, I’m working on settling this restlessness that has me by the neck. A few minutes pass and it all finally coalesces. I know what this unsettling feeling is and I need to handle it right now.

With only a momentary feeling of regret, I quietly leave the bed, because my desire to paint is back with an indescribable urgency. My pulse is racing and my hands are itching to feel the brush as it strokes the canvas.

Dressing quietly, I scribble a note,

K – Had a great time. Call you later. B

I stop for a minute knowing it's too cursory. What I really want to tell her is that she seems to have opened me up in some way, because inspiration has been hard to come by and suddenly I’m full of it.

But I don’t bother with a re-write. I place the note on the pillow beside her so she doesn’t wake up confused to find me gone.

I head to the studio. I know I will be there for a while. I get so consumed by my art when I am inspired, that time passes indefinitely for me.

Taking a last glance at the direction of the bedroom, I tell myself I really will call her. Feeling assured by that thought, I close the door of the studio behind me.

Once inside, I don’t have to stop and think, because I’m possessed with ideas. It’s the only way I can describe what’s happening to me. Grabbing the biggest canvas, I drag it to the center of the room where the morning light is brightest. There are dozens of images floating through my mind, but they're all images of her. Of Katherine.

With the canvas in front of me, I take only a moment before I make the first bold stroke. There’s no confusion about what this piece will be. She’s in my head with each brush stroke, as if I’m painting a sensual symphony of colors.

I feel like I'm on fire and that hasn’t happened in too long. Much too long.

Katherine is my inspiration now, and I’m not going to question it. She’s my muse and I must have her sit for me. I don’t know how, but I’m not gonna work myself into a state about right now.

I’m here in my studio and it’s where I need to be.

I’ll call her. Later.

Katherine

“What time is it?”

I whisper these words in the darkness of the room I’m in, stretching my arms as I say it. I feel the soft fabric of the sheets brushing against my naked body, and I realize that these aren’t my sheets.

Nor is this my bed. And why the hell am I naked?

It all comes to me then.

Blake.

Moving quickly, but carefully so as not to wake him up, I roll to the side and blink twice, trying to get my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. I half-expect to see the outline of his naked body, but all I find is emptiness.

For half-a-second I think he must have bolted on me, but that doesn’t make any sense – I’m in his apartment, after all.

Kicking the sheets back, I swing my legs off the bed and run one hand through my tangled hair. Thank God Blake isn’t around – I wouldn’t like him to see me with puffy eyes, morning breath, and messy hair. Still, he probably saw me drooling on my pillow right before he left, so there’s that.

I stay there for a while, just sitting on the edge of the bed as I remember what happened last night. I came in here decided to just have dinner with Blake, and then…I just succumbed to him.

I have no idea how that happened. I just know it did, and that it was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. Sure, I’m no virgin, but with Blake…it felt as if I had never been with a man before. He knows my body better than I do, and he predicts exactly what I want (or need) him to do.

It’s surreal.

No wonder he has a legion of women throwing themselves at his feet. Handsome, charming, wealthy, and an artist between the sheets (or up against the wall, for that matter)? Yeah, he sure earned his reputation.

Okay, this was fun, sure. But it was nothing more than a fling, I need to remind myself of that. I know my writer’s mind enjoys weaving little love stories out of everything, but I need to stop myself before it’s too late. Blake isn’t the kind of a guy that loves a woman – for more than a few hours at least.

Casual. I’ll keep things casual.

“Right, casual,” I whisper to myself as I get up from the bed. I move toward the wall and hit the light switch, squinting as the bright light floods the room.

I see my clothes neatly folded at the foot of the bed, and I can’t remember if I folded them myself or if Blake did it. It was probably me, as I can’t imagine him taking care of that.

God, I was so exhausted from last night that I barely remember anything. I kinda remember him picking me up from the floor and carrying me to the bedroom, but it’s all a blur. The moment I felt the soft mattress under my back, I was out.

I’m reaching for my clothes when I notice a folded piece of paper on top of Blake’s pillow. Climbing on top of the bed, I reach for it and open it.

K – Had a great time. Call you later. B, the note reads.

Well, at least he left a note. Still…his words seem so cold and distant. And the call you later part …I want to believe he’ll really call me, but deep down I know that men like Blake don’t do the phone call thing.

I’ll probably never hear from him again.

Jesus, why does that make me sad?

I get dressed in a hurry, and then I grab my purse and tiptoe my way out of the bedroom. I know Blake isn’t around, but I can’t help being as silent as possible.

The moment I’m out on the street, I hail a cab and make my way home. Right now, I need a shower more than anything. I need to clear my head – and try to stop thoughts of Blake from taking over my mind. Easier said than done, of course.

The moment I step one foot inside my apartment, I feel my phone ringing inside my purse. I reach for it in a hurry, almost expecting to see Blake’s name plastered on the screen, but Robin’s the one calling me. Of course – she must be dying to hear about last night.

She knows something happened. If it hadn’t happened, I’d just have called her after dinner.

“Tell me everything,” she chirps happily as soon as I pick up the phone. “Every single detail.”

“C’mon, Robin,” I sigh, throwing my purse on the small coffee table I have in the middle of the living room and sinking down onto my couch. “There’s nothing to–”

“Uh-uh. No way. Don’t you lie to me, girl,” she laughs. “My spider-sense is tingling, and you know what that means. I can hear the I-just-got-laid tone on your voice. And by the sound of it, it must be gooood .”

“Okay, okay,” I sigh, and then I just end up laughing. “Yeah, it was good.”

“Oh my God! I knew it!”

“Of course you knew it. It’s not like I can keep anything from you,” I sigh, propping my feet up on the coffee table and throwing my head back against the headrest. I close my eyes for a second and just enjoy the silence, waiting for Robin to start speaking again.

“What now? You’re going to see him again, right?”

“Robin, I…I don’t know. You know how guys like Blake are,” I tell her, and I feel my heart tightening up inside my chest. “To be honest, I doubt he’ll ever call me again. He had what he wanted, and now he’ll just disappear into thin air.”

“You’re wrong,” she says matter-of-factly, almost as if she knows something I don’t. “I noticed the way he looks at you.”

“I don’t think that –”

“You think too much, and that has always been your problem, Kat. Trust me, he’ll call you again.”

I sigh heavily, not replying as I ponder on her words. My brain tells me that no, I won’t hear from Blake again, but my heart insists on believing what Robin’s telling me.

But it was just a fling, right?

Katherine

My fingers fly across the keyboard. Words pour out of me. There is no doubt about it; inspiration is flowing through me like a raging river. At this rate my next novel will be finished within the month.

I pause to take a sip of my coffee. I savor the taste of the strong dark liquid. To say I’m a coffee addict is an understatement. I love a good cup of coffee.

As I sip the delicious hot drink I re-read the last paragraph.

“Emily watches the artist at work. The way he holds his paintbrush, his brow furrowed, his eyes totally focused on his canvas. His right hand moves deftly across the white space, filling it with life. Like pure poetry in motion.”

My lips curl into a smile. I know where the inspiration has come from. There is no point denying the obvious. Perhaps it had not been such a bad idea giving into my animal instincts and having wild passionate sex with bad boy Blake.

I lean back in my chair and close my eyes. Images of our hot sweaty bodies flash through my mind. I am reminding myself not to get too attached, when I am annoyed by a sudden knock on the door.

I wasn’t expecting anyone, and my heart performs little somersaults as I wonder if it’s Blake knocking. A longing creeps through me and I try not to sprint. I don’t want to appear desperate.

With my most nonchalant look, I open the door. I have my left hand on my hip and smile brightly. I hope there’s not a hint of lust in my eyes.

The second my eyes register who is standing in front of me, I deflate like a balloon. I am about to slam the door, but Dale puts his foot in the way.

“We need to talk.”

I huff. Talk? What a dick. “Piss off.” I snarl and fold both arms. Someone once told me to ward off negative energy other people give off, you should fold your arms in front of your body. It’s worth a shot.

“Kath, please. Babe.”

I hate the way he shortens my name. And he has the nerve to call me babe. Argh. How dare he?

“What do you want Dale?” I realize I won’t get rid of him unless I talk to him. Un-friending him from social media sites and erasing his number was obviously not enough.

He follows me into my apartment.

“Writing again?”

I want to tell him it’s none of his fucking business, but I don’t. Instead, I shrug because I really shouldn’t be so angry, and in fact, I should be thankful. If it had not been for Dale screwing someone else I would never have met Blake, nor would I have had the best sex ever.

At the thought of sex with Blake, a wave of desire washes over me.

“Babe, look,” Dale takes two or three steps toward me. He puts his left hand on my shoulder. With his right hand he strokes my cheek.

His scent of cheap aftershave is almost overpowering. Had I really wanted to spend the rest of my life with him? I must have been deluded.

I cringe at the touch and push his hand away. It simply does not compare to the way Blake touched me. My mind threatens to go off on a frolic of its own. I force myself to focus.

“Get to the point Dale. I’m busy.”

Dale’s expression changes to the hurt puppy look.

“Babe I just want us to give it another go.” Again his hand reaches for me.

This time he pulls me close and before I really know what is happening his lips are on top of mine. I feel his tongue forcing its way into my mouth. He holds me tight with both of his hands now.

I can’t escape the forcefulness of his kiss. He pushes me against the wall of my apartment. My breathing increases. I feel his right hand reach for my breast, squeeze it and then move downward. In no time his hand is under my skirt, pushing my slip aside.

A noise escapes my lips. Dale now presses hard into me and there is no mistaking what he wants. I can feel his erection.

With one hand between my legs, Dale uses his other one to reach for my breast.

This is my moment. I use all my will power to push Dale away. He stumbles.

With lightning speed I put distance between the two of us. I reach for the closest object, a pair of scissors.

“Don’t do that again,” I hiss and pull my skirt down.

I’m surprised at my own reaction. I felt nothing but disgust when Dale groped me. To think a few weeks ago I was dreaming of having children with this man.

“Bitch.” Dale is breathing hard.

“I think you should leave.”

Dale glares. He does not move.

“You know why I had to have all those affairs?” I feel his spit land on my cheek.

Pain shoots through me. Had he just admitted to multiple affairs? How stupid and naïve I had been. I had thought the peroxide bimbo had been the only one.

“I don’t care.” And I really don’t. He cheated on me. Would knowing why really make any it better? I don’t think so. “I had all those other women because you’re frigid. You don’t know how to have great sex.”

Now tears do well up and I clench my fists. Arrogant prick.

“I pity the next man you date.”

It takes all my effort not to scream at Dale’s face what a loser he is, and throw the closest thing within my reach, the only one of any real value in my apartment, my great grandmother’s porcelain vase.

“Well, for your information I think you were the problem. You don’t know how to satisfy a woman. I pity the women who have sex with you.” I pause. “You probably pay them so they have no choice but to oblige and suffer through your grunting and pathetic attempt at getting a woman to have an orgasm.”

Without another word I walk to the front door, scissors still in hand.

“I think you better go and never come back,” I tell Dale, and then open the door for him to leave.

When I open it I cannot believe my eyes. I know the man standing there about to knock. I wasn’t expecting him.

Pushing Blake out of the way Dale storms past me. His parting words of ‘you won’t last long’ stay with me.

Blake

What the…?

Am I hearing right? Is there an asshole inside Katherine’s apartment right now? It sure seems so.

I can’t say I was expecting that. I drove all the way here to show her the sketch I did of her, and now there’s some random jackass to deal with it.

Ah, fuck it.

Raising my fist, I’m about to rap my knuckles against her door when it suddenly swings open. My eyes meet Katherine’s right away, and I can’t help but enjoy the surprise on her face. She wasn’t expecting to see me here.

“You won’t last long,” the guy standing next to her mutters, stepping out the door and pushing me out of the way. I take one step back to let him through, but something in his tone of voice strikes a chord inside me.

Before he can leave, I reach for him and grab him by the scruff of his shirt.

“Play nice, asshole,” I tell him, turning on my heels to meet his gaze.

Judging by the way his eyes widen as I grab him, I’d say he wasn’t expecting me to do that. No, he wasn’t. This is the kind of guy who’s used to having everything he wants at a drop of a hat.

“I know you,” he says, looking at me with a disgusted expression on his face. “Blake,” he continues, my name leaving his mouth like a curse.

“Well, I know you too,” I find myself saying, suddenly recognizing his smug face. This guy is the owner of some bullshit gallery where I once held an exposition. I remember the arrogant prick and the way he looked at my paintings.

“So you’re the one fucking her, aren’t you?” he asks me, his eyes never leaving mine.

I react without thinking. I close the distance between us, grab him by the collar of his shirt, and push him back against the wall.

“Listen here, you fuckin’ asshole,” I growl, trying to resist the urge to introduce him to my fist. “I don’t give two shits about you, got that? But you’ll respect her ,” I continue, slightly nodding toward Katherine.

She’s standing by the doorway, looking at us both with an expression that tells me she has no idea on what to say or do.

“You can’t—”

I don’t even let him finish his sentence. I tighten my grip on his shirt and lean toward him.

“I know how little shits like you enjoy treating women,” I tell him, making sure I take my time with each and every word. “But you’ve heard the lady—leave and never come back.”

He stops for a moment, almost as if he’s trying to process the meaning behind my words, and then he finally lowers his gaze.

Submission.

I finally let go of his shirt and take a step back, although my gaze never leaves him. I don’t know why, but coming here and finding a man (and one like this fuckin’ asshole) inside Katherine’s apartment has my blood boiling. Besides, it doesn’t help that I overheard most of their argument.

“Well, I guess you finally got your knight in shining armor, haven’t you?” he says, looking over my shoulder at Katherine, his beady eyes glinting with malice. “Just so you know, you’re probably just the flavor of the month for this guy. If you think I’m bad, you’re in for a surprise with him.”

That does it for me.

I can hear Katherine saying something, but I can’t even register her words. Flavor of the month ? Who does this asshole think he is?

Taking one step toward him, I ball my right hand into a fist. I cock my arm back, and everything around me starts moving slowly. I can see it happening before it happens—my fingers meeting his nose and that asshole tumbling back as he clutches his bloody nose.

That’ll probably cost me, since he’s well connected in the gallery business. But fuck it.

“No!” I hear Katherine say, and I feel her delicate hands grabbing me by the arm. I stop the moment I hear her voice, my fist just a fraction of a second from breaking Dale’s nose.

“Saved by the bell,” I whisper at him, and this time there’s no smart comeback. His beady eyes can’t hide the fear he’s feeling (and he should be afraid of me), and so he just turns on his heels and disappears from sight as fast as he possibly can without running.

“Are you okay?” I ask Katherine the moment Dale leaves, turning around to meet her. My eyes meet her velvety lips at once, and my heart picks up the pace faster than I can take in her beauty. Fuck, I just want to grab her by the waist, pin her against the wall, and kiss her.

“I am now,” she breathes out softly, and that makes me relax. “What are you doing here, Blake?”

“I came to give you something,” I reply, suddenly realizing that I’m not sure about what I’m doing.

I never chased someone like this. And I’m not just talking about the fact that I want Katherine; I’m saying that I never went after anyone because my art demanded it.

But that has changed.

Because everything in me calls for her. I need to kiss her, to hold her close against me…

And, more than that, I need to paint her.

Katherine

I step to the side, allowing Blake in. I close the door behind us.

Just moments ago, it was Dale in here, and now it’s just Blake and I. Honestly, I have no idea what kind of game the universe is playing with me, but I really can’t complain about this turn of events.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” I tell him, trying to think of what he could possibly want to give me. Maybe I forgot something back at his apartment? But no, that can’t be it; I’ve brought everything with me.

“I just had to come.” He shrugs, smiling at me. I have to look away from him as he does it—the way his lips slightly curl into that damned smile, awakening the sleeping butterflies inside my stomach.

Robin was right—Blake isn’t going to disappear. I can’t believe I actually thought he wouldn’t call me again. Well, he didn’t call, to be honest…he just showed up at my doorstep, ready to save the day.

“And here you are,” I whisper, not really sure on what I should say. God, why do I always feel like an idiot who doesn’t know my way around words whenever I’m this close to Blake? “Listen…I’m sorry for Dale.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that asshole,” Blake tells me casually, tucking one hand inside his pocket. “He’s just lucky you stopped me before I taught him some manners.”

Now I’ve always hated violence. I can’t stand the sight of blood, and I hate when men act like peacocks and stick their chests out, ready to butt heads. But this…this was different.

Blake didn’t want to impress him (at least I don’t think so). He just wanted to protect me.

What a weird thought.

I saw Blake as nothing more than an arrogant rich playboy. And now here he is, showing me that sometimes first impressions don’t really matter.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him meekly, but he just flashes me that heart-melting smile again, and I feel sweet thorns of despair wrapping themselves around my heart. What the hell’s happening to me?

“I had to. And Dale should be the one apologizing to you,” he replies.

I stand there in silence, shifting my weight from one foot to the other while I think of something smart to say. Of course, words fail me again.

“What the hell are you doing with someone like him?” Blake continues. I run my tongue over my bottom lip, feeling it dry, and then I finally look into his eyes. “The guy’s a complete jerk.”

“I know,” I manage to say, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Blake’s right (just as Robin was right about my relationship). What the hell was I doing with a guy like Dale?

I can’t believe how stupid I was. I wanted to marry, have kids, and buy a house. I wanted to go the distance with Dale, a man I now despise more than anyone.

Sometimes you get too comfortable in a long-term relationship. Too comfortable.

“I don’t know how it happened, but I dated Dale for a long time,” I continue, allowing the words to pour out of me. “I always had this notion of building a family and having a man by my side… You know, stupid girl dreams.”

“These don’t sound like stupid dreams,” he says gently, and I feel warm blood rushing to my cheeks.

“Maybe. But I guess I wanted that so much that I didn’t even realize the man I was with. I only realized it when…when…” I have to take a deep breath to steady myself, but then I finally manage to push the words out.

Even though I don’t care for Dale, it still pains to realize I’ve been backstabbed like that. “He cheated on me. And I caught him right in the act,” I continue.

“Jesus,” Blake whispers. “I’m sorry.”

At that, he reaches for me and tucks a stray lock of hair over my ear. I feel my skin prickling at his touch, and my heart starts beating faster and faster.

“Any guy that’d cheat on you is a complete fool,” he continues, looking straight into my eyes. “A complete fool,” he repeats, his words soft and warm.

My eyes slowly go to his lips, and I find myself needing to feel his mouth on mine. It’s more than physical, though. The pull I feel toward him goes beyond having our lips locked together or our naked bodies pressed against each other.

More than just my body, my heart and soul need to experience Blake.

Oh, I can’t fall for him.

I know that men like Blake aren’t designed for romance. They just can’t do it. I can’t allow this to become more than just a fling, and I can’t allow myself down this slippery slope.

“I’m happy you’re here,” I find myself saying, my eyes still on his lips. Oh god, why am I saying this? It’s almost as if I’m not in control of my actions and that I’ve thrown all rationality out of the window.

“I’m happy I’m here too,” he whispers, brushing his long fingers against my cheeks. Smiling gently, he leans into me, and my eyelids slowly start to droop.

I breath in his perfume—it reminds me of pine trees and the wintery ocean—and I realize that there’s no way I’ll ever be able to control myself around Blake.

I part my lips slowly, and then we kiss.

Katherine

He stares at me for a long second, before leaning in and finally kissing me again. I open my mouth in an instant, allowing our tongues to wrestle against one another hungrily, as if we have been craving that for too long. He laces my back with his arms, pulling my body closer.

I can’t believe I’m doing this again. I tried to convince myself that what happened between Blake and I was just a one-time thing, but I was wrong. A one-time thing? How can that be after how wonderful he was? After how wonderful it was between the two of us.

And more than that, the way he handled Dale just now…and the things he said. There’s this air of arrogance around Blake, yes, but there’s more to him than meets the eye. Under his bad boy looks, there’s a gentle heart somewhere in there.

And it’s that combination, his gentleness and bad boy looks, that has me hooked.

"Come with me,” I whisper at him, running my tongue between my lips.

He lets me guide him, no questions asked. Grabbing his hand, I take him across the living room and into my bedroom, pushing the door open with the tip of my foot.

Blake leans into me, pressing his mouth against mine once again, his tongue darting hungrily inside my mouth.

Then, I grab him by the hand and pull him to the edge of the bed. Slowly, I place my hands on his chest and give him a push, forcing him to lay down on the mattress as I climb over him.

I tilt my head, my lips begging for his. Once more, he kisses me frantically. Our lips fight and embrace each other, my shaky fingers wrestling with the buttons on his shirt, clumsily undressing him.

I place the palms of my hands on his chest, feeling his thick ropey muscles and the cadence of his heart. I unbutton the rest of his shirt and, in a desperate motion, take it off him.

My head nestles against his chest, my hungry lips kissing him all over. I can feel the pulse of his heart against my lips, the warmth of his skin as my kisses go down from his pectorals to his hard abs, softly descending over his belly.

Right now, there’s only one thing I’m sure of: I’m as wet as I’ve ever been and my pussy is aching with blinding desire.

He pulls me against him by the hips, our bodies pressed against each other. He tangles his fingers in my hair, tilting my head in a way that makes our lips a perfect match, the eagerness of both our bodies impossible to deny. I suck on his tongue, my parted lips hungry for him.

Without allowing my gaze to wander from his eyes, I take my fingers to my shoulders and slide down the straps of my top. Blake swallows in hard as the black lace bra that cup my breasts tightly comes into view. I don´t even blink. He finishes taking my top as I’m on top of him, my knees resting on the mattress.

Both my hands are on his face, our eyes locked as my thighs squeeze him. I can feel him hardening even more, my wetness pressing against his crotch. He rests his hands under my skirt, on my thighs, the warmth on my skin spreading through his fingers.

He´s so hard right now. There´s a massive erection raging against his pants and his desire is almost palpable, so heavy I can feel it in the atmosphere around us. His eyes are darting up and down my body, going down from my neck to the valley between my breasts, quickly descending over my tight black skirt and then slowing down as they reach my legs.

I can’t help it.

My tongue runs over my lips as my hands slide down from his shoulder blades to the hem of his pants. I move them around his waist and, finally finding his belt buckle, I open it up, then pull it off smoothly through the loops of his jeans in a single motion.

Anxiety making my heart beat faster, I let it fall from my fingers. I go back to his pants and undo the top button, my trembling fingers then taking care of his zipper; the moment I start pulling it down, ever so slowly, his cock pushes back against my fingers from under his boxer briefs, making my heart beat even faster.

I trace the outline of his shaft, slowly, from top to bottom and then back up. God, I’m so wet – right now, I’m just fighting against the urge to simply lie back on the bed and make him take me.

Turning my wrist around, I grab his cock, feeling it pulse against my curled fingers. I start moving my hand up and down, stroking him over his boxers, and I let out a gentle moan against his ear. He reacts by tangling his fingers in my hair and yanking, forcing me to throw my head back.

“You’re so beautiful, Katherine,” he says.

“I’m just an average girl,” I try and tell him, but my words come out as a soft whisper.

There’s something in the way he’s looking at me that makes me believe protests are futile. It doesn’t matter what I believe, his gaze tells me – he thinks I’m beautiful, and that’s the end of it.

And what I can say? I love it.

He dives straight into me again, taking his mouth to my cleavage and kissing the naked patch of skin there. At the same time, he allows his hands to roam up the side of my body, and then he takes them to my back. There, he finds the clasp of my bra and he frees it with a quick flick of his fingers.

My lace cups fall away from my breasts, revealing my rosy tips, and Blake reacts to the sight of my naked tits with an almost savage growl.

Grabbing at my bra, he throws it to the side and then grabs my left breast, squeezing it. Taking his mouth to it, he starts devouring my left nipple, sucking hard on it while he traces vicious circles around it with his tongue.

I let moan after moan tumble out of my lips as he does it, the sound of my aching voice filling the room…oh, I can barely believe that this is happening.

Moving quickly, he takes his parted lips to my other nipple. He wraps his lips around my rosy tip, sucking it inside his mouth, and then pressing down with his tongue. I let go of his cock as pleasure flutters inside of me. His hand then goes straight to the hemline of my skirt, and he slides his fingers underneath it. Slowly, he brushes his fingertips against my inner thighs and I hold my breath as he does it, becoming even wetter than before. I don’t know even know how that’s possible.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers against my ear while, at the same time, he cups my wet pussy with the palm of his hand, applying just the right amount of pressure. I arch my back and moan slightly as he starts pressing harder on my pussy, eager for more.

Almost as if he could read my mind, he then grabs my thong and pushes it to the side.

Now with my pussy free for the taking, he slides his index finger over its length, drawing another lengthy moan from between my lips. He stops on my clit, his fingertip hovering over it, and then he traces his way back down.

Slowly parting my inner lips, he then slides his index finger inside my pussy, taking his time with it. He takes it all the way in, curling it upward and pressing his fingertip against my G-spot. The moment I feel his touch there, I close my eyes and feel my eyes roll in their orbits.

My God, how the hell does he know my body even better than I do? It’s almost as if he can read my mind, and knows exactly what I need and when I need it.

He keeps his finger there for a long time, just teasing me and building up the tension between us, and then he starts flicking his wrist. As he does it, he slides one more finger inside of me, stretching me wide as if he’s trying to prepare me for something…larger.

Fingering me harder, he drives me to the edge of oblivion, pulling at my strings as if I am his puppet. Bucking my hips against his hand, I start rocking my body back and forth, feeling that electric fire taking over me.

“Oh God, oh God, oh –” I trail off as I feel my pussy tightening around his fingers, my inner walls squeezing him tight. I grit my teeth and moan through them as I feel a sudden orgasm shoot up my spine, taking over my mind like a shower of fireworks.

Christ, Blake has only used his fingers, and it was better than anything I’ve ever had with Dale. How is it possible for him to be this good?

“My turn,” I find myself saying, a wicked grin on my lips.

Before I can think of what I’m doing, I pull off his boxers, position myself between his legs, reach for his cock and grab it harshly. I need his cock, and I need it now . Looking into his eyes one last time, I lean into him as I angle its tip, pointing it straight at my mouth.

I part my lips and wrap them around his cock, slowly lowering myself and allowing his shaft to slide over my tongue.

He groans, gently placing his hands on the top of my head and pushing me down. I let him do it willingly, and I only stop when my lips are at the base of his cock, its tip pressed tight against the back of my throat. I hold that position for a few seconds, using my tongue to press on his shaft, and only then do I allow him to slide out.

I then start to suck his tip gently. I open my mouth slowly and soon enough, his cock is rolling over my full lips. I press my tongue against his cock and pull my head back, allowing his whole length to slide back out once again.

I lick it then, my hand starting to stroke him as I wrap my lips over his pulsing erection again.

I’m teasing him, and loving every second of it.

My lips move slowly over his tip, my tongue lapping at it and making him completely insane with lust. I smack my lips as I pull out again, the sound of it making him throb against my curled fingers.

He can´t take it anymore and grabs a handful of my hair, and then starts to push my mouth down his cock, the anxiety of flaming desire lashing it out all over his body. I suck and lick him as my hand keeps busy stroking him, his thick cock completely ravaging my mouth.

As I look up at him, his cock going in and out at full speed, he takes a deep breath in order to stop himself from coming. After a few seconds, he starts thrusting his hips at me again.

I keep still as he ravages my mouth, half-expecting him to simply let go and come inside my mouth, but that’s not what he does. Instead, he pulls his cock out of my mouth, and pulls me up to my feet.

Moving fast, he slides his hands down the side of my body and hooks his thumbs on my skirt; two hard tugs and the whole thing goes flying down my legs. I wiggle my hips from side to side, helping it on the way down, and that’s when he throws me on top of the bed.

He follows after me fast, moving like a caged wild animal that has just been released, and I almost expect him to go straight for the kill.

“Fuck me, Blake,” I find myself saying.

I can’t believe that I’m saying it like that. Did I ever ask Dale to fuck me? Did I ever feel the need to tell him with those two words how much I wanted him? No, and that’s because I never really wanted him to fuck him.

But now it’s different.

“Someone’s impatient,” he teases me, taking his hand straight to my pussy. I arch my back as I feel the pressure of his hand in there once more. He then starts pressing hard, rubbing my pussy over my thong, flicking his wrist at a steady rhythm as he keeps his eyes trained on me.

“Say it…one more time,” he asks me, his voice heavy and brimming with pent-up desire.

“I want you to fuck me,” I whisper back at him, the devilish tone in my voice making his eyes shine.

Gritting his teeth, he cups my wet pussy with the palm of his hand, his thumb falling over my clit and he starts rubbing on it. At the same time, he parts my drenched folds with his fingers and then, swiftly, he slides is index finger all the way in, curling it upward like a hook, sending it straight to my g-spot once more.

The moment he hits that spot inside of me, I let out a moan so sudden and loud that I swear he can feel the hair on the back of my neck standing up.

Flicking his wrist at a steady pace, he lets a smile creep on his lips as he looks at me.

I have my head thrown back against the mattress, my hair already slightly disheveled and my eyes closed. As for my lips, they´re slightly parted, just enough for me to breathe out heavily and let Blake know all about the pleasure he´s inflicting on my body.

He continues, pressing hard on my G-spot as he rubs my clit fiercely, and then I let out a scream as I come.

I breathe out fast, the tension in my body slowly crumbling as slight spasms take over my muscles, and a shiver goes up my spine as I realize I’m doing this.

Did he just make me come twice with nothing but his fingers? That’s a feat Dale couldn’t do even with his cock!

“Ready for the main course?” He asks me as he slides the fingers out of my pussy, my creamy juices coating them.

He then cups my ass, finally feeling it wholly in his hands. He pushes and pulls at the flesh, the sweet valley between my ass cheeks almost making his skin prickle in excitement. He pulls at my thong viciously and rips it apart, the fabric tearing easily in his strong hands.

“More than ready,” I tell him, seductively narrowing my eyes as he reaches for my hand and grabs it. With that, he pulls me on top of him.

Before I can even react, he grabs his cock and starts brushing it against my soaked pussy. He rubs its tip up and down the length of my pussy and then feeds one inch of it into me. I let out one wild scream, and I’m only reacting to his thickness.

“I’m right here,” he whispers, taking me as if he were doing it for the first time. His shaft strains against my insides, pushing my inner walls back and, slowly, he starts sliding his whole length inside of me, only stopping when all of it is buried deep.

“Oh, God,” I moan, my insides burning so fiercely that it feels my whole body is made out of flames. I can’t even open my eyes, and breathing feels like a chore.

When he starts to thrust…oh, when he starts to thrust, that fire grows. Each stroke of his cock makes me feel as if there’s electricity running through my veins instead of blood.

When my mind finally starts working again, I start swaying my hips, trying to match his rhythm. It doesn’t take long for him to stop thrusting and allow me to take the lead. And that’s exactly what I do; with both arms thrown over his shoulders, I ride him as if my life depends on it.

I go as fast as I can, and beads of sweat are already forming on my forehead, a stray lock of hair plastered to my skin.

That fire inside of me spreads from between my thighs to every extremity in my body, consuming everything in its wake. It feels like a sharp needle is stabbing every single one of my nerve endings. I never felt something like this. There’s something to be said about his prowess, that’s for sure.

“Tired already?” he asks me, tucking that stray lock of hair over my ear. I make the effort to open up my eyes and, with a sly grin, I just roll to the side and lay down on the bed, spreading my legs wide.

I tease him, sliding one hand down from between my tits and moving it straight to my clit. Using only two fingers, I start rubbing it as I bite on my lower lip, inviting him in.

He lies on top of my body and, grabbing his cock with one hand, he guides it home once more. This time he doesn’t tease me; no, he goes straight for the kill, sheathing his cock in me up to the hilt.

I gasp as he does it, crossing my legs behind his lower back and my arms around his neck. My fingers are digging into his shoulder blades, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s inside of me in one sudden thrust, one hand holding my head while the other one runs through my hair.

Slowly he starts kissing my right ear, breathing heavily into my hair, gently moving his cock in and out of me, as I rest my hands on his back. I let my fingers lay there as I feel his muscles moving, every inch of Blake’s body focused with a sole intent in mind: pleasure.

He keeps on thrusting at that gentle pace until time seems to melt away around us.

This moment is perfection itself.

He keeps on going until I’m more than ready to explode. That sweet pressure has grown inside of me once more, making every single muscle in my body tense up.

My blood’s boiling, and every single thought inside my head feels like a bomb going off. I can’t see, breathe, or think. I’m nothing but pleasure made flesh, and it feels absolutely perfect.

“OH GOD!” I scream at the top of my lungs, feeling as if my soul has just checked out. And he wasn’t even going hard at it; he was being gentle and kind, taking his time as ecstasy consumed.

“There’s more,” I hear him say, but his voice seems to come to me from the other side of the universe. He pulls his cock out of my pussy and climbs off of me. Lying on his side, he places one hand on my waist.

Making me roll to the side, my back turned to him, he presses his body against mine and guides his cock between my thighs. He’s inside me just like that, almost as if his cock never left my pussy, and his thrusts resume that soft rhythm.

He takes his hand to my neck, his fingers curling around it, and holds me steady. His movements become faster as he starts to fuck me savagely. With both hands I grab his wrist as if to steady myself, moving my hips back and forth, unable to wait for his strokes.

He goes at it hard, his shaft going in and out, glistening with my juices. I arch my back against the mattress and let out a high pitched scream, my whole body shaking and trembling as if a high voltage current is running through me. And, still, Blake keeps on pounding me, the burning desire inside him forbidding him to stop.

“Don’t…don’t stop!” I beg of him, and that’s exactly what he does: he doesn’t stop. Instead, he redoubles his efforts, fucking me with such intensity that I can’t even seem to remember who or where I am. All I know is that my body is being consumed by the holy fire of pleasure, and I’m loving every single minute of it.

“Fuck!” I moan, another orgasm blanketing both my soul and body at the same time. I don’t even know how many times I’ve came already.

This is pure madness…and it’s exactly the kind of madness I needed in my life. I can’t believe I’ve lived all my life without experiencing this kind of sex. Sweet mercy, Blake has made me feel like a virgin once more.

And he isn’t done.

Changing positions, he goes behind me and, grabbing his cock with one hand, nudges the tip between my pussy lips as he rubs it up and down. He presses into me, sliding slowly inside my pussy, as I bite down hard on my lip.

Grabbing me by the hips with his wide hands, he pulls me, easing himself into my drenched pussy. He slaps my ass hard enough to leave a red mark over the spot where his palm landed and, as if taken over by frenzy, he starts thrusting wildly inside me, his erratic and jerky movements discharging bolts of lightning and pleasure all over my body.

“Harder!” I scream, my voice sounding raspy and high pitched, its tone nothing more than wild abandonment.

He takes note of my instructions and, in an instant, my screaming is completely out of control as his thrusts grow stronger and vicious, his thighs hitting my ass cheeks over and over again, the sound of flesh on flesh making him keep that vicious tempo. I just want to let myself explode with the intensity of a raging wildfire.

My shouts become cries of pleasure - high and low, high and low. I feel my whole body shake as the delicious clench of a hard hitting orgasm starts to grow inside me. I grab and pull at the sheets, my hands curled into fists, and rock my hips back and forth violently, his unrelenting cock sliding in and out of me.

He goes as fast and as hard as he can until my screaming makes my throat go sore. Even so, I let out a harsh moan that makes my skin prickle, my body convulsing as an out-of-control climax is taking hold of my body.

The sound of my moaning drives sparks of electricity down my entire body, and I feel a pleasant tightness taking hold of his body. His cock jerks deep inside me and, grabbing me by the hips, so hard that it feels like he can’t control himself, he joins me in absolute paradise.

He closes his eyes as his cock explodes inside of me, his cum filling my pussy and dripping down onto the sheets. He breathes out, long and hard, as if he’s breathing out all the tension that had accumulated in his body.

He rolls to the side, allowing his body to rest right next to mine. I’m breathing hard too, as if I’ve run a marathon – not that he is in a much better condition, mind you.

Judging by the way he’s breathing, I’d say he ran the same marathon I did. God, my lungs are working hard, my heart working overtime, all of my muscles feeling sore from the effort.

I close my eyes for a second, just so I can catch my breath. Then I roll to the side and just look at him.

He has his eyes closed, just like I had, and there’s an expression of pure delight on his face. My eyes are drawn to the smile on his lips, and I feel my heart tightening inside my chest.

God, what’s happening to me?

Blake

“What’s that look?” Katherine asks as she turns to me.

“What look?”

We've barely moved after this latest romp, and I’m slowly beginning to catch my breath. I should feel spent. But oddly, I seem to still be full of life –in more ways than one.

“You’ve got that Cheshire cat smile,” she says. “You know, the one that says you’re just too pleased with yourself. Either that or you've won an obscene amount of money in the last thirty minutes. Which is it?”

I laugh, because she’s caught me. I am pleased with myself. Being with her makes me feel good, but I’m not about to tell her what I’m feeling.

Instead I look out the window and say, “Nothing. Really, it’s nothing.”

It’s easier for me to act like what just happened between us is no big deal. My typical M.O. is to have sex, lay next to the woman for exactly one minute and fifteen seconds (which I am very good at counting silently to myself), and then make my excuses and leave.

But both times with Katherine, last night, and just now, I’m not preparing my exit remarks and surprise, surprise, I’m in no hurry to get out her apartment. I’m want to show her what I brought.

“Whatever you say,” she interrupts my thoughts, “I’m not going to hold it against you. But admit it, you were thinking of something. Was it about your next appointment…after me that is?”

It’s obvious my lack of communication is making her have second thoughts about how utterly sexy and desirable she is, and that’s not what I intended. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her and I need to stomp on this line of questioning quick.

“If you must know,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant, “I’m smiling because of you.”

There, I did it. Feelings out in the open, like a pair of perfectly ripped jeans on display in the main window at Saks Fifth Avenue.

“Me?” she asks in a way that’s devoid of any pretention, and then she reaches over and gives me a soft kiss.

“Hmm…” The woman’s got me purring, for fuck’s sakes.

I am what’s typically known as a romantic dilettante and a serial dater, but this woman has got me by the balls.

That’s why I want her to see what I’ve brought. I want her to understand what’s going on. That is if I can explain it, because I for one am baffled as shit. It’s better if I just cut to the chase.

“I’ve got something to show you,” I say, and move from the bed.

Pulling the sketch out of my shoulder bag, I hold it close as I sit back on the bed. I can tell I’ve piqued her curiosity.

“What's that?” she asks, sitting up.

“Listen, about this morning, I know I left in a hurry—”

“I’ll say you did. In fact, I was kind of surprised when I saw you at my door today. I thought your hasty exit was a way of saying, ‘see you later, bye.’

“No, that’s not it,” I say.

Katherine looks vulnerable, and a little hurt. It’s the last thing I want because I need her to understand what’s happened to me since I met her.

“You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings. I’m a big girl. I know what I’m getting into with you.”

“It’s really not like that...I mean…awww, hell…”

How do I explain to her what I’m feeling when I don’t even know what I’m feeling? This is so completely new to me I’m at a loss for words, a rarity in my life. I need to move this thing along before it gets any more uncomfortable for us.

“Here,” I say, handing her the sketch.

I'm expecting a reaction from her, some form of expression, anything. A moan, a grunt, a sigh, but all I’m getting is silence. Ten seconds…twenty seconds…a minute…

“Say something,” I finally blurt out, with a hint of exasperation in my voice.

“I’m…I…I’m not sure what to say.”

“Well, do you like it?”

“When did you draw this, when I was sleeping?” she asks. And I can’t tell if she’s annoyed or elated because neither her voice nor her face register any emotion.

“Yes but, actually, it’s from memory. See, that’s why I didn’t wait for you to wake up. I was in the studio all morning.”

Katherine purses her lips and looks out the window and I feel as if I’m losing her. I reach out for her, putting my hand on her thigh because I want to keep this connection between us. I want Katherine, I want this, I want the painting to come to life, I want all of it. So I tell her the truth.

“You’ve sparked something inside of me that I thought was dead.”

She raises an eyebrow and stares at me.

“What?” I ask.

“This sketch…”

I can see she’s searching for what to say.

“…it’s so personal.”

For a moment I don't know how to respond.

“It's what I see,” I finally offer. "You’re a beautiful woman. And I know that's like, the oldest cliché of all time, but it's true.

“So here’s the thing,” I look into her chocolate-brown eyes and I'm momentarily lost. “I've got to have you.”

Now she laughs in earnest. “You just did, and I’m not quite ready for another go.”

Smiling, I shake my head, “No, I mean I need you to pose for me.”

Katherine gives me a concerned look. “Hello, have we not met? Let me introduce myself, I’m Katherine. I’m a writer. Not a model.”

“Look at this,” I say pointing to my sketch of her, “I did that from memory, and we both know it’s damn good. But it’s just a start.” I run my fingers through my hair.

“How can I put this? You’re a writer, and I’m sure you’ve written dozens and dozens of outlines, but those outlines aren’t a completed manuscript. Well, this drawing isn’t a painting. It’s just an outline and I want – no…I need to bring it to life. Please, you've got to sit for me while I paint you.”

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.”

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.

Katherine

Slowly, I go up to my feet and make my way toward Blake.

He wanted me to be still, to keep my pose while his brush moved over the canvas…but how can I do that when I feel his eyes on me, taking in every curve of my body? Talk about an impossible task.

Besides, I know he wants me and I know that he can’t wait for it. I can see it in his eyes, in his grin, and I can see it in the hard shape pushing back against the fabric of his jeans.

Maybe I shouldn’t be distracting him from his work, but what can I do? I need him, and I need him right now. There’s just something about being here in the nude, under his artist’s gaze, that sets off something inside me.

As I walk toward Blake, he closes the distance between us, placing his hands on my hips and pushing me back until my legs are against the edge of the bed. I fall on the mattress, looking expectantly as he smiles at me and climbs on top of the bed, his movements fluid and dangerous.

“Blake,” I whisper, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him into me. He crushes my mouth with his, his hands finding their way to my waist. I close my eyes as we kiss, our tongues wrestling against one another as he explores my naked body with nothing but his touch.

For a painter, Blake sure as hell knows how to appreciate his subjects with only his fingertips…and, sweet mercy, could there be anything more perfect than his touch? Soft and firm at the same time, his hands roam over my body, their warmth making my mind buzz with excitement.

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Blake…” I murmur, pulling away from his kiss and looking into his eyes. “I really don’t…”

With that, and needing to feel his hard muscles under my fingertips, I take both my hands to the collar of his shirt, undressing him as fast as I possibly can. I start unbuttoning his shirt, my fingers moving from button to button at a hurried pace.

Then, I run my fingertips over the contour of his chiseled abs, and I let my fingers fall to his waistline. I untuck his open shirt and push it down his arms, sighing as I watch him move, ropes of muscle moving under his arms.

Who could say an artist would look like this? His pectorals look like they were designed to be part of the perfect human being, and his abs are six perfect squares of raw muscle separated by deep lines carved straight into his flesh. I was wet before, but now…Christ! I’ve already been with Blake more than once, but his body never fails to get this reaction out of me.

“You know I can say the same thing about you, don’t you?” He replies softly, and my gaze is drawn to his lips again. “Your smile’s perfect,” he whispers, brushing his thumb over my parted lips.

“Your nose, your ears, your eyes,” he stops for a second, allowing his gaze to roam over my naked curves. “Your body.”

“You’re one to talk,” I reply with a shy laugh, craning my neck and pressing my mouth on his naked skin. Moving fast, he tangles his fingers on my hair and then yanks on it, forcing my head back.

Moving fast, he presses his lips against my neck, gently nibbling at my skin. I moan slightly as I feel his mouth on my skin, and I close my eyes and simply surrender to him.

“You really don’t understand how perfect you are, Kath…” He whispers, and I smile as I notice his eyes roaming down from my breasts to my flat stomach...and then further down.

“But I want to do more than just look, and you’re the one to blame for that,” he adds in, leaning into me. His lips find their way into mine once more, and we kiss in complete abandonment.

I feel the naked skin of his chest against mine, and it feels so amazing it almost hurts – oh, we’re close to crossing the line that separates a fling from…something else.

“I need you so bad,” he whispers, pulling back from me and looking into my eyes. “Every piece of you.”

His lips go down to my neck, and then he takes them to the valley between my breasts. Using both his hands, he squeezes my breasts eagerly, my flesh molding to his fingers as he does it.

“Why do you have to taste this good?” He asks me with a grin, leaning in and brushing his lips against my right nipple. He sucks it in, and I feel hardening against his tongue, a long moan tumbling out from my mouth as he does it.

Replacing his mouth with his hand, he pinches my right nipple between his thumb and index finger. I arch my back and let out another moan, the pressure he’s applying on my nipple sending a message of pain straight to my brain – except, by the time it gets there, it has already turned into raw pleasure. Blake can’t be a man – he must be a God.

I can honestly say I don’t believe I’ve ever been this wet in my entire life. Thing is, I think of this every time I’m with him.

It never gets boring, and that magic is always there. I know I shouldn’t be talking about magic, but what can I do? When I’m in his arms, I’m hopeless.

“You can taste all of me,” I tease him, biting on my lower lip and looking into his eyes. He doesn’t reply –he just leans into me with parted lips, and wraps them around the nipple he was pinching. He sucks it inside his mouth, using his tongue to lap it, and I become so wet that I can almost feel my juices dripping down my thighs.

Oh, I think I need to feel his mouth somewhere else…

Reading my mind, Blake takes one hand and flattens it between my thighs, his other palm pressed tight against my inner lips. Pressing and rubbing, he works my pussy until I’m lifting my hips from the mattress, swaying them from side to side as electric sparks fly from my pussy and travel up my spine.

Finally letting go of my nipples, he starts kissing me in a downward line, going over my stomach. But, when he gets to the patch of skin where an untanned line shows, he stops. He lifts his head, looks up at me with a sly grin, and then goes to his knees on the mattress.

He brushes his lips down my naked skin, moving as slowly as he can, and he only stops when his white teeth are dangerously close to my wetness.

“Fuck, I need this,” he tells me, positioning himself between my legs and lying on his stomach. He starts by kissing my inner thighs, but this time he doesn’t fool around –he goes straight for the kill. Wrapping his lips around my clit, he nibbles at it softly, tracing the contour of my aching pussy with his index finger.

I’m moaning now, arching my back as my body burns with anticipation. I need him to keep going, I need him to keep this up until I succumb, until I – OH GOD!

He slides his finger inside my pussy with one sudden movement, driving it straight to my G-spot. He leaves it for a few seconds, just pressing hard against that sweet spot inside me, and then slides one more finger inside my pussy.

Still lapping at my clit with his tongue, he starts fingering me hard, his rhythm a feverish one right from the start. I want to grab his hair, to force his head down and thrust my pussy against his mouth; but all I do is grab at the sheets, clutching them so hard my knuckles turn white.

Blake’s in control right now, and all I can do is submit.

But he knows what I need and when I need it. So, wasting no time, he opens his mouth wide and starts sucking and licking while he fingers me, ravaging me with his fingers and his mouth. He does it mercilessly, licking my fluids and hitting my G-spot each time he buries his fingers deep inside of me.

It doesn’t take more than a minute –my body tenses up, a pleasant sensation climbing from my pussy to my brain, and I just explode. I grit my teeth so harshly I might break my jaw, breathing hard as spasms of utter ecstasy take over every single muscle in my body.

He keeps on licking and fingering me while I come, and he does it until another orgasm starts showing up on the crest of the first one. I explode again, two orgasms raging inside of me almost at the same time.

Sighing loudly, I open my eyes as Blake slides his fingers out of me, lifting his head at the same time. I look into his eyes as he goes up to his knees, my fluids glistening on the skin around his mouth.

He swings his legs out of the bed and, going up to his feet, grins.

“Come here, Kat,” he orders me, and I somehow manage to roll out of the bed. I’m standing up when he places his hands on my shoulders.

“No, on your knees.” The sound of his voice acts like a spell, and that’s all it takes for my knees to buckle. They touch the ground quickly, and I just kneel there, looking up at him while my heart pounds against my ribcage.

Mischievousness all over his face, he undoes the top button on his pants, and then pulls his zipper down. My heart tightens up as I see that huge shape straining against his boxer briefs, and I even forget to keep breathing as he pushes his boxers down his legs.

He steps out of his clothes and, standing there, towers over me like a God.

He doesn’t need to tell me what he wants me to do. Because I want the same thing.

I lean toward him with slightly parted lips, and all he does is angle his cock down, its tip pointing straight at my mouth. I stop one inch away from it, and just reach for the tip with my tongue, running it in circles and feeling his salty flavor overwhelm me.

Instead of taking him in my mouth, I tilt my head sideways and slide my tongue down his shaft. I only stop when I’m close to his balls and, lost in a whirlwind of lust, I open my mouth as wide as I can and suck one of his balls in. I flick my tongue at it, feeling its weight in my mouth, and only then do I pull back.

Going back up his shaft, this time I wrap my lips around the tip of his cock. I lower myself over his huge member, allowing his length to slide into my mouth until its tip is pressed tight against the back of my throat.

I open my eyes just to realize that even though the tip of his cock is touching the back of my throat, there’s still some of his cock outside my mouth. I make one extra effort and push myself down, somehow fitting all of his length inside of me, my lips brushing against the skin at the base of his cock.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he breaths out, and that’s when I slide back out.

Bobbing my head back and forth, I start ravaging his monstrous cock as hard as I can. I place my hands on his ass cheeks as I do it, using it as leverage as my mouth flies back and forth over his cock.

I go so fast the muscles in my neck start to hurt, but I don’t let that stop him. I use the pain as fuel to go even harder, the wet sound of my lips going up and down his shaft filling my whole bedroom.

Then, suddenly, Blake grabs me by the hair and forces me to stop. I turn my eyes up to him, and the lustful smile on his face makes my insides clench.

Holding my head in place, both his hands on my hair, he starts to thrust. Sliding his cock in and out of me at a furious pace, there’s no other way to describe what he’s doing: he’s fucking my mouth as if he were fucking my pussy and, by God, it feels amazing.

He ravages my mouth for God knows how long, and only stops when a violent spasm takes over his cock. Groaning, he grits his teeth and then pulls back, sliding his cock out of my mouth.

“The things you can do with your mouth…” He breathes out, and his deep voice makes my pussy flare up with a burning need. I need him inside of me, and I need it now.

“I can do so much more with something else,” I tease him, my words like an open invitation.

“I know,” he whispers quietly, going down to his knees right in front of me. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he forces me to turn around and then pushes my head down; still on my knees, I lay my face down on the mattress. Closing in on me, he keeps me bent over while he guides his cock to the wet spot between my thighs.

Instead of thrusting right away, he just brushes the tip of his cock up and down the length of my pussy, teasing me. He still isn’t thrusting but I’m already moaning, electric anticipation making me feel lightheaded.

“Please, Blake…I…I need it,” I tell him, turning my head to the side so that the mattress doesn’t muffle my words. “Please,” I repeat one more time, and that does it.

My moans turn into a wild scream as he thrusts, his cock flying deep inside my pussy until all of his inches are in me.

“You’re so…fucking tight,” he says, thrusting at a hard pace and making my body burn with pleasure. His thighs slap my ass cheeks rhythmically, and I let the sound lull me into a trance.

Grabbing me by the hips, he rides me hard –one hard thrust and I open my mouth wide, gasping as the tip of his cock hits my G-spot. He does it over and over again and, like a ticking bomb, my body starts the short countdown to a mind-bending orgasm.

I don’t how many mores thrusts does it take –all I know is that when the orgasm hits, it hits with full force.

Thunder and lightning rage under my skin, a storm of ecstasy lashing at my rational mind and choking it down. I don’t even know if I’m moaning or screaming, although I can feel my vocal chords stretched to the limit, my throat growing raw with each passing second.

Instead of stopping, Blake just keeps on fucking me through my orgasm, pistoning into me in perfect timing. His cock goes back and forth like clockwork, and it doesn’t take long for my insides to start flaring up once again. I come once more, and this in a matter of seconds.

Seriously, how does he even does it? He can’t be a regular human being.

I’m breathing so hard that my lungs might collapse any second now. Somehow, though, that doesn’t happen –and that’s good, since I want to keep going. I simply can’t grow tired of his cock.

“I want you,” I find myself saying as I go up to my feet and turn on my heels, looking down at Blake.

I place one foot on his chest and I push him down onto the floor; he goes down willingly and, before he can do a thing, I’m on of him. I straddle him like a wild cat, clawing at his hard pectorals with my fingernails, and he grabs my ass.

“Now I’m the one in control,” I tell him with a chuckle, grabbing his cock by the root and pointing it up.

I raise myself slightly, just enough to place the tip of his cock against my pussy, and then I start lowering my body over his hard cock. I groan as, very slowly, I allow him to slide inside of me. When his shaft is halfway inside my pussy, I just lower myself in one sudden movement and scream.

Wasting no time, I rock my hips back and forth, working his cock with a fury I didn’t even know I was capable of. I go so fast that, in a matter of a few seconds, large beads of sweat start making their way down my forehead and into my face, going over my lips and inundating me.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he exhales, reaching for my tits and squeezing them eagerly. He pinches both my nipples at the same time, and that just makes me go even harder.

Needing an extra edge, I stop for a few seconds – and that just to plant my feet by the side of his thighs. Squatting over his cock, I start bouncing up and down so fast that, if I miscalculate my movements, I might just end up breaking his cock in half. That or he’ll split me in two.

I fuck him until my muscles start giving up on me but, thankfully, before that happens I feel a thunderstorm building inside of me. By the time I collapse on top of him, that thunderstorm has already reached its zenith. Clenching my teeth, I choke down a scream and press my forehead against his chest, trying to survive the avalanche of pleasure that’s blanketing my mind.

I roll to the side, completely spent, and sprawl my limbs while trying to catch my breath. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this exhausted. Well, at least it’s for a good reason. I wouldn’t mind being exhausted like this every single day for the rest of my life if it meant I could have Blake by my side.

Oh, God, what the hell am I saying?

“Already givin’ up?” He teases me, turning to the side so that he’s facing me. He squeezes my right breast softly, and the moves his hand down and over my stomach, placing it over my pussy.

He caresses my folds and, when I don’t say anything, he just grins.

“I think you still need more,” he says, and then forces me to roll to the side, my back turned to him.

His body fits on mine like a piece from a puzzle, and he doesn’t waste any time – grabbing his cock, he guides it home, placing it against my soaked pussy and thrusting. This time I can’t choke down my scream, and so I just do it at the top of my lungs, his cock scorching the nerve endings on my inner walls as it goes in.

“As hard as you can,” I find myself saying, not even knowing why I do it. I know how hard I can go – at least I think so – and I’m not sure if I can handle all that right now.

I mean, how many orgasms have I already been through so far? Too many too count, that’s for sure. So, yeah, I’m not sure if I can handle one more. Or can I? No idea, all I know is that I want it. And, reading my mind again, Blake is the right man to make my wishes turn into reality.

“I told you before…What you ask for, you get,” he tells me. Digging his fingers into my hips, he starts slamming his cock into me so hard that I even stop breathing for a few seconds.

The way he’s fucking me right makes all the other times we were together pale in comparison to the sheer fury with which he’s using my body right now. He’s moving like a man possessed, the fires of hell burning under his skin and powering every thrust of his.

I scream and I moan, forcing my throat to keep working past its exhausted state, and he just keeps on fucking me as if I was as quiet as a ghost. I don’t even know if he can hear me, to be honest – he’s probably in a world of his own right now, his conscious mind completely adrift.

Blake might seem like a poised man, always cool and in control…But get him hot and he becomes a different man altogether, one impossible to tame.

Screaming my way into a climax, I come undone the moment his thrusts become so hard I stop thinking at all, completely surrendering to the way he’s ravaging me. I claw at the floor, completely mad and not knowing what to do with my body as an orgasm unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before bursts inside of me.

My muscles twitch so hard that it feels like I’m having a seizure and, by the time these spasms subside, I can barely move. My eyes are closed, and the silence in the room makes it seem like I’m floating in outer space.

I’m dizzy and lightheaded but, when Blake slides his cock out of me, a tiny voice inside my mind tells me that it still isn’t over. There’s something I still need to do.

I sit up on the floor and force my eyelids open. I go to my knees and then look at Blake with my mouth slightly ajar. A grin lights up his face as he realizes what I want him to do, and he goes up to his feet in no time, towering over me.

I don’t even need to think about what I have to do – my body already knows it. Reaching for his cock with both hands, I start stroking him right away. My rhythm builds up fast, but then I break it by leaning in and wrapping my lips around the tip of his cock. He groans as I do it, and then he groans some more as I push my mouth down the length of his shaft at a breakneck speed.

Bobbing my head as fast as I can, this time I don’t stop when I feel his cock pulsing hard inside of my mouth – I just keep on doing what I’m doing. In a matter of seconds, he places both his hands on my head and comes.

Gushing a river of cum into my mouth, he fills it up to the brim with two quick spasms of his cock. I remain still for a few seconds, and when Blake’s finished I start rolling my lips back. His cock pops out of my mouth with a wet sound and, before I can even think about what I’m doing, I simply swallow.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Blake tells me, reaching for me and grabbing me by the hand. He pulls me up to my feet and then makes me lay down on the bed, joining me a second later.

“You’re the one who’s amazing,” I tell him, rolling to the side and resting one arm over his chest. We stay like that for a long time, the shadows growing around us and tumbling over our naked bodies. Surrounded by canvas, old brushes, and the smell of new paint, I close my eyes and surrender to the moment.

This is a memory I’m sure I won’t forget anytime soon.

Katherine

The rays of the sun caress the back of my neck as I make a cup of coffee in Blake’s kitchen. At first, I only stare at the glistening beast of a coffee machine. I am nearly dizzy from the number of buttons on the silver appliance, but I persist, and it does not take too long before I hold a steaming mug of hot black liquid.

I take a sip and close my eyes, enjoying the hot liquid caress my tongue before I swallow. This is excellent coffee.

Coffee is one of my weaknesses. I probably drink too much of it. And I like the good stuff, exactly like the one I am holding in my hands right now. I am a coffee connoisseur.

Life, I believe, is too short to drink bad coffee. And there’s nothing better than good coffee after a little nap, is there? After what happened inside the studio, I simply nodded off. I must have slept for a couple of hours before I finally woke up. Blake was nowhere to be seen, so I just made my way toward the kitchen.

Dressed in nothing but one of Blake’s t-shirts, and with bare feet, I now meander through the apartment and back to the studio.

I make my way through the living room, remembering how it felt to be with Blake. A little color rises to my cheeks as I recall the wild animalistic passion I had felt when Blake and I were having sex.

Dale had never been so near Neanderthal in his approach to sex, at least not with me.

I push thoughts of the ex-boyfriend aside. He is well and truly history.

Curiosity arouses I continue my exploration of this oversized apartment. I seem to still be floating on clouds, the after-effect of sex lingering.

I keep reminding myself that this is just a fling, not a long-lasting attachment, to the point where I’ve nearly convinced myself.

I have to admit, up until I stood in his workspace, I hadn’t been entirely convinced of Blake being an serious painter. Sure, I had seen his work on exhibit the other night, but it was no proof he was an artist. A real artist.

And now I stand in his workspace, and an explosion of color and feeling emanate from each and every piece of art scattered through the vast area stretched out before me.

It is not neat and tidy. I spot two, no, three working easel with canvasses on them. One of them appears to be blank, but the other two have been started, although it is unclear exactly what they are paintings of.

Some of the finished pieces are leaning against the wall, while others are hanging up. More of them are lying on the floor. He sure is prolific.

Slowly, I move from painting to painting.

It is as if a giant has taken me into his cave and laid his soul bare in front of me.

Open-mouthed, I stare at a large canvass filled with dark blues, grays and blacks. The storm raging within the artist is unmistakable. It must have been a dark day for Blake the day he painted this one.

I move on.

I’m intrigued. As a writer I understand all too well how your emotions can rule your creative side.

A canvass covered in every red and orange on the color spectrum has me reel back. I fear if I stand too close, the heat will burn my skin. I wonder if it is a raging fire he is portraying or something else.

I keep staring at the blast of reds, and as I do, I can see the destruction of what appear to have been buildings. I sense anger.

I keep walking. Blues, whites and turquoises draw me in. Puzzled, I stop and stare. Was this supposed to be the sky, the ocean or something so abstract I cannot work it out? Despite my inability to see a definite design, it has a serene feeling.

I recall having read somewhere that blue is a calming color. I smile. So there was a calm and balanced side to Blake after all.

Further along the back wall are some nudes. I’m relieved to find I don’t recognize any of his models. As I stare at them, a sense of insecurity creeps through me.

These girls are gorgeous. There is not a flaw on them. Big boobs, slim waist, flat stomach, nice ass, and slender legs on each and every one of them.

Some seem a little vacant in the facial expression, but as far as their bodies went, they were perfect.

Aware of my own nakedness under the large t-shirt, I glance downward. Suddenly I get the distinct impression Blake had only told me he wanted to paint me so he could get me to have sex with him. Must have been a slow day for him.

I notice another feature these girls have and I don’t. I don’t have long blonde curls to drape over my shoulder, half my face, or half way down my back.

A half-finished sketch catches my attention. I hold my breath as I instantly recognize the face, the shoulders and the rest of the body.

In the sketch I’m lying on my side. I’m asleep. Just by looking at it, I feel how peaceful I am.

My hair, which I had only moments before wished to be long, looks just right. It accentuates my cheekbones. My lips are slightly drawn up, as if I’m smiling.

The longer I stare at myself, the more I sense the eroticism oozing from me. I’m lying on my side, hiding some of my nakedness, and that somehow just makes it more erotic.

Suddenly, my throat feels dry, and I’m a little dizzy.

He must have painted this while I slept.

Hands wrap around my waist. Warm, moist lips caress my neck, instantly setting off emotional shock waves all through my body.

“Like it?”

No sound escapes my lips. His touch threatens to drag me into the thralls of ecstasy once more. I nod.

“What do you think…?” His hands are drawing little circles on my back. I can’t think properly.

“About what?” I croak. I barely recognize my own voice. It sounds frog-like.

“About the painting, Kat. Do you like it?”

I open my mouth to speak, but I quickly realize that I don’t know what to say.

Blake

Standing in the doorway of the studio I see Katherine across the room staring at the painting, and she’s not smiling. I can’t quite read her expression, and I think surely, she’d have some sort of reaction by now. Silly me, I was actually expecting euphoria, or at least pleasant surprise.

Anything but this seemingly blank look.

“So…?” I nearly spit out the word as I amble over to where she’s standing, “What do you think?”

Katherine is silent. She’s doing a slow pace in front of the canvas. Her arms folded in front of her chest in an almost protective stance. She’s wearing a pout, and it’s a far cry from the sexy one she gave when she was posing. I don't know what to think.

"So…?” I repeat, this time with an edge to my voice, “Come on Katherine, even doctors don’t take this long to give an opinion.”

She doesn’t look away from the canvas and her voice is a monotone when she finally utters, “I’m thinking.”

There’s more silence, and after a few minutes she finally speaks.

“Honestly, I’m not quite sure what to say.”

“Seriously? You’re the writer, why not try by putting one word after the next? That might work.”

Katherine gives me a sharp look and it’s clear she doesn’t appreciate the sarcasm, and her response is just as biting.

“Yes, I know what I am, but nowhere in my CV does it state that I’m an art critic.”

“Phfft…critics. I’ve never given one solitary fuck about critics. They’re dilettantes, the lot of them. They have no skills of their own. They’re all cowards, just sitting on the sidelines watching and waiting to pounce on someone’s work. What's that old saying, 'Those who can, do, those who can't, teach, and those who can't do either become critics!”

“I couldn’t have said it better. And that’s precisely why I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to make hasty judgments.”

“Katherine, you’re not one of them. You never could be. I just want to know what you think. What you feel when you look at it.”

“Why?”

“Because, I’ve never painted anything like this.”

“Oh, please. You’ve probably painted dozens and dozens of women. I’m no different.”

“You think that? You can look at it and believe it’s like anything else I’ve ever done?”

She doesn’t nod yes or no. She doesn’t move, she simply stares at the canvas.

Rubbing my forehead with the palm of my hand, I turn away. At this moment, her opinion means everything. And everything I feel for her is on that canvas.

“Katherine, you understand it isn’t finished,” I say. “There’s more work to be done, but the bones, the emotion, the essence of it is there.”

I’m begging for a reaction, but she seems frozen, with no words or movement. And after what seems like an eternity, she nods her head. It’s almost imperceptible, but I’m noticing everything about her, including the dust motes against the sunlight that surround her frame.

“Hmm…” she muses, and begins to turn away.

I grab her wrist and pull her toward me. She doesn’t protest, but when she looks at me, her eyes are sad.

“Listen, this is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“But…it’s…raw…it’s so personal.”

“Of course it is. This is personal,” I say pointing to her and me, and the painting. “You are personal”

I stop and take a breath, but I don’t loosen my grip on her wrist, and I don’t move away. I’m waiting for her to look me in the eye.

“This is personal,” I repeat it as a whisper, “and your opinion matters.”

“I feel as if you’re hounding me,” she says, her words laced with anger,

“I am not hounding. I just painted what I believe is my best work. You are the subject. You brought that out in me. You are my muse , for God’s sake! Is it too much to ask what you fucking think?”

I am yelling, and I feel her pull away emotionally. That’s something I can’t afford to happen. I need her because she is my source of inspiration. So, I make one last ditch effort.

“Katherine, I know…you feel something. Good, bad, or indifferent…just, please, tell me.”

“You cannot show this painting to anyone,” she finally says.

But there’s a catch in her voice, tears in her eyes.

“Are you crying? What’s happening?”

She shakes my hand off her wrist and wipes at the tears. “I don’t know how you did it. I knew you were talented, but that doesn’t describe what you’ve created here.”

She is speaking so slowly, I want to reach in and grab the words from her throat, but I know if I rush her, I’ll lose her. So I stand, fists clenched, in anticipation for her next words.

“Blake, you don’t need me to tell you that this is beautiful, because it is. But it is so much more than that. It’s alive. It’s real. It’s many, many things. But I’m embarrassed when I look at it. And before you say anything, it’s not because I’m naked. No, that’s not it. It’s because you’ve captured something inside me that no one else has ever seen, and you've managed to paint that. My vulnerability. My fears. My...innocence.”

Now I’m the one with tears in my eyes, because she’s put into words what I could not express.

“I can’t let you show this to anyone,” she says.

I almost don’t believe what I’m hearing. “What? Why? You’ve just told me in so many words this is my masterpiece. Why would I not want others to see it?”

“Blake, please, I’m begging you. I can’t be on display like this. It’s too personal and I do not want anyone but you to see me this way.”

Katherine

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Blake tells me, his words filled with frustration.

I cannot deny it, the painting, even unfinished is amazing.

The detail sends shivers down my spine. My nipples, I’ve never really studied my nipples as closely as Blake obviously has.

I’m not sure if it is just me but the longer I look at myself, images of our sexual escapades flash through my mind. Will other people see the sex we’ve had?

I can almost see Blake caressing gently between my legs, his tongue on my clit and hands on my breasts.

Sexual desire oozes from the canvass.

“It’s just too personal,” I turn to Blake who is casually leaning on his workbench, his piercing gaze set on me.

He tilts his head to the left.

“Nudes are personal.” Blake says. I see the glint in his eyes and I feel naked even though I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

‘You know what I mean.’ I roll my eyes.

I walk to the canvass and point to my neck.

“See the way you’ve darkened my skin there ever so slightly?”

Blake pretends to squint and study the spot I’m pointing to.

“And?” He looks so innocent, like he truly has no idea what I’m talking about.

“Well,” I try and work out how to explain this so he understands where I’m coming from. “It’s really personal. A private thing. Only someone who gets really close to me would notice the subtle change in my skin.”

I fold my arms.

“What can I say, Kat: you inspire me. You bring out the artist in me. This is you. I’m just the painter.”

I sigh.

“No.” I shake my head. “It’s so much more than this.”

Should I go out on a limb and tell him all? The painting reveals so much about me, about who I really am, but at the same time…

“It looks like we have had sex. It looks like the artist, you, wants to jump my bones.”

Blake laughs.

“So what? I’m not ashamed to admit we are sleeping together.”

Unable to stand still, I start to pace the length of the studio. I need to move. I need to walk to be able to clearly express my emotions.

I walk up and down, back and forth. Blake simply watches. He seems confused. He cannot understand where I’m coming from.

“It’s too personal.” I blurt out again. “I think it’s way too personal to be out on exhibition for the world to see me. I…” I trail off for a moment, and I sigh before continuing. “I know the whole world won’t be looking at me, but you know what I mean.”

Blake still says nothing. He is looking at me and then back at the painting.

Eventually he shrugs.

“I don’t get it. It’s you. All of you. You come through the painting just the way you are.”

“Exactly.” I’ve stopped pacing. Hands on hips I look at him.

“Exactly what?”

The little smile around his lips leaves me confused. Is he trying not to understand or does he really not understand?

“Anyone that looks at me will see all this sex aura around me.” I try again.

“What’s wrong with that? You’re perfect.”

He comes toward me. Next minute I’m in his arms. He kisses my face, neck and arms.

“You’re delicious. You’re sexy.”

I push away from him. It’s not that I don’t want him, it’s just my brain shuts down the minute there’s close personal contact between us.

If I want him to understand how important this is to me I must keep a clear head.

“But it’s just that the world will see me that way. Complete strangers will drool over me, maybe.”

Again Blake shrugs.

“What’s wrong with that?”

Obviously I’m not getting my point across.

“I’ve told you before. You inspire me. You inspire this painting. It’s you.”

“Yeah. But it’s too intimate.”

I can see Blake study the artwork again, as if being a critique.

“You write?” His gaze returns to me.

Since I’m not sure if this is a rhetorical question or not I nod.

“And isn’t your writing inspired by personal matters, by intimate occasions and maybe even people you meet and fuck?”

His crudeness surprises me.

“It does.” I hesitate. “But it’s only words. Words on paper, words people read and re-interpret. Sometimes my experiences and what inspires me is left out so the reader can imagine it using their own experiences and put their own interpretation on it.”

As Blake seems to ponder my words I try and remember what one of my lecturers said during my studies.

“Writing is not really original. Everything has been written before.” I pause. There was something about writing being the clashing of words, but I’m not sure if this will add anything. “Every writer is shaped by what has been written by someone else. Writers are readers. When I write, I reinterpret what has been written by someone else.”

I can see in Blake’s facial expression that he is trying to understand what I’m saying. He isn’t simply dismissing me. Dale used to dismiss me, and what I had to say all the time.

Suddenly, it seems a lifetime ago that Dale had been my partner. And I cannot recall what I ever saw in the man to make me even want to be with him.

“And so when people read, they interpret what I’ve written in their own way. It doesn’t have anything to do with what my inspiration and experiences are during the time I am writing it.”

Blake seems to chew over my words.

“I still don’t see what’s your problem with the painting. Don’t people also interpret what they see?”

I laugh and point at myself in the nude, my heart tightening up as my eyes meet my naked curves again.

“Blake…it’s too personal. It’s intimate,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time. “I don’t want everyone to see the true me. You caught a glimpse of that, and you’ve captured it…isn’t that enough?”

We both say nothing for a few minutes. I can hear the ticking of the clock in the kitchen.

Eventually it is Blake who breaks the silence first.

“What are you trying to say, Kat…?”

He has closed the distance between us and I snuggle into his arms.

“I don’t want you to put me on display. By ‘me’, I mean the painting.”

After I utter the last few words, I nuzzle my face into his chest. He smells so delicious. Will he be angry?

I can feel his lips on the top of my head. He is kissing me.

“If you don’t want me to display your beauty to the world, so be it.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Promise?”

Now he pulls my face toward his.

“Promise.” He whispers before his lips meet mine.

Katherine

As expected, the Old Pearl has a queue out the front door. If it wasn’t for the fact that I knew one of the owners, Nicole, I would be right outside with about other fifty or so patrons wanting to have lunch here.

In a matter of weeks, it has become the restaurant in town to be seen at. The food is amazing.

I check my watch. Five minutes late. Robin was rarely late. She better have a good excuse. I don’t like to impose on others and I know a table is being kept for us.

To distract myself, I focus on the artwork near the entrance.

Instantly I compare it to Blake’s work.

Whoever this artist was, he or she was not a patch on my Blake.

Oh dear, now I am already thinking of him as mine. He is not mine. Repeat after me, Katherine , I think to myself, he isn’t yours.

I decide the blues look too artificial. No ocean is that blue. It’s neither pale nor dark. And then there’s the boat. There’s something wrong with the boat. I think it’s out of proportion. Maybe the artist was still learning, a relative of one of the employees.

Someone elbows me in the ribs and I check my watch again. Seven minutes late. Robin better have a good excuse.

My eyes go back to the painting.

Perspective. I suddenly realize the perspective is what’s wrong with the painting. Just as I formulate the specific problem, my thoughts are interrupted by an extremely unwelcome incident.

This time someone knocks me so hard in the back I stumble forward a few steps, nearly knocking into one of the waitresses carrying three plates of mouthwatering food.

Instead of a sorry I hear an ‘oh it’s you.’

Slowly I turn toward the offender. My heart plummets right into my little toe. What the fuck is Dale doing here and who is the slim, big-busted blonde hanging off his arm?

For a few seconds we stare at each other.

I wish for some event to occur that would have me disappear from this space right now. Of course I know this is silly, but it doesn’t stop me from wishing for it to occur. We all sometimes wish for impossible things.

Where on earth was Robin? What was the point of a best friend when she was not there when you really needed her? I needed her right here, right now.

“What have we here?” Dale’s unpleasant voice interrupts my thoughts.

“Hello, Dale,” I say through tight lips. Don’t stoop to his level.

I notice that the blonde says nothing. Like a well-trained poodle, she keeps her right arm through Dale’s and pretends she notices nothing, eyes directed at something or someone in the restaurant.

“Already been dumped?”

The taunt in his voice doesn’t escape me. Despite my best effort not to show any emotion at this tactless remark, my heart feels as if it’s been stabbed by a pointy dagger.

Instead of giving a reply, I raise my eyebrows so as to convey I don’t know what he is talking about.

Dale does one of those fake laughs I always hated.

“You can’t seriously be thinking Blake will stick with you.”

He emphasizes the ‘you’ in a way that leaves me cringing. I know what he’s going to say, like a captain knows his ship is sinking, or a chef knows his meal is ruined, and yet there’s nothing that can be done about it.

Again, I curse my bestie for her tardiness. Then I curse myself for having agreed to come to this restaurant of all restaurants.

“I don’t recall asking you for an opinion.” I finally answer just to say something.

Another fake laugh from Dale. The poodle glances at me and then goes back to staring straight ahead.

“Really, Kath. Everyone knows Blake discards his models like other men discard their underwear.”

I think the analogy is a poor one. I try and remain some kind of composure. I don’t want to lose self-control in public. Not here. Not now.

“What makes you think I’m sleeping with Blake?”

I try and sound casual. In reality my heart is beating so wild in my chest I’m surprised others can’t see it. Despite my attempts to protect myself against Dale’s words, they do hit their mark.

This time Dale leans forward so his face is really close to mine. For the first time I realize how his breath smells like a deceased cat. Had I really once stuck my tongue into that mouth for a kiss? Goosebumps travel up my arms.

“Come on.. Don’t pretend. Everyone knows Blake fucks all his models.”

I feel my cheeks redden at his emphasis.

I resist the temptation to slap him. I force myself to remember how he was having sex with the peroxide woman only a few months ago and here he is with someone different again.

Desperate. He’s desperate and trying to hurt you, I remind myself.

“I don’t know where you get your information.” I say as calmly as I can, my insides a battlefield of world war three. I need to keep my emotions under control. “How do you know I’m posing for Blake?”

As far as I know, no one knows about the painting, particularly since Blake gave me his word it would never be on display.

“I told you,” Dale has straightened up again. “Blake fucks all his models.”

I feel a ringing in my ears and the world goes a little out of focus. Don’t take the bait, I remind myself.

To distract myself I make a fist and dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands until it hurts.

Searching for something suitable to say, I’m distracted by a commotion behind me.

The poodle, Dale, and I turn around at the same time.

No words can express how relieved I am to see my salvation has just arrived.

Katherine

“Sorry, sorry!” Robin apologies after almost knocking a waiter down. With her cheeks flushed, she makes her way toward me, and I notice the expression on her face. To say it is dark as storm clouds is an understatement.

“What are you doing?” She demands, her attention entirely on Dale.

He raises an eyebrow in pretend shock.

“I though this is a free country and anyone could eat here. Am I mistaken?”’

Robin hates pretentious assholes and that is exactly how Dale sounds. I also know she hasn’t forgiven him for cheating on me.

What’s worse than a best friend out for vengeance? I pity Dale, and my thoughts are racing to come up with a way to diffuse the situation.

“And I thought assholes were not served at this fine establishment.”

Dale curls his hand into a fist and takes a step toward Robin.

“Try it, sunshine, and you’ll be sorry.”

I’m desperate to come up with something. I hate a scene in public and I don’t want my friend to get hurt. I draw a blank.

“What are you going to do, shorty? Bite my knee caps?” Dale makes one of his smug smiles that makes you want to punch him right between the eyes.

Robin straightens her shoulders and stands on her tippy toes.

“Don’t tempt me.” She hisses at him and Dale laughs a metallic laugh.

“You’re so short you’ll probably not even reach those.”

I see Robin take a step toward Dale and it only makes him laugh harder.

“You know what Dale? I’m just the right height to grab your dick and balls and slice them right off. Your scrotum would make a great accessory for one of those gay guys over on Seventh Avenue.”

Obviously some of Robin’s words have an impact. Dale has taken a step backward.

Someone taps me on the shoulder.

“Your table is ready, Katherine.”

Relieved, I drag Robin away from the seething Dale.

As we make our way to our table, I hear Dale say something about no longer wanting to eat at a restaurant that gave their best table to a feral woman and her sidekick.

No one takes any notice of him. Out of the corner of my eyes I see him leave, the poodle following obediently.

After I take a sip of the complimentary champagne, Robin bombards me with questions.

“What did Dale say to you? How are things between you and Blake? How’s the painting coming along? Is he really as good in bed as they say he is?”

As the bubbles dance across my tongue before sliding down my throat, I relax and feel a little better. I managed a chuckle.

Words, Katherine, they are only words he used, I try and tell myself. It’s not working.

“Which question do you want me to answer first?”

Robin rests her head in her hands, elbows on the table.

“Tell me all about you and that hunk of a man Blake.”

I’m not sure where to start. It’s a bit public to tell all about the sex we’ve been having. And generally, we don’t really discuss the sex we’ve been having.

“Why were you late?” I ask to buy a little time.

I notice how my best friend goes a little red in the face.

This is unusual.

“I lost track of time,” she mumbles and picks up her own glass to take a sip of the cool liquid.

Ever punctual Robin lost track of time? I can’t believe it.

“You never,” I start, but she interrupts me.

“Just tell me about you and Blake.”

I make a mental note to interrogate her further about this allegation of losing track of time, but oblige her request and start talking about Blake.

“You know,” I take another sip of my drink. “He’s really a brilliant artist. He captures his subjects in the perfect way. Colors perform the way he wants them to.”

Robin is grinning.

I stop talking.

“What?” I don’t recall having said anything amusing.

“You’re in love.”

“Am not.” I protest and am pleased a waiter is bringing our entre.

I take a forkful of steamed fish, which melts in my mouth. Delicious.

“Do you make the same sound when he kisses you?”

“Stop it.” I growl at my best friend.

“Oh Blake don’t stop, please give me more.” Robin coos and we both laugh.

“Stop it. You’re so cruel. We’re just–” I stop midsentence. I realize I’m not sure exactly what we are.

“You’re in love with Blake.” Robin shrugs. –And who can blame you. I mean he looks the complete package. God-like. Unlike Dale, who is a poor excuse for a man.”

I’m tempted to defend Dale out of habit, but then I recall his words from earlier and stop myself.

“What’s wrong?” Robin asks.

“Nothing.”

“Come now Kath, it’s me Robin, your best friend not some stranger.”

I sigh. She has a point.

“It’s just Dale said Blake discards his models like other men discard their underwear. And,” I hesitated; “and I think I do really like him.”

There I’ve said it. It is out in the open.

“For starters, what does it matter what loser Dale has to say? Second you’re in love with Blake. And third, how do you know he does not feel the same way about you?’

“I don’t.”

She points her fork at me.

“See what I mean? From the way you’ve described the painting, he’s done it for you as a work of love. Not to mention, he gave a promise he not to display it. I’d say he’s got feelings for you. I’d say Blake’s in love with you.”

I shake my head. I wish I could be that confident. Dale’s words bounce around my head like an out of control basketball: everyone knows he fucks all his models and discards them once he’s painted them.

“Kath. Earth to Katherine.”

Robin’s voice brings me back to the present.

“Sorry. I just can’t help thinking about what Dale said. Maybe I should run before I get hurt, again.”

“Stop it. Stop thinking about what Dale said. He’s a loser. Of course he’s trying to rattle your cage.”

I nod.

“I just don’t know what to do.”

Robin looks me straight in the eyes.

“Look, baby cakes. You just have to trust. Trust that this is the right one. Falling in love is like jumping off a cliff and hoping you don’t crash land.”

Robin raises her glass and I do the same.

“To love.”

Blake

I’m whistling as I’m mixing reds, blues, greens and yellows. I love this time of the day best, particularly on a sunny day like today.

Some of my best work was created on days like this.

Although the critiques have been kind to me, I’ve e been less than satisfied with my creations of late. I can’t put my finger on it, but as far as I’m concerned they lack something, something special in them.

Of late, it has become harder and harder to paint. In fact, it’s been quite soul destroying, to find my muse at such a low. I can’t recall how often I have stood in front of a canvass and be unable to create anything at par with my usual standard.

Sure the paintings have been good, better than some of the crap you see in galleries or restaurants, but just not good enough for me.

I sigh.

Today is different. Today, like the last few days, I’m not struggling to get going. On the contrary, I’m itching to put paint on a fresh canvass, the large white space calling to me to turn it into something special.

Before I start, I glance at the sketches to my left. They are of Katherine.

My Katherine.

I like thinking of her in terms of mine. She is mine. I know it.

My lips curl into a smile and tiny butterfly seems to be slowly flying through my innards.

Katherine.

Eight letters. Just thinking about her drives me insane. I’m not sure what it is about the woman that I can’t help but have this frenzied desire well up in me every time I think of her.

Almost involuntarily, guided by my artistic spirit, white fades into an explosion of colors as I finally start another masterpiece.

From time to time I pause, stare at my creation as it takes shape, before I continue. Boy this feels good.

After about an hour, I stop. My neck is aching and I need coffee. As I walk into the kitchen I perform a few stretches. Left right, back and forth. I feel the tension release.

Sometimes I can get carried away for hours in my work and afterwards find my muscles seize up. Over the years, I have learned to take little breaks from time to time to loosen everything up.

Katherine sure knows how to loosen me up. I grin. Everything seems to be about her now.

I love painting. I love it nearly more than sex. At least until the other day, before Katherine and I –

I try and stop the thought process.

If I start thinking about Katherine in the nude I doubt I will get back to my artwork.

As I watch the rich, black liquid spill into my cup, I allow myself a little frolic.

The image of Katherine pressed against the kitchen bench is too strong to push away. Her breasts right in my face, her nipples so pink and hard, begging to be sucked and pinched.

I almost jump when the machine makes its familiar burping sound to indicate the process of making coffee is over.

If I did not know better, I’d say the woman is a witch. Only a witch would have such strong powers over me.

Cup in hand, I drift back to my studio.

I can’t afford to daydream all day. Besides, what’s the point about of simply dreaming of having sex with Katherine? It would be far better to have her here and actually do it with her.

Before I go back to painting, I pick up a couple of the sketches I have made of her.

My brow furrows as I examine them.

I’m not happy with them, not at all.

Sure, they are technically correct. A lot of other artists would be envious of the near-perfect likeness of my subject; but not I. I know it is Katherine because I have drawn her but at the same time it isn’t her.

For some reason I can’t quite capture the little quirky manners she has that make her so special, so deliciously unique.

I picture her nose wrinkle ever so slightly when she takes a sip of coffee. I doubt she’s even aware of it. But I love it. Every time I watch her do it, I feel like grabbing her there and then and putting my dick into her.

Not to mention the way her eyes widen in total innocence when she looks at my paintings. Her pleasure in what she is looking at is so sincere it hurts right in my gut.

Part of me still cannot believe she posed for me, in the nude.

I have painted plenty of nudes, some of them of exotic beauty, but I have never had a problem keeping sex out of my work, not until I met Katherine.

Painting her in the nude has been my biggest challenge. The woman oozes sex appeal and does not even know it. And that’s just a tiny fraction of it; it goes beyond the sex. There’s a certain innocent rawness to her, and I somehow managed to capture that while she slept.

My face darkens as I recall her shattered expression when that the jerk Dale had been to her apartment. If I see that dick again near Katherine, I think I’ll punch him right between the eyes.

I put the sketches back down.

Stop daydreaming, I tell myself, and pick up the paintbrush.

Unfortunately the flow has been stifled. Thoughts of Katherine have left me yearning for her.

I need to see her, touch her, kiss her and do other things with her now.

My fine paintbrush adds some blue to my creation. I frown. Have I really just drawn the outline of a cloud in the likeness of Katherine’s ass?

I chuckle.

This is bad.

My passion for this woman, one that isn’t even here in my apartment today, is unbelievable. I’ve never felt like this about anything or anyone before.

Stop procrastinating, Blake, just do it.

I put the paintbrush down again and go to find my phone.

Only one thing to fix this sudden new addiction I have: I need to call her, I need to call her now and ask her to come over.

My heart rate increases and little beads of sweat form in the back of my neck in anticipation as I listen to the dial tone and wait for Katherine to answer the call.

Katherine

I love the sound of my keyboard as I strike the keys. Letters form words, words form sentences and before I know it I have added another chapter to my novel.

Today I’m on fire. The words cascade onto the page.

Occasionally I glance at the dozen red roses perched on the desk to my left. The little card that came with them is now occupying a prime position on the shelf just above my workspace. Only the most precious items make it there.

The words are etched into my mind. I’m probably reading too much into them, but Robin had said I should jump off the cliff.

The alarm on my clock signals I have been writing for an hour and it’s time to take a break.

I lean back in my chair and stretch languidly, like a cat. Time for a caffeine and sugar hit. If I’m to add another two thousand words before the end of the day, I better keep writing.

As I walk into the little kitchen of my apartment, I recall the phone call with my agent a day ago. The publisher was itching for a draft. I had promised to deliver soon.

Just as I turn on my espresso machine my phone blasts out the tune of ‘You’re so hot.’

“Hello sexy,” I purr into the phone.

Laughter.

“Hey gorgeous.”

His deep melodic voice sets of a longing in every part of my body. I’m definitely floating after having jumped off that cliff.

“What’s up?” I had not heard from him all day.

“Just wondering if my angel wants to come over for dinner.”

I instantly feel a lusty desire overcome me. Maybe we could start with dessert and skip dinner as soon as I get there.

I barley recognize myself in these thoughts and I suppress a giggle.

“Where are we going?” I want to know if I need to dress up or if I can just slip on my sandals and head out straight away.

“I’m cooking.” Blake says and suddenly I can’t wait to be with him.

It’s insane how this man has invaded every part of my life and taken over. In his presence I feel complete.

It takes me less than five minutes to check my appearance and I’m out of the door.

When Blake opens the door, I smile. He grabs me, pins me to the wall and kisses me. The kiss is demanding, forceful and mind-blowing. My thoughts turn to a molten mass of uselessness.

When he releases me, I breathe hard and want more. Already I’m wet between the legs.

I follow Blake to the kitchen.

He hands me a glass of red.

“Trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me.” I quip and take a sip.

Blake throws his head back with laughter.

Without warning he’s in front of me, hands on my breast and ass.

“I know you’re putty in my hands.”

My nerve endings tingle in anticipation. I smile. But evil thoughts try and force their way into my happy state.

I can almost hear Dale’s taunts. Everyone knows you will be discarded.

“Hungry?”

“Sorry?” I didn’t hear the question.

Concern registers on Blake’s face.

“You okay?”

I nod and force myself to smile. Stop those negative thoughts, I tell myself.

“Are you hungry?”

The low rumble of my stomach is an answer of sorts.

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” I confess.

“Excellent.”

He leads me out onto the balcony where he has set a table for two with flowers and two tall white candles. I feel as if I’ve walked into a four-chef-hat restaurant.

There are pale pink plates, proper silver cutlery and starched white serviettes folded into swans.

“Take a seat.” He pulls out a chair. “I’ll be back with our meal.” I feel him kiss the top of my head before he turns.

I watch him walk back to the kitchen. How many of his other models have sat here like this?

Stop those thoughts, Kat.

Briefly I close my eyes. Think about all the positive signs. He did agree not to use the painting. He’s cooking dinner.

Yes, but we all know he discards his models like other men discard their underwear. Dale’s voice again.

“Voila.”

I didn’t hear Blake come back.

In front of me waft the delicious smell of dinner.

I cut a piece of steak and am instantly transported to another time. My grandmother had made the best steaks I ever tasted.

“Not too rare?”

I can hear the concern in his voice.

“It’s perfect.”

And it is. The meat is still a little pink but ever so tender.

There is only one way I know how to push my doubts to one side.

“I know you can cook from the first time you invited me over for dinner, but I didn’t know you are this good.”

Blake winks at me.

“I still have many talents you are yet to discover, babe.”

The lump in my throat grows a little.

“Really,” I try to sound light-hearted. I must not let Dale’s comments get to me. I must enjoy this time with Blake.

“You’ll find out. All in good time.”

I relax a little.

I notice the way he is suddenly looking at me as I take a sip of my wine.

“Do I have food on my face?”

He shakes his head.

“I can’t help but you stare at you. You are just so perfect.” He shakes his head. “The way you pick up your glass and wrinkle your nose ever so slightly as you take a sip is so unique about you. There are so many little quirks you have…I wish I could capture them all.” He sighs and smiles at me.

My heart is beating a little faster. Does he mean what he is saying? Does he see more in me than simply someone to have sex with?

I know I do. I know Blake completes me. But can I trust him? I trusted Dale and look where that took me.

“Did I say something?” Blake leans toward me.

I smile. Jump and float.

“I’m fine, more than fine. I’m happy.”

My lips part as they meet his. Instantly, fireworks rip through me. His tongue finds mine and I know what’s for dessert.

Katherine

“What are we doing, Blake…?” I ask him, the words bubbling up to my lips and escaping them before I can stop myself. I look into his eyes as he pulls back from my kiss, and I feel my heart melt as he opens into a smile.

“We’re doing us ,” he replies fast, no hesitation to it. I have no idea what he means by that, but somehow I feel more relaxed.

Still…I’m afraid. What am I doing with someone like Blake? I always thought that I’d end up with a run-of-the-mill guy, someone that would be nice to me, treat me right, and…I don’t know! I expected average, but instead I got Blake.

Can I trust him? Can I allow myself to open up around him? I want to say no, especially after what happened between Dale and me. I don’t know if I’m ready to trust again, to surrender myself to someone…but it’s Blake we’re talking about, the man that cut through all the bullshit and saw the real me.

There’s a painting to prove it.

“You okay?” He asks me softly, placing his index finger under my chin and gently making me to look up and into his eyes.

I don’t even bother with a reply. I just give him a quick nod and reach for him, grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt and pulling him into me, my mouth hungrily looking for his. We lock lips then, and all thoughts of distrust and fear are carried away by the passion of his embrace.

Before I know it, dinner has been forgotten. We’re both standing now, his hands on my waist and my breasts pressed against his chest.

“I need you so fucking much,” he tells me, stopping our kiss just to tell me that.

“I’m right here,” I whisper back at him, and he just responds by my picking me up, his strong arms behind my knees. I lace my arms around his neck and look into his eyes, running one hand through his hair as I try to read whatever’s on his mind.

What did he see in me the first time? Why did he come after me? The scary thing is, if I want to see through his eyes, all I have to do is look at that painting.

It portrays me, yes, but it also portrays the way he sees the world.

Carrying me in his arms, he takes me to the living room. Laying me down on his luxurious leather couch, he climbs on top of me and crushes my mouth with his. I kiss him eagerly, pushing my tongue inside his mouth, and surrender to the desire making my heart beating rapidly.

How did I end up here? Not long ago my life had a perfect trajectory – there was Dale, and there was a plan. Next thing I know my boyfriend is fucking some random woman, and I’m back to being single.

Then Blake shows up, and the Earth jumps out from its axis.

“I want you,” I tell Blake, and then nibble at his lower lip, smiling shyly as he takes me in his embrace.

“Not as much as I want you.” He says, smiling back at me and running his large hands down the side of my body. “I’m desperate for you, for your body,” he whispers, and my heart almost explodes with the sudden desire and joy that floods my mind.

I don’t know if it’s his tone of voice, or his choice of words, but I feel my pussy growing wetter and wetter.

He kisses me hungrily again, sliding one hand under the hemline of my dress. His fingertips go straight to my inner thighs, and then he traces the contour of my drenched thong. I can almost feel the coiled tension that fills his muscles, desire making his heart beat faster.

Completely out of control, I take my hand to his crotch and, feeling him hard and ready, I curl my fingers around his cock and give it a squeeze.

“Is this for me?” I ask him, tightening the grip of my fingers.

“All yours,” he replies, one hand of his pulling down the straps of my dress. He bares my black bra and, hooking one finger on the right cup, he pulls it down to reveal one hard rosy tip.

I swallow hard the anticipation I’m feeling, and he dives into me as if he needed to feel my body in order to survive. I close my eyes as he wraps his lips around my hard nipple, sucking it into his mouth while he uses his tongue to circle it.

I run my hands through his hair, disheveling it, and he uses his teeth to pull on my nipple. Gasping, I let him do it, and I start swaying my hips from side to side, trying to make him place the hand he has between my thighs on my pussy.

And that’s exactly what he does – the moment I start to squirm, he makes me stop by flattening the palm of his hand against my aching pussy, pinning me down against the couch.

“But I want this in return,” he says, flicking my thong to the side and brushing two fingers over my folds. I chomp on my lower lip as he does it, anxious to feel him inside of me.

“It’s all yours…” I tell him, thrusting against his hand. “All yours…”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

With that, he slides his middle finger inside of me, taking it straight to my G-spot. Holding his fingertip there, he uses his free hand to tug on the front of my dress and pulls it down until it’s bunched up around my waist. His hand then goes to my back and, when he finds the clasp of my bra, he pulls it free - grabbing the strap right between my breasts, he pulls on it harshly and the bra comes off with a tearing sound.

Smiling, I crush my lips on his. Pressing both my hands on his chest, I place my fingers on the collar of his shirt and then just pull on it, making all the buttons pop out. They scatter around the floor with a pop-pop sound, and I continue what I’m doing, pushing his shirt down his arms.

I take one second to marvel at the perfect muscles of his chest, all of them so ripped and toned that Blake could be a model and not a painter, and then I take my mouth to his nipple.

The moment my mouth touches his skin, he starts flicking his wrist, his finger moving in and out of me at a frantic pace. He fingers me to the point of exhaustion, my fluids dripping down my thighs and pooling on the leather under me.

“Fuck me, fuck me now,” I blurt out suddenly, needing him inside of me as much as I need the air to breathe.

“You’re in a hurry,” he chuckles, still fingering me so hard that it’s a miracle my brain can process the meaning behind his words.

“Oh, you bet I’m in a hurry,” I continue, my hands darting to his belt and unbuckling it. My trembling fingers grab the hem of his pants and I pull, his zipper going down by itself in a flash. Turning my wrist around, I flatten my hand against his hard cock and then grab it, moving my hand up and down and stroking him over the fabric of his boxer briefs.

I do it for a few seconds, but then he slides one more finger inside of me and I just stop completely, my insides burning up as a sudden wave of ecstasy crashes against both my mind and body at the same time.

“Well, if you’re in a hurry…” He whispers, leaning into me and dropping the words right against my ear. I moan as he slides his fingers out of my pussy, and then I grit my teeth and summon whatever’s strength there’s in me.

Moving quickly, I push his pants and boxers down his legs, and he sits up on the couch afterward. He kicks off his shoes, and then steps out of his pants and boxers, standing up and towering over me in all his nakedness.

He bends over, grabbing the bunched up dress, and pulls it down my body in a hurry. He throws it on top of his clothes, and then grabs the string of thong that laces my outer thigh and pulls on it harshly, ripping it out of me.

“Much better,” he says, his eyes going straight to the wet patch of skin between my thighs. He offers me his hand and pulls me up to my feet. Then he forces me to turn around, and I place my legs back on the couch, baring my ass to him.

I gasp as he smacks me hard, no warning at all. He lays his hand heavily against my ass cheeks, and then he does it again and again, hard enough to leave a red mark on my skin. A perfect memento of everything we’re doing. He does it until the pain turns into pleasure, my brain melting and dissolving.

Then, he trades the violence of his smacks by the gentleness of one finger, brushing it up and down the length of my crack. I close my eyes hard, anxious for what’s going to happen next, and that’s when he grabs his cock and pushes it down, pressing it right against my pussy.

This time I don’t even wait for him to thrust – I do it myself, throwing my body back against him and impaling myself on his cock.

One loud scream erupts from my mouth as his long inches stab me in a fraction of a second, pushing my inner walls back in such a way that I just know I’ll be sore afterwards. The good kind of sore.

Grabbing my hips, he starts ramming his cock into me viciously right from the start.

We’re making love, yes, but we’re also straight up fucking. And, God, that feels so wickedly good. There’s a raw intensity to his movements, and it’s in that intensity that you can peel off all the bullshit and find genuine emotion.

Supporting myself with only one hand, I take the other one to my pussy and start rubbing my clit with two fingers. I do it until my fingers are working at the same rhythm of his cock, and it’s a matter of seconds until I explode.

Clenching my teeth, I hiss wildly as my pussy tightens up around Blake’s shaft. Feeling me even tighter, he thrusts even harder, and that’s when a violent orgasm simply explodes inside of me.

I fall forward, collapsing on top of the couch as his cock pops out of me suddenly. I’m kneeling on the floor, arms and head on the couch in front of me, and all of me is a quivering and trembling mess.

My muscles are twitching and spasming as if I’ve just been hit by lightning, and even though my eyes are open I can’t see a thing. My brain is burning, and all of its attention is devoted to processing the barrage of pleasure filling me up.

“God, this was – ”

“Amazing,” Blake says, finishing my sentence. The sound of his voice somehow gives me renewed energy, and I force my eyelids open and turn around so that I’m facing him.

I find his cock is right in front of me, thick and hard and glistening with my juices. By the time I realize what I’m doing, I’m already grabbing him by the root and leaning into him, my open mouth ready to devour him.

I close my eyes the moment I feel the tip of his cock over my tongue. I push my mouth down, allowing his twelve inches to slide all the way inside me, and I only stop when I feel my lips against the smooth skin around the base of his huge shaft. That’s when I open my eyes again, and look up at him. I smile – or, well, I would if I didn’t have his cock between my lips – as I imagine the view he has now: me, on my knees, and his cock filling my mouth.

I figure being a man is fun because of stuff like that.

The urge to breathe becomes urgent enough for me to take his cock out of my mind; but, while I try and catch my breath, I keep on stroking him. My hand flies up and down his shaft so fast that my movements become a blur, and I can’t help but grin as I see him close his eyes, an expression of pleasure washing over his face.

For a fraction of a second, I think of stroking him until he comes, forcing him to spray his seed all over me…but then I realize that I’m not ready for that – there’s so much more I want to do right now. It’d be a shame if we ended this too soon.

I tug on his hand, urging him to go down. He arches one eyebrow, curious, but goes down to his knees all the same. When his knees touch the floor, I let go of his cock and jump up to my feet.

Standing over him, I tangle my fingers on his hair and pull him into me. Knowing exactly what I want, he takes his mouth straight to my pussy, grabbing my ass cheeks with both his hands.

He licks and sucks at a frenetic pace, digging his fingers into my flesh at the same time. I just stand there, eyes closed and head thrown back, savoring the pleasure he’s giving me. I swear, Blake knows how to use his mouth as much as he knows how to use his cock.

Taking one step back, I lean into him and place my hands on his shoulders. Pushing him back, I force him to lay down on the floor, and then I act fast; I place both my feet on the side of his head, and then lower myself.

“Fuck, you’re good,” he says, his voice loaded with hunger.

“I am,” I grin, sitting on his face and making it impossible for him to reply. Swaying my hips back and forth, I bend over and reach for his cock, stroking him fast. Wanting to please him as much as he’s pleasing me right now, I take my mouth to his cock and gobble it up once more.

We remain like that for what seems like an eternity, devouring each other as if tomorrow doesn’t exist. I suck him so hard that I’m actually surprised he still hasn’t come, but that’s for the best – it means we can still keep going. I can’t say the same for myself, though. I’m on the verge of exploding again, another orgasm looming on the horizon of my mind.

A violent urge to scream takes over me, and I slide his cock out of my mouth and just rest my hands on his ankles for support. He’s jabbing at me with his tongue, taking my pussy lips inside his mouth and licking them dry; at the same time, he’s spreading my ass cheeks wide, the tip of his fingers right on the edge of my ass crack.

Wanting to go further, he starts caressing my ass while he licks me, moving one finger up and down my crack. He finally stops his finger over my ass hole, and my scream becomes more violent as he starts pushing it inside of me, overloading my brain with pleasure in such a way that I wouldn’t be surprised if I passed out anytime now.

Somehow, I remain conscious as I finally come, a sudden wave of pleasure washing over me and sending all the thoughts in my mind into disarray. I’m not screaming anymore – my mouth is open, but there isn’t any sound coming out of it. My vocal chords have given up on me, the muscles in my throat so spent that I don’t even know how I’m still breathing.

Somehow, I manage to go up to my feet despite my trembling legs. I turn around, all while still on top of him, and then sit back down again – except this time I do it with his cock under me.

“Still want more?” He teases me as I grab his cock.

“Always,” I whisper, and then ease myself down, my eyes rolling in their orbits as I feel my insides stretching to accommodate his massive member.

When all of his inches are inside of me, he bucks his hips fast and hard, and I do nothing as he fucks me. I just savor his body on mine, my fingers digging into his chest, while I gather the necessary strength to join him.

I take a deep breath and, finally, start to rock my hips, moving them back and forth in a flowing motion while he keeps on thrusting. I do it as fast as he is thrusting, and my hands clawing on his chest hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t even seem to notice.

“That’s…that’s so good,” is all he says with a groan, grabbing my ass cheeks and urging me to go faster. And I do it, going as fast as he wants me to. The muscles in my legs feel like they’re burning, but I push through, bouncing up and down until both my mind and body simply quit on me.

A powerful wave of ecstasy shakes me to my core, travelling from my nerve endings to my brain in the blink of an eye, and hitting me in full force. I scream so hard that I almost rupture my own eardrums, my blood boiling inside my veins.

What I’m feeling right now is so intense that the world around me assumes a dreamlike state, making the colors brighter, and the sounds becoming more clear.

But I’m not in a dream, and I know that because the pleasure I’m feeling is so raw and intense that it’d be impossible for this to be anything other than reality.

“More,” I tell him when the strength returns to my vocal chords. “More,” I repeat, not even knowing what I mean by more. All I know is that I want it, and I want it right now.

Climbing out of his body, I go on all fours right on the floor, wiggling my ass at him. He sits up, looking at me with an understanding look on his face.

“You want more, you get more,” he whispers, more to himself than to me, and his hands hook on my hips.

I swallow hard as he runs one finger between my ass cheeks, and then takes it down all the way to my pussy. He slides it in, moving it back and forth for a while, and then pushes one more finger inside, preparing me for what I really want in there.

“So good,” I moan as he fingers me, but then he just pulls his fingers out.

“No…But I’ll show you what’s really good,” he says, grabbing his cock and pressing its tip against my pussy.

A shiver goes through me as he does it, and my skin prickles in a fraction of a second. Then, he feeds one inch into my pussy, and I can’t help but to moan. By the time his cock is all inside of my pussy, my moans have turned into a barely audible whisper of pleasure.

“Much better, isn’t it?” He asks me; I open my mouth to respond, but no sound comes out of it. Lucky for me, he doesn’t wait for a reply.

Holding me by the hips, he starts to thrust, taking his time as he builds up the rhythm. His first thrusts are soft and gentle, but the fire in his movements starts growing and growing until he’s ravaging my pussy so fiercely that I just know there’ll be no avoiding the soreness.

“So…fucking…good…” I moan, my vocal chords working again. My words only make him go harder and, at the same time, he takes one hand around my waist and presses down on my clit, rubbing it as fast as he’s thrusting.

That raw violent energy starts to pool on my muscles, and they tense up like wire. My lungs strain against my ribcage, and my heart is pounding inside my chest so fiercely that it might burst any time soon.

“Don’t stop, don’t – ” I don’t even have the time to finish what I was saying. I go down from my hands into my elbows, and I press my forehead against the floor as a thermonuclear explosion goes off inside my brain.

Every single thought in its wake is destroyed and, for a moment, I don’t even remember where I am or who I am. All I know is that what I’m feeling is so good I’ve probably died and went to heaven.

He’s about to pull his cock out of me when I reach for him, curling my fingers around his wrist.

“No,” I tell him, “all the way.”

I don’t need to explain it to him. Without a word, he thrusts again, this time even faster than before. His movements are completely unhinged, and I know that right now it’s all about him.

I thrust back at him, matching the motion of his body, and then I feel a violent spasm taking over his cock. It pulses viciously for a second or two, and then it simply comes inside of me.

“Fuck,” he groans, drawling out the word as he stops moving, his cock buried all the way to the hilt. I stop moving as well, my eyes closed as I feel the spasms of his cock.

We remain like that, frozen in time, for what seems like an eternity – but when he finally stops coming and pulls his cock out of me, I’m almost sad that it’s over.

“Blake,” I say his name almost as if I wanted to hear the sound of my voice, eager to prove that this isn’t a dream. We sit on the touch together, my head resting on his chest, and I close my eyes as I try to catch my breath.

Softly, he rests one hand on top of my head and laces his free arm on my waist. Holding me close, he keeps me pressed against his naked body as we both enjoy the silence, our bodies still exhausted.

There’s no use denying it…I’m falling for Blake, and I’m falling hard.

I’m trying to tell myself that’s not the case, but deep down I might be lying to myself. The way I feel right now – this closeness, this security –, it all points to something deeper than just physical attraction.

Oh, it’s even silly to be talking about physical attraction now…that’s already a given. But knowing the way Blake sees me, looking through his eyes…that goes beyond the physical.

Maybe I should run.

After Dale, I can’t give my heart to anyone. Even if it’s to a man like Blake, a man that sees the real me. I just can’t do it. Sure, there’s this connection we have, but that makes this all the more dangerous. When Dale cheated on me, he left a vacant spot in my life. But if I surrender to Blake and he leaves…there’ll be a hole in my heart that no one will ever mend.

But now’s not the time to think of that.

Now I just want to…feel close to him.

Blake

Nothing can dampen my mood today, not even the rain I hear belting against my windows. The wind is grabbing the shutters and rattling them, threatening them, but they don’t give in.

Storms have been raging all day.

Nothing wrong with a good storm, storms in my opinion leave the world washed and refreshed. The air has a clean smell to it and world does look washed. Except for my windows. Rain tends to leave them looking a little streaked.

I make a mental note to organize a window cleaner in the next few days, along with getting a new cleaner.

Much to my disappointment, my cleaning lady informed me yesterday that she’s leaving.

Camilla’s great. And I introduced Camilla to Katherine because I know the two will get along really well and most important of all, Katherine would not be jealous of Camilla.

It’s not that my housekeeper wasn’t attractive. She is, and probably more so back in her day. At fifty-four, she’s still a stunner, just not someone I would be getting involved with. But now, she’s leaving. She’d said something about her daughter needing her to babysit.

I put domestic thoughts aside. Camilla will still be here for another month. Maybe she’ll be able to help me get a replacement.

I stroll into my studio to look at my collection of new paintings and I smile. I like them, no, I love them. They are better than anything I have created before. Ever.

Part of me wants to call Katherine and get her to come and look at them. I really would want her to be the first person to see them, but that would go against my plan.

I’ve come up with a special way to thank her. I owe her a lot, after all. I know she would not agree and she probably does not even realize how huge a role she’s been playing in my creative genius coming back to life.

Before I make the call, I grab a pen and paper to make a list. I walk from painting to painting, jotting down possible titles, background notes and random twirls and doodles.

Sometimes I think well in pictures and not so well in words.

Words. It strikes me as almost an omen how right we are for each other. Katherine, a writer and me, an artist. We are meant to be together.

After I’ve completed my list, I gather the works of art carefully and gingerly. I handle my pictures the way a mother cradles her baby. In a way, they are my babies.

I need to make sure Katherine does not see these next time she comes over.

It’s a great feeling knowing Katherine can just come and go as she pleases since I gave her a key to my place the other day.

Her face was priceless, a mixture between overwrought, disbelief and pride.

It is a big thing for me too. I’ve never given anyone else a key to my apartment.

And not just the key, I made sure to select a special key ring to go with it. I wanted her to think of me each and every time the key was within her sight.

It took an enormous amount of time. Silly really, but when I get an idea into my head I need to see it through.

When I didn’t find anything close enough to what I had in mind at the local shops, I consulted the mighty World Wide Web. I wanted a painter palette and canvass. Eventually, several hours later, I found one in sterling silver.

I ordered it instantly. I didn’t even flinch when the order form confirmed I had just paid two hundred and eighty five dollars for a key ring.

And of course I had been rewarded several times over when I gave it to her.

Not only was she totally touched by the gesture of the key, when she spotted the key ring, I swear a little tear formed in the corner of her eye.

The kiss I got, and the sex, more than made up for the money spent on it.

It takes me a few minutes to drape the stained cotton throw over the paintings. Maybe I better make it a little more difficult to get here by placing an easel in front of it.

When I’m done I pick up the phone. Time to call my agent.

“Hey Mateo, how are things?”

I can’t hear a response. I stare at the screen. The clock is ticking so I know I’m connected.

“Mateo, you there?”

“Blake. Blake. My man, what’s happenin?” Mateo’s voice booms through the phone and I move the mobile a little further off my ear.

“Mateo, I’ve been painting.”’ Maybe I should have invited him to come over instead of a phone call?

There’s loud laughter. “You’re a painter Blake. What else would you have been doing?”

Good old Mateo, always straight to the point.

“No Mateo, this time it’s different. I’ve really been painting. I’ve been creating and…well, the paintings are good. Really fucking good.”

“You never were modest, my friend.” Mateo replies dryly.

I chuckle.

“True. But wait till you see what I’ve been creating.”

“Let me guess, nudes. How many of them have you been fucking this time? I hate to think of all the broken hearts.”

“Mateo, they’re not nudes and I haven’t been fucking them as you say. I’ve met this woman. Katherine. She’s amazing. She’s gorgeous. She’s sexy.”

“And she’s a good root,” completes Mateo.

“It’s different with her. I haven’t had another woman since I’ve met her. I can only think of her. I even dream of her. I want her all the time. She’s doing things with me no other woman has ever done before.”

“She a witch?”

Another chuckle from me.

“Stop it, man. Anyway I want you to organize an exhibition. It’s going to be bigger than anything I’ve ever done before. I want you to spare no money. Invite anyone and everyone that matters. Alcohol, good food…wait, get the chefs from the Old Pearl to cater, they know what they are doing. Spare nothing. Go all out. And Mate…?”

“Yes my friend?”

“I don’t want Katherine to find out. She can’t know. Under any circumstances.”

“Hope you know what you’re doing.”

A noise makes me turn around. I see Katherine, her eyes looking hurt and confused.

Katherine

I love how I can just walk into the studio without an invitation. It’s got that feel of trust between us. I love that I can hear the sound of his voice anytime I want to; I could listen to him all day. I wonder who…oh, he’s talking on the phone.

Did he just say – ? I stop to listen.

I catch only those last words.

“…Katherine’s not to know. Promise me. OK?”

I am not to know what? Is this a red flag? Is this the time to back out? Had Dale been right all along? The fear that’s always just below the surface threatens to overwhelm me.

Move, I tell myself. Part of me wonders if this is the time to turn and run. But where will I run to? I take a deep breath.

“Hey Blake, I heard you talking to someone just now. What am I not supposed to know?”

“Hey baby.”

I study his face carefully. There’s not a hint of guilt in it.

“It’s a surprise. My lips are sealed.” As if to underline his point he points to his lips, which he has pulled into a thin line.

“Look Blake,” I hesitate. “I’m not that big on surprises. I find they are highly overrated.” I try to keep my voice light. I don’t want to make too much of this. But I really don’t like surprises.

Surprises are great when you’re a kid, like you got your first bicycle, or when the man in the red suit brought you your favorite Barbie doll. But grown up girls don’t always take to guy surprises, particularly if they are in the form of the ex-boyfriend in bed with another woman.

“Hey,” he says and comes toward me.

He’s looking right at me with a hungry expression, like he really wants me, like he’s almost begging me. I can see right into his eyes. If there was anything hidden surely I would see it there.

“Hey, c’mon,” he repeats and strokes my cheek. “How can I surprise you if you already know what I’m talking about?”

He advances on me like something wild. How does he do that? I’m just frozen as this wild hunk approaches me like some lethal tiger. That pleading voice and that soft dangerous stride toward me make me melt.

“The thing about surprises is, they are a surprise.”

He runs his finger down my nose, slowly over my lip and down my chin, his touch light as a whisper. I try not to shudder as he traces his finger along my shoulder and down

I feel my skin tingling. I want this touch. I want him to go lower. I feel tight and loose all at once. His finger dances around my hips and I feel his hand stop at my waist.

His other hand goes under my chin and to lift it. He dips in closer and I wait for his kiss. His lip brushes on mine ever so softly.

Now I feel the slight pressure of his hand on my back and I fall in against him. I want more of him. I want his mouth open. I want the feel of his tongue. I want his hand lower.

I run my hands around his back and feel the taut pillar of his body. He feels firm and warm, smooth and round and I want to let my hands go down to his buttocks and to pull him in tighter to me.

I can feel myself melting; all of my worries are slipping away. I want nothing more than for him to takes his hands lower.

His upper hand leaves my chin. He runs it slowly luxuriously, over my neck and collarbone until he finds my breasts. He slides it under my arm and drops it suddenly. Both of his hands are now spread over my butt and he draws me in.

This is out of control. I’m frantic with desire.

We have to stop.

“As I recall,”’ I start but his lips shut me up. This time his tongue finds mine instantly.

His hands leave their position and make their back up toward my breasts.

“I thought we were going to do some work.” I manage to say but my own voice is lacking conviction. Sure, I came in here to pose for him so that he finishes the painting, but now…

“I am working,” he mutters.

I throw my head back, giggling.

“There’s a distinct lack of paint brush.” I point out.

Blake stops. He moves his hands off my breasts.

My body aches for his touch. Please don’t stop I want to beg but I don’t. If this painting is to be finished Blake needs to keep painting.

“I thought the painting was of a nude.”

I know Blake plays havoc with my thoughts but I’m not following.

Registering the confusion on my face Blake starts kissing my face and neck, his mouth moving down to my breasts.

“I’m just helping you undress and get into the mood.” He says between bites.

It is difficult to form any coherent thought.

‘“I don’t think this is going to work.” I make another attempt at getting Blake to focus on his painting. As much as I want this, I know he wants to finish this artwork too. And I’d very much like to see the finished painting.

Blake stops again. My skin burns with desire where his lips had been.

I feel him look at me.

“I know your body so well, Katherine; I don’t need you to pose. I can finish the painting from the memory. Each and every part of your body is etched into my mind forever.”

He kisses me again and his hands resume their wandering.

Before I give in I try one last time to be the sensible one.

“So you’re not going to paint me today?”

His lips are near my ear, nibbling on my ear lobe.

“Right now I’ve got more important things to do. Right now, I just want to be inside you.”

Katherine

My lips become his, and his lips become mine. Our mouth and tongues become one, and I close my eyes and surrender to desire.

He grabs harshly on my skirt, tugs on the fabric and pushes it down. I sway my hips from side to side, just enough for the skirt to slide down my legs. The skirt taken care off, his hands dart straight to my blouse and he pulls it over my head, forcing me to raise my arms up in the air.

“You look perfect,” he tells me, his eyes roaming all over my naked skin, and I can almost feel him peeling off my bra and thong with his eyes.

He then lets his mouth roam to the valley between my breasts, my skin tracing the rising curve of both my breasts. As he does it, he takes his hands to my shoulder blades; the moment he finds the clasp of my bra, he undoes it.

The cups of the bra droop over my breasts, revealing both nipples, and he holds his breath as he watches them fall down. Then, impatience suddenly taking over him, he reaches for one cup with his hand and simply yanks the whole thing off my body. I yelp as he does it, my nipples becoming even harder than before.

He leans into me and with his mouth pressed against mine, our tongues dance around one another in a frenzy, and my anxious hands go down from his chest to his belt. I curl my fingers around it, eager to unbuckle it, but he stops me, yanking on my hair.

“On your knees,” he tells me, his voice more commanding than ever…yet there’s a grin on his face. His words make my insides clench making me a complete wet mess. I don’t think I have ever wanted a man this much.

“Oh, is that an order?” I ask him, a teasing smile on my lips. He yanks harder on my hair, forcing me to throw my head back and look him straight in the eye.

“What do you think?” Just like that, I find myself obeying and going down to my knees, my hands running from his waist to his knees.

I position myself between his legs, moving my hands up and down but never really going for his crotch. There’s already a hard shape there, straining against his pants, and even though I’m dying to set it free, I take my time.

First, I want to tease him as much as I possibly can.

“What shall I do first…?” I whisper, biting on my bottom lip and taking both my hands dangerously close to his crotch. The fabric under my fingers is already tented up, and I have to fight back the urge to simply grab his cock and stroke him over his pants.

“I want you to use your mouth…,” he tells me with a grin, easing the pressure of his fingers on my head.

Never taking my eyes out from his, I grab his belt buckle and, moving slowly, start to unbuckle it. It comes undone and I pull the belt out from its loops, letting it fall right on the floor.

Using only my index finger, I let it go down to his crotch, tracing the contour of his thickness with my fingertip. I feel it pulse and throb, and my heart tightens inside my chest as I realize that Blake is at my mercy…Or, maybe, the other way around.

Slowly, I start to unbuckle his jeans, popping out the top button, as I feel his hardness pressing against the rough fabric. Without bothering to undo the rest of the buttons, I simply press the palm of my hand against his belly and let it slide down under the hem of his jeans, cupping his bulging shape over his boxers.

Right after feeling the warmth coming from his crotch, I take my hand off it and start unbuttoning the remaining buttons on his pants, my fingers moving softly.

Then, hooking my fingers on his boxers, I pull them down and his cock springs free almost too violently. As it jumps into sight, I feel the flames of lust dancing behind my eyes and I can no longer resist it – reaching for it, I curl my fingers around his thickness.

He exhales sharply as he feels the touch of my fingers, and I hear his breathing grow heavier and heavier with each passing second. Using both my hands, I start massaging the bulging shape between his thighs, using my palms to press down on it.

Bending over, I take my breasts to his crotch. Taking my hands out of his cock, I then lower my breasts over it. Squeezing them against one another, I trap his cock between them and start rocking my body back and forth, stroking him with my breasts.

“Fuck, that feels so good…” He groans, bucking his hips against me. I grin as I do it, jerking him off with my bare breasts.

Then, stopping for a moment, I take off his shoes one by one, and I pull off his pants and boxers both still wrapped around his knees.

I slide my hands from his knees to his thighs, leaning in at the same time. I take my mouth dangerously close to his cock and, parting my lips, I reach for it with the tip of my tongue once again.

Gently laying it over the tip, right where beads of pre-cum glisten, I then start running it around the head of his cock in slow circles. He throws his head back as I do it, closing his eyes and sighing heavily. I have to make a conscious effort to stop myself from swallowing his whole cock right away.

“Fuck, just do it,” he groans, and his words assure me that I’m doing the right thing by torturing him like this. So, instead of opening my mouth wide and rolling my lips down his shaft, I just continue using the tip of my tongue to tease him.

Tilting my head slightly, I run the tip of my tongue down the length of his shaft, bringing it down to his balls. Only there do I open my mouth, pressing my lips against one of his balls and sucking it into my mouth. It’s big and, it feels heavy and warm to the touch – I can’t help but imagine the amount of cum his balls are busy producing right now.

Bringing my tongue back up to the tip of his cock, I then pull back from him and look him straight in the eye. Moving my hands toward his inner thighs, I then wrap my fingers around the root of his cock, gripping it tightly.

Without breaking eye contact, I start moving my hand up and down the length of his shaft, doing it as slow as humanly possible.

I watch as his chest rises and falls almost erratically, his breathing growing ragged with each stroke of my hand. The muscles on his chest seem to be bulging, straining against his skin and stretching it thin.

I stop stroking him all of a sudden and, holding his cock in place, I lean into it once more. This time, I open my mouth and don’t hesitate – I wrap my lips around the tip of his cock, suck on it for a few seconds, and then roll my lips down his shaft so fast that it feels his cock is going to pop out on the other side of my skull.

The pressure of his fingers on my head intensifies and I close my eyes, surrendering to the wild desire fluttering inside of me. I open my mouth as wide as I can and gobble up his shaft once more, bobbing my head up and down over his cock until the wet sound of my lips on his flesh fills the whole apartment.

I grab his cock with both my hands and start to suck and stroke at a matching pace, the pendulum motion of mouth and hands an entrancing one. Oh, I never thought that going down on a man could be this fun.

My head goes up and down and, then, further down his shaft. I can almost feel myself gagging but, damn, I am enjoying it!

His hands are still on my head, feeling and guiding my movements. He grits his teeth, pleasure making his muscles tense up. With my lips tightly wrapped around his cock, I can almost feel his thoughts fading away as lust takes over.

He groans, as guides my head deeper down, my mouth sliding down his length slowly until all of him is inside again, my tongue lapping at his cock fiercely. I go back out slowly, my fingers never leaving his shaft.

I feel his whole body tensing up but, the moment his cock threatens to start spasming against my tongue, I take it out of my mouth and grip it tight. I don’t want him to come. Not yet. My pussy clenches as I start to imagine his length all inside me and completely ravaging me, and I know I have to make him last.

Pulling up to my feet, Blake yanks on my hair; keeping my head thrown back, he dives head first into my neck. Kissing my naked skin, he then starts biting softly, pulling it with his teeth as I allow short but clear moans to echo throughout the room.

As he kiss me, he lets his hands wander down to my waist and he hooks his fingers on my thong, pulling it against my thigh until I hear the sound of the fabric ripping apart.

“Much better now,” he grins.

Pushing me back until my knees meet the couch, Blake yanks down on my hair again, pinning me down to the mattress with one hand.

He swallows in his desire and takes both his free hand to my breasts, feeling the soft tan mounds there straining against his hungry fingers. He lets his hands take a life of their own, their downward movement guiding him over my firm belly and down to the untanned line right where my thong used to be.

He makes a claw out of his fingers and pushes it down as I raise my hips. Not wasting time with any teasing, he takes his hand and places it on top of my pussy, the shape of its inner lips making his heart and cock pulse in unison.

He cups it, my fluids wettening his hand; he lets his fingers wander up and down and, finding my clit, he gently presses his thumb against it, tracing its outline very slowly with care.

With my whole body pulsing with desire, my hips immediately start swaying, pushing my body upwards and into his hand, my pussy tightly pressed against his long fingers.

Feeling my eagerness, he places the open palm of his hand over my stomach and, gently pressing down, pins me once more against the couch as, with his other hand, he parts my pussy lips wide and allows one inch of his finger to wander inside me. A moan tumbles out of my lips as he does it.

As his finger leave my pussy and go back up my torso, a shiver runs up my spine and makes my skin prickle. Curling his finger upward like a hook, he runs it all the way in, only stopping when his fingertip is tightly pressed against that inner spot inside of me, the one that has me moaning right now.

I throw my head back and I let the moan that’s climbing up my throat explode in the air. He takes that as a good omen and slides his finger out and then in again, fingering me until insanity takes over.

He runs his thumb in slow circles around my clit as he moves one more finger inside of my pussy. I throw my head back and start to sway my hips, moving them at a matching pace, and it doesn’t take long for him to drive me to the edge of pleasure. He doesn’t stop and drives two fingers as deep as possible inside of me, pressing hard, rubbing my clit with quick vicious movements.

Just like that, I come into pure ecstasy.

Looking straight into his eyes, I take both my hands to his chest. Instead of unbuttoning it, I just grab at the fabric hard and pull it from opposite sides; the buttons pop out in a fraction of a second, scattering around the floor. I just keep on yanking, untucking his shirt.

I trace the contour of his pectorals and abs with my eyes, as my brain overheats. Leaning into him, I start kissing his neck, laying my lips softly against his skin and then pulling it with my teeth. He groans as I do it, his fingers digging deep into my ass cheeks, and then he starts to thrust.

As I feel his shaft pressing hard against my pussy, I resume my coming-and-going motion from before, swaying my hips lewdly and grinding against his huge member.

He then grabs me by the hips and pushes me down, forcing me to stop moving. He’s taking control, and there’s nothing I can do about that. Not that I want to… Now I just want to submit to him – nothing more, nothing less.

As he pushes me down, he thrusts with his hips, forcing his cock to go so deep inside of me that I can’t help but scream. I grin as he runs his hands to my ass and squeezes my cheeks, thrusting me even harder than before.

He continues demolishing my insides, letting go of my ass and taking both his hands to my breasts, squeezing them eagerly.

With his hands no longer on my hips, I resume the sway of my hips, riding him as hard as I can. Beads of sweat are already pooling on my forehead, but that only makes me go even harder.

“Harder…” I command him as he keeps on thrusting, while slapping my ass hard, his thickness completely demolishing my insides. I grin, rocking my hips so hard that the sweat have already started to trickle down my back. He matches the sway of my hips with a fast sequence of hard thrusts.

I open my mouth to say something, but the words die in my throat as my whole body starts to tense up, Blake’s violent thrusts numbing my mind and delivering me into the hands of ecstasy.

“OH MY GOD!” I scream out, my mind burning as the violent flames of an orgasm take over me.

I’m still coming, all of my muscles twitching, when he places one arm around my waist and pushes me to the side. I roll to the side, his cock popping out of me, but he doesn’t allow me a moment’s rest; pulling on my waist, he forces me to go on all fours and then kneels himself behind me.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard…” he starts, slapping me so hard across my ass cheeks I can’t control myself and let out another high pitched scream. The sound of the palm of his hand hitting me square in the ass caresses my eardrums and, instinct taking the steering wheel, I thrust back at him, eager to feel his cock inside of me once more.

He presses against my drenched folds and, with one quick thrust, he slides his thickness all the way inside my pussy. I moan as I feel my inner walls stretching to accommodate his massive shaft, but that doesn’t stop me from swaying my body, rocking it back and forth and thrusting against Blake’s cock.

“Harder…Harder! HARDER!” I pant, rocking my body against his.

He keeps going and going until my pussy tightens so hard around his cock it’s almost a miracle he still manages to keep on thrusting.

He savors my tightness with each stroke, burying himself deep inside me and then retreating until only his tip remains in me. One final and deep stroke and a wild scream scratches the back of my throat, rising up to my lips as a desperate cry of pleasure.

Blake tightens his grip in my hips, keeping me in place as he fucks me into obliviousness with a savage fury, my whole body spasming in a seizure of ecstasy. I twitch and spasm until all strength leaves my limbs, my body collapsing onto the bed completely spent.

Following after me, he rests his body on top of mine, his cock still firmly planted inside my pussy, his chest and stomach laying against my back. He rocks his body against mine like that, his cock moving back and forth inside me.

I can almost feel the adrenaline raging through his veins, crawling under his skin and making him feel as if he’s about to burst. His muscles tense hard and, for a moment, he even stops breathing, his mind directing all vital functions to the only thing that matters right now – pleasure.

He chokes a groan on his throat, and I feel a current going from deep inside of him to his cock. He exhales between gritted teeth as his cock spasms violently inside me, his cum darting out and filling me up.

He buries himself as deep as he can go, and he holds there, feeling the spasms of his cock spread through his whole body. Propping himself up, he summons all his strengths and manages to pull back, his cock slowing sliding out and springing free over my naked ass.

Guided by instinct, he takes his hand to the base of his member and starts stroking himself, his cum still gushing out as if it hadn't already done so.

I scream. I moan. I cry tears of utter pleasure as he comes over me, my body still burning under the fire of the last orgasm.

Someone pinch me, because to feel this much pleasure must mean that I’m dreaming.

Katherine

There are mornings when the words flow down to the fingers and make them dance over the keyboard. I’m locked in another world. Nothing is sweeter than a white page turning into a field of text. What is that noise? It does not matter, period, space and new sentence. The sentences need to be short for this part.

OK so it’s a knock at the door. Darn, just when I nailed that scene.

I make a note, sigh and pick up my coffee cup. I’ll answer the door and depending on who it is, I will be cheerful and short or grumpy and short. Either way, it’s short because once the coffee cup is refilled, I will have my fingers flying all over the keyboard again.

I open the door, look up and down, and use every muscle in my arm to throw the door back to its frame so hard it should send both the door and frame flying out into the corridor.

Of all the people on earth, the very last person I ever want to see is standing there like he owns the space and still owns me. It’s Dale. I so want the door to smash him to the opposite wall.

But the door stops dead. I look at it in disbelief for a second and then look down. The jerk has been too quick and has his foot in the door. I put my whole weight against it and shove it with all my might.

The door moves, but against me. Dale is pushing his way in.

“What part of ‘I never want to see you again’ can’t you understand?” I near yell at him.

“Hey Babe...”’ Smug smile.

Prick.

The guy just doesn’t get it. It’s over. At a pinch, he could call me Katherine in a text message maybe from the other side of the world, but I never ever want to hear another word come out of his mouth, let alone the word ‘Babe.’

“You want the good news?” he asks.

I notice he is breathing hard. He is such a slob. The little workout at the door has been enough to get him breathing harder than a steam train. Or is he expecting something that’s not there for him anymore?

“Good news?” I say in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “You joined the Peace Corps and you’re off to deepest part of Africa until further notice, or you’ve landed a job as a sea captain doing the London to Hong Kong run or, wait, you have the best news I am ever going to hear: you just drew the winning ticket for a one way mission to Mars, leaving tomorrow. Hit me with it. Now that you’re here I could do with some cheering up.”

“Oh no, way better than that. You see the good news is for me, but I’m that sort of guy who just loves to share with my very close friends.”

“Good for you,” I say, “If any of them show up I’ll give you a call. Now leave.”

“You don’t want to know about Mr. Hot Brush, you know the guy with the eeny weeny charcoal stick. Don’t want to hear about the latest?”

“Talent really gets to you doesn’t it? Rest easy Dale. You’ve got talent. You do the best lines in gossip about other people. Guess that’s because not much is happening in your part of the world. No, wait, I’m wrong. There’s lots happening in your life but no one cares.”

The truth is, the guy has got me on a string now. Away from the writing, I think of no one or nothing else other than Blake. If the company was even half decent, I could spend all morning talking about him.

“He’s got an exhibition coming up.”

“Oh, wow. Next thing you’ll be telling me he’s an artist or something.”

I hope I sound convincing and there’s not slightest hint of quiver in my voice. I have not heard of any exhibition.

“Not just any exhibit. The word is, the guy is on fire. This is going to be his best so far, and that’s not coming from me. This is coming from his very own agent who says the collection will blow your mind. And I hope that agent is right because I know what this guy does. I can’t wait to go because I know what’s going to be on show. Hey, I don’t get to see it anymore but when this comes on –I can just spend all day, running my eyes over all that territory I know so well.

“Man, I know what’s coming and you are going to really light up a lot of sick puppies’ best dreams. And it gets better because you won’t be there. If this guy is any good, you better get used to spending time indoors because every guy who sees you on the street will be able to undress you with his eyes.”

How could Blake do this to me? He promised. He knows how I feel about that picture. When I look at that picture I feel completely exposed, right down to my soul. And more than that Blake has captured my eyes so well. Even when I look at it I can see passion, hot desire and just a flat out yearning for him to take me. Any guy who has even one drop of testosterone in him will know what the picture is about and what was on my mind.

And now Dale, the worst guy ever is talking like he knows exactly what the painting looks like.

“Hey look at that Babe. You’re blushing. Does the blush still go all the way to, you know, that little spot…”

“Get out.”

“Sure. I’m as good as gone but I’ll be seeing ya.”

Once the door is firmly shut, I slide onto the floor and burst into tears.

Blake betrayed me.

Blake

I turn the music up to full blast and dance around the studio. Can life get better than this?

According to Mateo, some of the most important gallery owners and critiques are going to be coming to the exhibition. This is fantastic news.

I’m all too aware of some of the critiques having written me off over the last few months. Some had said ‘It appears as if the talented young Blake has peaked and is now on the downhill slide. Such a pity, but an all too common occurrence for successful artists.’

I can’t wait to show them. And of course, I can’t wait to show Katherine what she has helped me achieve.

The mere thought of the woman fills me with desire. My cock seems to instantly take on a life of its own the minute any of my thoughts stray into her direction. It will be so beautiful to see her face when I surprise her.

Occasionally I’m filled with guilt at the thought of deceiving Katherine, but since it’s for a good cause I push those thoughts aside.

The sudden stillness has me stop mid spin. Why had the music stopped?

I find Katherine standing in the middle of the studio.

Now my dick is practically performing acrobatics at the sight of this goddess. It takes me less than three steps to be near her.

To my surprise she reels back when I reach out to touch her. What’s going on?

“How dare you!” Her face is a scowl, like a thunderstorm has taken up residence there.

“What do you mean?” I’m completely at a loss on how to explain her behavior.

“You promised.” I notice the clenched fists by her side. “You promised,” she repeats, this time her voice is a little higher than before. She’s not quite hysterical but does not seem far from it.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

It’s true, I’m not exactly sure what she’s getting at, although I’m beginning to have an idea what has happened.

I try again to pull her into my arms. If I can just kiss her, reassure her, explain to her she will understand.

Her fists pummel against my chest. I don’t try to stop her.

“You bastard. You prick. You no good, lying scoundrel. I trusted you and this is how you betray me.”

I let her take it out on me. I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make her stop.

When her fists do drop to her side again I take a step back.

“Dale came to my place and told me how you’ve been going around town bragging about putting on the biggest art show yet. How you’ve painted this amazing piece and how it will be on display for the world to see.”

I don’t interrupt her. I let her talk. She’s in such a state by now I think it’s best I keep quiet. Inwardly, I’m seething.

Who could have thought Dale would be the bearer of the news? If I had stopped and thought about it, I should have guessed. The guy owns a gallery, after all.

Mental note to Mateo, never ever invite that prick to another one of my shows, and don’t send the usual Christmas card and hamper either.

Katherine is sobbing.

Before I realize what is happening, she’s throwing something at me. It lands with a metallic clang on the floor near my feet.

“Here’s your fucking key and key ring. Give it to the next model you pick up and fuck.”

And without another word, she turns on her heels and walks out.

I’m too numb to follow her. When the door slams shut, I slowly bend down to pick up the key ring.

That’s that then, I think and put the painful memory into the bottom kitchen drawer. It is the drawer with all kinds of useless things in it, the sort one finds in kitchens or laundries. It is the drawer least used in my apartment.

I don’t know how long I stand there. It could have been seconds, a few minutes or an hour.

In my mind, I replay what has just taken place. A hysterical Katherine barged in and accused me of something I’m not guilty of. The reason behind all of it: Dale. Dickhead Dale.

Eventually, I walk back into my studio. I don’t turn the music back on. My day has been ruined.

I walk over to my paintings, my babies. I stare at the one of Katherine. Then I find a cover and throw it over the artwork.

I will decide the fate of the nude tomorrow, tomorrow is another day after all.

I make myself a cup of coffee and convince myself what has just happened is for the better. Who needs an unstable emotional woman in their life? Not me, no thank you. I have been managing just fine by myself, and I will do so again. It was fun while it lasted and now it’s time to move on.

My coffee goes cold. I don’t feel like drinking it. I don’t feel like painting. I don’t feel liked doing much of anything.

I slump onto my couch and sigh. Why had she not even wanted to hear my side of the story? Surely, she of all people must understand there are two sides to every story. I never expected Katherine to be the person to jump to conclusions and act before asking some pertinent questions.

I put my head back against the couch. Such a pity, she is a real gem.

But who needs women? With sudden bout of energy I get off my butt and make my way into the studio. Time to brush into the canvass, time to show her I don’t need her in my life. I painted just fine before I met her and I will be just fine now that she has left my life so abruptly.

Blake

I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

How could you have been so stupid, my reflection screams at me. And I shake my head.

My spoon swirls aimlessly in my bowl. Not even my favorite breakfast cereal tastes any good any more.

With Katherine gone, it’s as if someone has taken all the oxygen out of my apartment.

The ship is sinking and I am the only one left on it. A voice deep down tells me to do something about this.

Mateo had tried to warn me. He said something about the art world being a small community and other things I no longer recall.

I toss my half-finished bowl into the sink. Silently I apologize to Camilla for the mess I’m leaving.

Was it arrogance on my part that had caused this train wreck? I should have known Dale would stick his head in where it doesn’t belong. After all, he had done the same with his dick.

I pace my apartment like a caged animal. The walls feel as though they are closing in on me. How could I have been so stupid?

Of course dickhead Dale would get into her ear: Dale whose dick had caused so much hurt and upset.

I kick my oversized exercise ball and watch it roll across the floor. With a sigh I walk to the studio. Maybe painting will help.

It is without any enthusiasm I mix my paints. I have to force myself to pick up a paintbrush.

Listless, I move my brush into the red and then make random strokes across the canvass.

A broken heart emerges. My broken heart.

I can’t understand what motivated Dale to blab to Katherine, particularly since he doesn’t know the whole story, the entire surprise.

I sigh.

Then I punch the canvass and see the red on my knuckles. Bastard. Prick. Asshole.

Take some responsibility man, my inner voice grumbles.

I finish smashing the canvass. I feel no better.

Maybe I should start over.

I grab another blank canvass and start again. This time I’m using yellow. A giant round face with tears running down its cheek shows up. It kind of looks like an emoji. It brings a smile to my face, briefly. From world-class paintings to fucking emojis – maybe that’s all I’ll be able to do without Katherine in my life.

I should have thought things through. If I had given it more thought, I would have realized Katherine is vulnerable. She had been in a relationship with a bloke who had totally betrayed her.

I try to picture what that would feel like. How would I feel if Katherine had been with another guy whilst we were together? The image is like someone kicking me in the gut.

Ok. So I have screwed up.

I made a complete mess of things.

Leaving the painting I have started, I cross the studio and pull the cover off my masterpiece.

As soon as my eyes see her, my dick stirs.

For once, stop thinking with your dick, I remind myself.

I needed to fix this but I’m not sure how. Should I destroy the painting? And then what?

At the thought of destroying this amazing piece of art, I feel as if someone is stabbing me right through the heart with a pointy dagger. No I couldn’t destroy it. If I destroyed it I had nothing left. This way I at least have Katherine on canvass.

But I if I want to get her back, I have to do something.

In total frustration, I pace the length of my studio. Pictures of Katherine doing this after she had seen the painting of herself flash into my mind.

I run both hands through my hair. There must be a way to make amends. I’m not the bad guy. Dale’s to blame. Dale and that shriveled cock of his.

I might have fucked some of my models, but I would never cheat on a woman, particularly a woman I love.

Love. A four-letter word that has so much meaning.

It hits me; I love Katherine.

Maybe if I…

A plan builds in the back of my mind. Maybe I should try again and this time, do it properly. This time I need to do it thinking about Katherine and not myself.

I grab my mobile. I need to make a call. In my haste I drop the darn thing and it falls to the ground.

I groan and pick it up. Now the blasted thing has gone totally black. Don’t tell me it’s broken. My finger fumble to find the On button and I press it down. I wait. I count to four, yet the stupid thing’s screen remains black. Surely one fall could not be responsible for the death of the phone, or could it?

What should I do?

Suddenly I recall I did not recharge my mobile the night before. Maybe it was just out of battery.

I almost run into the bedroom where I keep the recharge.

As soon as I plug it into power source, a little red symbol appears.

Phew, it only needs a recharge. For some reason it seems to take hours for the phone to have enough battery for the display to come to life.

I crouch down next to the bedside table and scroll through recent calls. I’m tempted to call Katherine but I know she won’t answer it. The last hundred or so had gone straight to message bank.

Should I try a text? No, this time I’ll have to do something more personal.

My fingers scroll through contacts and hit call when Mateo’s name appear on the screen.

“What’s up, man?” Mateo shouts into the phone. Judging by the background noise he is somewhere where music is being played too loud.

“The show will go ahead Mateo.” I say and wish I wasn’t restricted to crouching. I’m too worked up to be sitting still.

“I can’t hear you Blake.”

I shake my head.

“That’s better.” Mateo comes through loud and clear.

“I was calling to tell you the show will go ahead. I’ll be attending to some changes. But you make sure it goes ahead please.”

I end the call before my agent can ask questions. I have work to do. I need to win back the woman I love.

Katherine

“Do you want the red one or the white one?” Robin calls from the kitchen.

I squint as I rummage through the movie choices my best friend has brought with her to cheer me up. None of them will do. They are all romance films with spunky main characters and a happy ending.

A churning in my stomach has me almost run to the bathroom to throw up.

“Are there any bubbles?” I answer. I want something expensive, preferably French. Since the publication of my first book I have acquired several bottles of the expensive stuff, and the plan has been to drink them for a special occasion.

Well, this is a type of special occasion, I guess.

Tears threaten to spill yet again, and I quickly take a deep breath. Robin will kill me if she finds me a blubbering mess on the couch, again.

“I’m sure there’s some from the publisher in the door.” I call to her before she can respond. I hope my voice does not betray me.

Seconds later, Robin appears with two glasses, puts them down, and disappears again. When she reappears, she’s carrying a large tray of goodies.

My heart does a little somersault as I realize the effort my best friend has gone to. On the tray is the most amazing assortment of food. There’s an abundance of salty things, fatty foods and plenty of sugar. Did I mention there was plenty of a fatty food?

Robin picks up her glass and holds it out to me.

“What shall we toast to?”

My hand shakes just a little as I automatically recall the toast with Blake where he promised.

What a lying scumbag he turned out to be.

“Let’s toast to friendship,” I manage to whisper.

“Friendship.” Robin’s glass touches mine and I listen to the ping the crystal glasses make as they gently collide.

I close my eyes as I enjoy the cool bubbles dance across my tongue. When the champagne finally slides down my throat, I quickly take another sip.

“You need to try this.” Robin holds out a chunk of chocolate.

“Rocky road?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Better.”

I lie back into the mountain of cushions I have brought out from the bedroom onto the couch. This is the life. How long has it been since we had a girl’s night?

I steal a guilty glance in Robin’s direction. I have neglected our friendship a little since Blake had been on the scene.

“So what do you want to start with?” Robin holds up a couple of movies.

“Not sure,” I mumble. The lump in my throat grows again and those darn tears are always just below surface, ready to spill at the most insignificant of things.

“There’s Greek god, fine Englishman,” she scans the back cover. I’m not sure if she’s looking for a suitable description for the main male character, or if she cannot work out who is the actor. “Or we could go for dependable but not much to look at.”

I grimace.

Robin puts down the films, takes another sip of her drink, and then busies herself with food.

“You know,” she starts, and I hold up my right hand like a policeman directing traffic.

“Don’t.”

Robin devours what looks like one of those arancini balls and I’m reminded of the time I had Blake’s balls in my mouth. Those blasted memories stalk me day and night.

“What do you mean stop?” She has finished chewing. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.” Her lips are in a pretend pout.

I roll my eyes. “You were going to tell me to call Blake and talk things over with him.”

Robin smiles. “And what’s wrong with that?” Her fingers pick up different pieces of the delicacies to examine what’s on offer.

I sigh and slump into the cushions. For effect, I pull one over my face.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that idea,” I say and pull the cushion away. “It’s a stupid idea. Just like getting involved with Blake was a mistake in the first place.”

“A big fat mistake.” I shake my head. “I should have learned my lesson with Dale.”

“Men are useless and only able to think with their dick,” I continue. “I mean, I stumbled right into the next bloke who had a reputation of fucking his models and then discarding them. I knew. I knew and still I went ahead to make a fool of myself.”

I stop and look at Robin who is grinning at me.

“What’s so funny?” I demand.

Robin leaves her seat and comes over to wrap her arms around me. She squeezes me and then let’s go. “You are what I’m laughing at. Listen to yourself. Are you trying to talk yourself into Blake being the bad boy you actually don’t know him to be?”

My head hurts, and I’m not sure I understood what Robin just said.

Before I can ask her to repeat it, and this time in English, a knock at the front door interrupts our peaceful evening.

With my heart beating a little faster than usual, I walk over and open up. Given my track record, I’m a little more cautious about visitors.

“Mademoiselle Katherine?”

I nod in acknowledgement.

He’s not a policeman, but the young man is wearing a uniform of sorts. He hands me a large white envelope, and is gone before I can say anything else.

Confused, I head inside and hold up the envelope for Robin to see as I sit back beside her.

“Open it, “demands Robin and watches me turn the strange stationary over.

“It doesn’t say who it’s from,” I hesitate.

This time, its Robin’s turn to roll her eyes.

Slowly, I take a silver knife from the tray and slide the envelope open. I pull out a large white invitation with purple letters on it.

Invitation for Katherine is written in the centre with a flourish. Underneath it are the words Art Show of Blake . Below that says Invitation for one.

Robin reads the words the same time I do and claps her hands.

I’m confused. An art show for one?

“He’s going ahead with the art show but only inviting you.” Robin is near delirious with joy, she’s practically bouncing on her seat.

“So?” I have mixed feelings and don’t know what to make of it.

“He’s trying to make it up to you.” Robin is talking slowly as if I’ve suffered a head injury. I hear the Duh? at the end of the sentence even if she doesn’t say it. “You are going, aren’t you?”

Up until she asked, I wasn’t sure. It’s so strange. What if I make another mistake?

I can’t help but notice the writing is in purple, though, not gold or black, the way these things are usually done. Had Blake remembered I told him my favorite color is purple?

“Katherine?” Robin prompts.

I look at her and make a decision. “I suppose I’ll go.”

Katherine

I take a deep breath and glance at my reflection on the window of the little antique shop next to the gallery.

My knee-length black dress hugs my body and I smile. Someone once told me to feel good, you must look good. And who has not read the book Clothes Maketh the Man ?

Tonight, with all kinds of insects crawling over my skin and insides, I find it is so true.

It has taken me several hours to find the perfect dress. At first I had been tempted to go in a tracksuit and sneakers. But who was I kidding? I would not feel good if I turned up looking like a tramp. And so I spend an hour trying on different outfits.

In the end Robin had chosen this dress.

Whilst on the face of it, it looked black, in the light you could see streaks of deep purple reflected in the material. It’s a low-cut dress, so I decide to wear a long silver necklace with a pen pendant on top of it.

Accessories are everything.

A matching purse was hanging over my shoulder with only my phone and a credit card in it. I had no plans to use the ladies nor touch up my makeup. I was pretty sure I would not be staying long.

Little diamond studs are my earrings of choice for the night, and black velvet shoes with high heels and little bows on the front of them complete my look of sophistication.

It takes all my courage to push the heavy doors of the art gallery open.

The bright lights highlight the emptiness of the space. As I slowly put one foot in front of the other, I realize there is no one else here. Well, no one besides Blake and now me.

With my heart beating wildly in my chest I take tentative steps toward the centre of the gallery. I can see paintings along the wall. There are numerous paintings. My eyes wander from one to the other but I cannot see the painting I’m looking for.

I feel Blake’s eyes on me. His gaze travelling slowly from my head to my toes. My nerve endings instantly start to tingle. I’m not here to fuck him, I tell myself and pull my shoulders back a little further.

Slowly I make my way toward the first painting. I’m mesmerized by the display of color. It appears to be an abstract work of art. As I stare at it, I can feel the joy emanating from the picture. Yellows, light pinks and reds dance on the canvass in joyous movements.

I move onto the next one. Blake has come up behind me. I wish he stayed where he’d been when I entered the gallery. He hands me a champagne flute.

“Care for a drink, madam?” He looks nervous.

I mumble something like thank you and am careful to take the glass from him without any skin contact.

As I walk from painting to painting, I realize I’m reliving the development of our relationship. It’s all there in abstract art and wonderful colors. The blues are so melancholic I swallow back the tears.

The last one is the one that really tugs at my heartstrings. A black background with dark red lines scrawled in a messy fashion over the canvass clearly depicts heartbreak.

My own heart seems to break again as I stare at it. There is no way I could have written the end of our relationship any more emotional than Blake had been able to depict it in art.

I swallow. Had I been wrong? Had I acted too quickly?

Now his hands are on my shoulders. He stares at me intently.

“Blake,” I whisper and once again, I, the wordsmith am lost for words.

“Kath, I –” he starts and I interrupt.

– I’m sorry. I …was hurt and jumped to conclusions and…”

He puts his finger on my lips. It takes all my effort not to kiss it.

“I should have explained what I was planning.” He points to the exhibition and continues. “This is the exhibition I was planning all along. I wanted to surprise you and dedicate it to you. You are my muse, my inspiration.”

“Blake,” I try again. How could I have been so stupid and simply believed that two-timing, no good Dale?

“I should have –” again Blake interrupts me.

“Hush.” His eyes bore into my mine and I think he’s looking right into my soul. “Maybe we could have both done things a little better. Maybe both of us should have handled things differently. But that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is, you are here tonight, one of the most important nights of my life.”

I watch, with my mouth parted already, as he lowers his head and our lips combine, melting into each other. His tongue probes, almost asks for permission to be let in. In answer, my tongue meets his.

I feel his hands on my lower back, drawing me tightly into him. Through the think fabric of my dress, I instantly feel his hardness and it takes all my effort not rip his clothes off here and now.

When his lips leave mine they yearn for more. I want him and I want him now.

Before I can wrap my arms around him he takes me by the hand.

“Come, there’s one more painting you should see.”

He leads me to the very back of the gallery where a black cloth is covering a large canvass.

Blake pulls the sheet off with one swift movement.

I hold my breath as my gaze take in what has been unveiled before my eyes. Tears threaten to spill and I bite my bottom lip.

“Oh Blake,” I whisper and look at him. “It is truly a masterpiece.”

I’m looking at my nude, and goose bumps are forming on my bare arms.

Blake

I must tell her, but I wait a little. I’m bathing in her innocent, genuine joy. She really is the goddess I have captured on the canvass. Every stroke on that picture reflects every minute detail of Katherine.

Even if I have to say so myself, it is the greatest painting of my career, even Michael Angelo would offer me his praise.

Like a good wine, I need to savor her, take in every last detail. I send silent thanks to the universe for making sure she came. There had been darks hours earlier when I had paced the art gallery not knowing if she would show.

When I first came up with the idea, I wasn’t sure what I would do if Katherine did not come; I still had no back up plan right up until the door opened and she had walked in. I had gone out on a limb and to my utter amazement it had worked out –at least so far.

There’s one more thing to do before my master plan is complete, but I’m in no hurry. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying this moment a little longer.

Katherine says nothing. She has her back turned toward me and is simply staring at herself in all her glory.

Eventually, I take a step forward and turn to face her. She smiles.

“I want you to know I meant what I promised.”

Her brow furrows and I resist the urge to place a kiss there, reassure her there’s no need to worry.

“But,” there’s hesitation in her voice. “The painting is great and…” she falters, the inner struggle all too obvious on her face. She is an open book as far as her feelings are concerned.

I reach down and pick up a bottle.

“You don’t understand,” I tell her.

“This painting is nothing. It’s inconsequential compared to you.” I point at her. “You’re all what matters. You are a masterpiece.”

I can see confusion on her face.

“I don’t understand.”

Taking a step toward the painting I aim my bottle at it. Now that I’m about to do it, doubt knocks on the door of my mind. Is this really necessary or am I being overly dramatic. Could I make my point some other way?

After taking a deep breath, I continue. “I don’t need the world to see this. I want the world to see you by my side.” And without any further hesitation, I start squirting the insides of my bottle at the painting.

“I want you to believe me that this does not mean as much to me as you do.”

Pale pinks, brown, and other colors run down the canvas. The solvent starts to do its work. Like a hungry caterpillar, it eats away at the color. I smear more and more all over the painting. Soon you cannot recognize what had been drawn.

“I…” Katherine starts but does not finish her sentence.

Like a madman, I rub the liquid all over the painting until there is nothing left of my masterpiece. I stop and stare at the ruined piece of art.

In my planning stage, I had mulled over a lot of different options on how I could convince Katherine I would never display this picture. At first, destroying it seemed too drastic. After all, it’s a great piece of art we could have hanging somewhere private, for just the two of us to enjoy.

But after much soul-searching, I realized as long as it was around, the painting would be the barb you don’t want in the relationship. The barb had to be destroyed, and Katherine have to witness the destruction.

I glance at Katherine to gauge her reaction and mood.

To my surprise she’s smiling.

“I can’t believe you just destroyed a great piece of art.”

I shrug.

“I didn’t destroy the greatest artwork. The greatest artwork is our love. Without our love, I’m nothing. Without our love, the world is an empty place for me.”

Her mouth is open just enough for me to see her white teeth and a bit of her tongue. Oh how I’ve missed that mouth. I feel the desire rage through me like a wildfire. If I don’t move on to the next stage of the planned evening things might go out of hand.

I go down on one knee, like a knight kneeling before his queen. Of course, that is exactly what I am doing; kneeling before my queen, queen Katherine.

My eyes find hers. She’s smiling. Lust is in her eyes. She will have to wait just a little bit longer.

I take her hand and my eyes don’t leave hers. I want this to be just right. I don’t want to mess this up.

I cannot understand blokes who resort to technology to do this sort of stuff. What emoji could convey my true feelings to this great woman I love? Romance should still be done face to face.

My left hand pulls the ring out of my pocket. The large diamond catches the light and sparkles between the two of us. I can almost feel little electric shock waves pulsate through her body.

“Katherine,” I start and put the ring on her ring finger. “Will you do me the honor and accompany me on the long road of life? Will you be my wife?”

She seems to take forever to answer. And in that time darkness descends over me. In that instance I know that a life without Katherine is a life lived in darkness.

I hold my breath and my eyes never leave hers.

I watch her face, a reflection of anticipation, processing and finally recognition of words fading in one after the other.

“Yes,” she whispers and then again, “yes,” a little firmer and louder.

Instantly I stand up and pull her toward me. My lips crush down on hers and my tongue forces its way through her lips. I want to show her how much I love her, I want to possess her and I want her, right now.

Katherine

I pinch myself and when I feel a little pain in my cheek, I know I’m not dreaming. Of course it’s easy to understand why I would be thinking I’m dreaming. I mean how many women can say their life goes from being flushed down the toilet to fairy tale status in a matter of hours? Not many I bet.

“Stay here,” Blake whispers in my ear and I don’t think I could move even if I wanted to.

My lips ache for his to return and each and every one of my nerve cells is tingling with anticipation of being touched by the man of my dreams, Blake.

I glance at my ring finger and play with the diamond ring on it. It is real; I didn’t imagine the whole thing.

I look around but I can’t see a chair. My legs feel a little wobbly. I think alcohol on an empty stomach has left me a little light headed.

Tempted as I am to call Robin, I don’t. I don’t want Blake to return and find me talking on the phone. The moment is too special and too personal to ruin it by calling my best friend.

Part of me cannot believe Blake just destroyed his most amazing painting. I look back at the canvas, which looks awful. Instead of my nude, there’s now just some smeared bits of color.

I had not really wanted him to destroy it, although I have to admit as far as a declaration of love and commitment goes, it was pretty awesome. If Dale ever dares to show his face anywhere near me again I won’t be held responsible for how I react.

It was hard to believe that not so long ago I had hoped for Dale to propose. Isn’t life strange?

I smile and see Blake coming back pushing a silver trolley.

“I thought we should celebrate here.”

The trolley sports a silver ice bucket with a bottle of French champagne sticking out. There are two clean champagne flutes, filled to the top. I spot a selection of oysters and a seafood platter to die for.

“Wow,” is all I manage to say.

After I let the first oyster slide down my throat, I look at Blake.

“Thank you,” I say and he stops mid oyster.

I love the way he tilts his head to the left when he is unsure of what is happening.

“I want you to know what you did tonight is just amazing. I’m sorry I doubted you, I’m sorry I did not trust you.” The words tumble out of me.

I need him to understand he is the most important thing in my life. I need him to know I trust him completely and I will always be by his side.

Somehow the words don’t seem enough.

“I think I’ve been wanting to spend the rest of my life with you the moment I saw those sketches you drew of me.” I close my eyes. There’s so much more I want to say.

When I open them, Blake is holding a small jewelry box in his hand.

“There’s something else I need to give you.”

My right hand trembles a little as I reach for the little white box. Gingerly, I open it and hold my breath when my eyes took in the precious gift hidden inside.

Slowly, I pick up the key ring with the key to Blake’s apartment.

“You know, it’s not only the key to my – our – apartment, it’s the key to my heart.”

I blink a couple of times. I don’t want to cry and ruin my makeup.

I firmly close my fist over the precious gift. He truly is the most amazing man I’ve ever met.

I take a step toward him. He moves toward me.

When we are inches apart I put my hands on his chest. I feel his strong heartbeat.

I look up at him and smile.

“You make me so happy.” I place my forehead against his chest. My eyes are closed and I revel in the moment. This is so perfect. I feel his lips kiss the top of my head.

I look up at him again.

“I think you are the most amazing man,” I tilt my head back a little, waiting for his lips to meet mine.

When they do, an explosion of gigantic proportions erupts in my body. My brain turns to jelly and my hands move from his chest down his back, where they rest in the little groove just above his buttocks.

At first his kiss is soft, his lips caress mine, his tongue gently probes around my mouth. But then all of a sudden, he changes. His mouth presses down hard on mine and his tongue is pushing all boundaries, searching, devouring. and wanting more.

My body responds in kind. I push into him. I want more too. I want all of him. My hands move lower and start massaging his ass.

I can hear him groan. Our tongues are locked in a duel of passion.

When he pulls back I feel as if a part of me has been ripped off. I want him back. I want to taste those lips again. I need him back. Oh how I missed kissing him.

Without warning, his lips are back on mine. His hands cup my face. This time he places soft kisses on my mouth, my eyes, my nose, my cheeks and my lips again. Softly, his mouth moves all over my face, as if exploring it for the first time.

If he doesn’t rip my clothes off soon, I think I will go mad with desire. My skin is burning. He really knows how to push my buttons.

He stops and looks at me.

I look back.

“You know,” I start and smile at him, “I bet you will make something even greater than that painting after we are married.”

Another kiss on the tip of my nose.

“Why don’t we give it a go right now?” Blake’s hands leave my face, and I feel a shiver go up my spine as he grins.

Yes, let’s give it a go right now.

Katherine

I’m all over him, my mouth yearning for the taste of his lips, my hand aching for the smoothness of his skin. I kiss him wildly, our lips parting and letting our tongues dance around each other in a frenzy.

I lean into him and pop out the top button on his shirt. Doing it as delicately as I can, I unbutton his shirt, taking my time with each and every one of the button.

My heart starts hopping faster and faster as the rugged contour of his muscles jumps into view, his washboard abs making me become wetter. When I finally undo the last button, I push the shirt down his arms and stand up in front of him once, his tie still wrapped around my right hand.

He takes his hands to my back and, grabbing at the zipper on my dress, yanks on it and opens it. I arch my back, anxious to feel his naked chest pressing down on me; he grabs my hair and pulls me back, looking once more into my eyes. Holding my head in place, he takes his other hand to my back and unhooks my bra, pushing it down my arms.

Blake raises one hand to my waist and embrace my figure, pulling me against him. Then, no other place for us to go, he makes me lay down on the floor and follows after me.

My breasts feel his warm skin as I press them against his naked chest. I groan lightly as he sucks on my tongue, his hands going down to my backside and pulling me closer, the friction between our bodies enough to start an all-consuming fire.

Taken by an impulse he grabs my hair and pulls my head back, exposing my bare breasts. He takes my nipples into his mouth, softly sucking each one of them, his tongue tracing their outline with care.

At the same time, he places one hand on my knee and slides up my leg and under the hemline of my dress. He presses his hand against my drenched thong, and then moves fast and flicks it to the side.

Feeling me wet and wide, he slides two fingers deep inside me in a hook motion, my inner walls tightening around his fingers as they ravage me. Moving only his wrist, he pulls his fingers in and out of me – he starts slow but, as he picks up speed, my hips strain upwards once more, as if I desperately need for him to go as deep as possible.

He ups the pace, feeling my desire coming at him like an electric current.

My arms out of control, I dart for his crotch with both hands, pulling sideways at the opening in his pants and undoing all buttons with one fast pop. I pull them down, grabbing at his pants and boxers at the same time – his cock jumps up as it springs free, long and thick and ready.

I curl my fingers around his shape and start stroking him fast. I grit my teeth, as I grind my pussy against his hand as a wild and ferocious purr of pleasure keeps on growing in my throat.

I then have to take out my hands off of his cock. In under a second, my muscles burn in a frenzy. I cry out in pleasure as I come, delight completely ripping me apart – my whole body is burning up.

Still shaking, I take my hands out of his cock and claw them at his back, forcing him to lay on top of my naked body, his cock rubbing against my belly. Then, with a sideways motion, I make him roll to the side.

I jump on top of him and grab his big cock with both of my hands, a devilish smile on my lips. I lean into him and start kissing all over his chest, each kiss of mine going lower and lower, from his belly to where I really want my mouth to be.

I lean into him, my mouth dangerously close to the tip of his cock, but I stop a few inches before my lips brushed against it. I then grab his shaft by the root, tugging at his member so slowly my hand barely seems to move.

I am driving Blake mad and I know that too well. His whole body tenses up as my hand starts going up and down his length faster. I can tell a shiver goes up his spine as he feels my breathing against his cock, my mouth looking so tempting he is no longer sure of how he is resisting it.

I start jerking him faster and faster, cupping his balls with one hand. My motion flows freely from the base of his cock to its tip, a pendulum movement that is eating away whatever rationality and common sense still left inside him.

Opening my mouth slightly. I place it over his tip, my tongue brushing against it gently.

He feels the urge to thrust forwards, to make his cock slide down my lips in one swift motion and feel my whole mouth around him. But he waits, patiently, as I keep my own pace – my mouth widens slowly as I lean in, lips sliding over his length inch by slow inch, making his body suffer through a sweet slow boil.

He claws at my hair as I cup his balls again, my mouth finally filled with his throbbing member, the warmth and wetness of my insides almost making him dizzy.

I pull out as slowly as I did it before, leaning into him before I go down again, each coming and going motion of my head almost too much for him to endure.

He groans as my hand joins the pendulum motion of my mouth, stroking and sucking at a rhythm so perfect I’m sure he’s wishing for it to never end. He looks down at me, seeing his flesh going in and out of my mouth, and the sight of it makes his cock pulse hard against my tongue.

"I love you," He whispers towards me. Realizing he’s close, I lift my eyes up to him and, sliding back out and allowing his cock to pop out of my mouth slowly, I smile at him.

“I love you too Blake.”

It almost hurts me to not be touching him for a single second, but I have to let go of his cock as he takes his hands to my ankles and slides them up my legs. He leans into me, his lips gently kissing my knees, my inner thighs, my groins... He places his mouth over my thong and, breathing in, sucks hard, my scent and flavor so sweet he feels lightheaded.

I push my hips upwards, pressing my pussy against his mouth, my eager wetness coating his hungry lips. Then, unable to wait one second more, he pushes my thong aside once more, just enough so that he can taste my labia with the tip of his tongue.

He laps at me, flicking his tongue at my clit and circling it slowly; pressing his mouth there he sucks, the desire to taste me taking hold of him.

He pulls back for just one second, enough time for him to pull the thong down my legs. He takes another second to breath in as he dives into me again, burying his mouth in my wet pussy, devouring me carelessly as if he needs to do it to survive.

I feel two careful and gentle fingers brushing against my clit as I keep jerking my hips against his face. He doesn’t stop, he keeps going until I surrender to that sweet madness and start forcing his head down and up my hips, making him eat me out in the wildest and delicious way there is.

I just want his mouth in my pussy, as I fill the gallery with aching moans…

Parting my folds with his tongue, he slides one finger inside me again, making my hips sway wildly. He takes his forearm and places it over my belly, holding me down as, with his mouth and fingers, he claims me. I thrust my pussy against his face, fighting against the hold he has on me and, holding my position, I come as he devours me.

My mind being overwhelmed with pleasure, as the sound of my screams keep on echoing throughout the deserted galley. My legs are shaking as if they are not mine to command.

“No time to rest,” Blake suddenly tells me, jumping up to his feet and forcing me to do the same. He pushes me back toward a table that’s pushed back against the wall and I sit on it, opening my legs.

He lunges at me, leaning in, and moves his body to mine. Oh, how I want it, how I want him ! Everything in me is anxious for him.

And then his legs encase mine, the touch of his body on mine, and I feel his tip brushing against my pussy. With one single thrust he is inside me; I sigh, crazy and wild as pleasure bursts into me, shooting down all my senses. His cock fills me perfectly as if it´s shaped for me.

His body moves in a slow, steady pace, and I take deep breaths with every movement of his thighs. The desire to scream makes my throat go hoarse, and all I allow myself is an almost imperceptible moan. I lace my legs around his torso and pull him toward me, forcing him deep inside my pussy.

As if reading my mind, his pace increases at that exact moment. I go back to moaning in a whispered tone, the effort clawing at my throat. He leans into me, pulls back his mouth and takes his lips into my neck.

I close my eyes, feeling the very presence of him invading my body. I feel the pleasure he feels, I feel my own pleasure. I feel all the muscles of our bodies, tense and taut, singing a song that only we can hear.

“Fuck,” he groans, his cock throbbing hard inside my pussy. Close to coming, he then takes a deep breath to stop himself from exploding.

Grabbing me by the hand, he then makes me change positions with him; he sits in front of me and pulls me to his lap, our mouths finding each other in a heartbeat. I let myself get lost in his kiss, feeling his cock so dangerously close to my pulsing pussy again.

Before he can make a movement, I let my hands go to his cock and I raise myself up, pointing him at me. Slowly, I ease down onto him, pulling out from his kiss and moaning as I feel his cock feeding into me once again. I let myself fall on it, his length piercing me at once and forcing me to scream.

I start bucking my hips as fast as I can against him, and he guides my movements with his hands on my ass. I take my hands to his chest and, wanting to have some control over him, I push him down onto the table. I lean into him, my nipples inches away far from him.

He takes my hard nipple in his mouth and starts sucking it as my body rocks against his. He lets himself go willingly, his hands never leaving my ass. Swaying my hips, I ride him with abandonment, accompanying the upwards thrusts of his body.

Feeling his body on mine is perfect. It isn't just lust, or just desire. It is all those things but it is also something more. Closeness, comfort. And it feels good. It feels fucking good.

I ride him perfectly, going up and down in a flowing motion, his cock defenseless against the tight embrace of my pussy. I come up until only his tip is inside me and then back down once more.

I sway forward and backward, his shaft buried deep inside me. Grabbing my ass cheeks hard, his fingertips over the curve of my crack, he thrusts upward matching the rhythm.

As I ride myself to exhaustion, my coming and going motion only slowing down when I can’t go on any longer. And, when that happens, I’m already screaming at the top of my lungs. Pleasure makes its way up from my pussy and, in my throat, it turns into a raw and primal sound, exploding in the air like the sound of a grenade.

I think of rolling to the side, spreading my legs, and let him do the heavy lifting. But no, I want more than that. As such, I take my knees off the table and, with both feet on the side of Blake’s hips, I squat over him.

His cock is still inside of me, so all I have to do is take a deep breath and order my body to start moving again, which he does. I jump up and down on his cock, the thunder of the orgasm he gave me still roaring inside of me.

I go at him faster and faster, his fingers curling around both my breasts viciously. I look down at him, enjoying the look of pure joy and lust on the hard lines of his face, and I redouble my efforts. I keep on going up and down on him until I can’t take it anymore, my whole body as tense as a nocked arrow.

I erupt in pleasure again, ripples of it washing over me with such intensity that I simply collapse on top of Blake, my legs flailing as if they’re not mine to control. I bury my fingers on his chest as I endure the destroying force of my orgasm, surrendering to the perfection of it.

Giving me no time to rest, he pulls his body from mine and slips his hand under my ass. He forces me to stand and then he makes me turn my back to him, forcing me to bend over. I place my hands on the desk and do as we wants, jutting my ass back at him.

I feel his hand stroking my pussy, parting its lips, and then he comes back inside me, his cock piercing me with a single deep stroke.

He takes one hand off of my waist, and I wince as I realize what he’s going to do. I bite on my lips, hold my breath, and then I feel the palm of his hand landing heavily on my ass cheek. He does it over and over again, leaving an imprint of his fingers on my flesh, the sound of it echoing in the room.

“I want you to fuck me hard,” I moan, thrusting my ass back at him. He doesn’t make me beg – The moment the words leave my lips, I feel the tip of his cock brushing against my inner lips again.

After a heartbeat, his cock is sheathed to the hilt inside of me. He drives it all the way in, his fingers hooked on my hips as he thrusts and holds his position.

Slowly, he starts building up a rhythm, but he does it fast enough. In a matter of seconds the sound of his thighs slapping my ass fill the whole room and drown my brain in a symphony of lust.

“Harder,” I command him, and he obliges happily. He rocks his body so hard against mine that if he wasn’t holding me by the hips I’d just fall forward. At the same time, he laces my waist with one arm and takes two fingers to my clit, pressing on it while he ravages my pussy.

Fucking me while working my clit, he drives me so insane I don’t think I know my name anymore. I go from my hands to my elbows, barely enough strength left in my arms to support myself. And still he keeps on thrusting, his movements vicious and wild, a sweet wickedness to the way he has taken over my pussy.

My pussy tightens up around Blake’s shaft and I just explode. I let out a scream loud enough to shatter glass as the explosion goes off inside my body, and it feels like wasps are buzzing under my taut muscles. That burning sensation becomes almost unbearable, and it almost feels as if I’m really on fire.

My muscles are still twitching and burning, but I need more. I need him to fuck me until my conscious mind fades away entirely, and all that’s left of me is unbridled unconsciousness.

“I want more…I want you to…take all of me,” I find myself saying. Oh, God, I can’t believe I said something like this.

“Then you’ll have it,” he groans, taking his cock out of my pussy.

He places his hands on my ass cheeks and, spreading them wide, he then starts rubbing the tip of his cock up and down my crack. I grit my teeth as he presses his thickness against my asshole and I scream again as he starts sliding it in.

He does it without hesitation; he just slides it in at a steady pace, his thick shaft pushing my inner walls back on its way in.

I scream and he drives all of his inches into me, pounding me slowly at first, but then his pace grows. My body is rocking back and forth with each coming and going motion of his.

I don´t want him to stop. This time I want him to come as well. I need to have all of his seed.

“More, more…” I continue, my eyes closed shut as pleasure tears my brain apart. My ass tightens up around his shaft like a vice as I come again, waves of merciless pleasure crashing against both my mind and body, but this time I feel his cock pulsing too.

At the same time, I feel his cock pulsing violently and I realize that he’s close. I push my ass back against him, forcing his cock to go as deep as possible; with that, his cock throbs again, this time even more violently, and I moan as I feel him coming inside of me.

His cock buried deep inside my ass, and his fingers digging into my ass cheeks, he starts gushing out in a torrent. I hold still as he unleashes a torrent of cum inside of me. His warm semen fills me up, and it only takes a few seconds for it to start dripping out of my ass.

I sigh loudly as I feel juices starting to drip down my legs.

He keeps on gushing, the cum escaping my insides and tracing a path down his still erect cock. When his cock finally stops exploding inside me, he pulls back, taking it out of my ass and rolling to the side.

My eyes find his and, with a twinkle of amusement dancing behind my eyes, I smile.

He grins at me, his eyes, his face and ragged breathing telling me everything that I need to know right now.

“I love you, Blake. You’re everything to me.”

“I love you too,” he whispers back at me.

And that’s when I know I finally found happiness.