by Suzie Nelson
“Maybe, you’re projecting your own dark and nasty feelings on me.”
He chuckled to himself. “Melody, if I got dark and nasty with you, there would be no maybes or doubts. You would know.”
Our session continued like that. Words filled with promise. Flirting on both sides. And every now and then, a low groan would slip from those full lips of his. And my body would react. Warmth centered between my thighs. My nipples grew hard and yearning to be touched.
And we were just in a room, creating art. Never had I experienced something so hot and passionate in the creative process. Never had I been moved so easily by any man.
Watching him draw inspired me to write a hero that was an artist who fell in love with a woman that he asked to model. Chapters rushed to my head. I could see her coming to his house full of nervousness, but confident all the same. I could see the modeling session. It would be just like ours, boiling hot and lust thickening the air.
Yes. Just keep it on paper. Don’t mess with him in real life. Make love to him on the paper.
But still, I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. With each pose, I made sure he remained in my view. And at no moment, he complained.
We talked a little more, but silence filled the rest of time. And so, our communication shifted to nonverbal messages of desire. With some poses, I exposed more skin, taunting him with my bare flesh, loving how he tried to stifle a groan. Other times, he seared me with a fiery gaze, that filled me with arousal. Once, I released my own low moan.
It was a heated exchange of my teasing poses and those looks from him that touched me down to my core.
In the middle of the session, he took his shirt off, and I wasn’t sure if he was hot or raising the stakes, taunting me as I teased him. Once his shirt fell to the ground, he sped up his movements. The charcoal danced and skated on the pages. The muscles on his arm flexed with his actions. Desire pulsed within me. And I squeezed my thighs together unable to look at him anymore without touching myself.
Since becoming a struggling writer, I didn’t have time to date. Once I took the second job at Spin, my regular social life went out the window too. It had been a long time, since I’d enjoyed the pleasures of a man. And never in my life, had I experienced a man like him.
Is he as passionate in bed, as he is with his art?
By the second hour, Hugo no longer drew. He’d sat on the floor only a few feet away from me. So close, he could reach his hand out to touch me. And I couldn’t deny it, my skin craved his caress.
He paused from sketching and stared at me, searing my flesh with his gaze. “You saved me. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t save you. I just helped a little.”
“No.” He set the sketch board on the ground next to him. “I owe you.”
“You’ve already given me this pretty coat and you’re going to sign a big check. We’re even.”
“No. You don’t understand.” He scooted closer and leaned his side against the couch. Taking a break, I lay my head on the pillow near his shoulder. I’d thought modeling would be super easy, but I’d discovered that holding positions caused an ache in muscles that I’d never considered. I would have to stretch tonight and soak in a hot bath.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“I scheduled a masseuse for after your session. Do your arms and legs hurt?”
“They do.”
“Then, promise me something.”
“Sure.”
“Always tell me the truth, when I ask, if you’re okay.”
“I was okay. I can handle a few aches here and there.”
“Yes,” he whispered, “but I want to take care of every place that hurts.”
It was hard to breathe with him so close, and me so naked.
“I’m a big girl, Hugo. Independent and awesome. I can handle all the places that hurt.”
“Yes, but until I saw you yesterday, I was restless, depressed, and buying albums to distract myself from my lack of inspiration. And then the heavens parted and you appeared.”
“More like, I walked out of the kitchen.”
“That too.” He smiled. “You make jokes, when you’re nervous.”
“And how do you know that I’m nervous?”
“You’re clutching the top of that fur like it holds your heart inside of your chest, and if you let it go, you’ll die.”
I swallowed. “Maybe, you make me nervous.”
With that heated gaze of his, he leaned toward me. “Is it only when we’re this close?”
His cologne swirled around me. I inhaled it and found myself lost in him, in the moment, in the soft fur along my body, in the art beautifying the room. So close, I drowned in Hugo and didn’t want to rise to the ocean’s surface. I wanted to stay at the bottom and be full of him.
“You didn’t answer my question.” He turned his attention to my lips. “I only asked because...when I’m this close to you...I’m very nervous.”
Desire surged through me.
“You excite me.” Fire blazed through his eyes and he stared at me as if he was in a trance. And it was crazy, but I felt those same flames too, raging inside of my core.
“Maybe, it’s the passion,” he said. “We both have it. You thrive off the passion for writing. And if someone told me that I could never paint again, I might...”
“Jump off the tallest building,” I finished his sentence. “Yes, I know exactly how you feel.”
So close, if I moved forward a few inches and he did too, we would be kissing.
Silence moved between us and something else bridged between us too. It was hot and volcanic and bubbling at the top, ready to over flow. If we’d been anywhere else, doing anything else, I might’ve taken a chance. But in the end, this was a job. And he was a handsome, rich man that probably had a long list of women waiting to get inside his bed.
I sat up on the couch and made sure the coat was still closed. “Is the session almost over?”
Disappointment showed in his eyes, but he nodded. “Yes, it is.”
I glanced at his sketch pad, but he shook his head and closed it. “No. No. Do you show your chapters, before you’re done?”
“Never.”
He rose from the floor and towered over me. “Then, you’re being a very naughty model by looking at my work, before it’s finished.”
“Hmmm,” I stood up and the fur coat gathered around my legs, draping me in soft elegance. “I hope you don’t discipline your naughty models. I’m known to be very bad.”
Smiling, I dragged myself away.
Catching me off guard, he captured my arm and gently turned me around. “Hold on.”
I looked up into that gorgeous face. “Yes?”
“I shouldn’t ask you, but I really want to.” He paused from talking and slipped his fingers down the arm of my coat and then captured my hand.
“What shouldn’t you be asking?”
“Will you have dinner with me?” he said.
Warmth spread across my skin. If he’d taken off my coat and kissed on any inch of me, I might’ve orgasmed right there. That very fact scared me. This was too fast. With sex and love, I took my time. Granted, I usually got bored as hell with the guy, but I always took my time.
And here Hugo had my body blazing with lust and he’d barely touched me or spent that much time with me.
Yet, curiosity peeked my interests. “Why shouldn’t you ask me out to dinner?”
“Because for the first time in years, I have a muse. I don’t want to throw that away with dinner and what could happen after dinner.”
“What could happen after dinner? That very presumptuous of you, just because I write naughty, doesn’t mean I am naughty.”
“We’re both adults that wear our passions on our sleeves. I can see the desire glowing off you, just like you can see the lust all over my face.” He trailed his thumb along the lines of my palm. Shivers of delight ran through me. He clo
sed the small distance between us and pressed his hard body against mine. “We both want each other. Tell me, if I’m wrong?”
It wasn’t fair of him to ask me that, not with me being naked and horny under the fur coat. Not with him seducing me the entire session. Not with his sexy, poetic words and the hunger glowing in his gaze.
“Tell me,” he said again. “Am I wrong?”
“No.”
He could’ve wrapped his arms around me or leaned down and press his lips against mine, but he remained in control and precise like a hunter. “What are we going to do about this feeling between us? It’s only one session and I’m this close from tearing that coat off you.”
My breathing turned heavy.
“We’re both smart. We see our art as more important than anything else. Surely, you’re not making waitressing a career. You’re doing it to get by. To pay a bill. To buy more tools to create more works. The fire that blazes inside of you, burns inside of me too. I can see myself in you.”
Without hesitation, I whispered, “I feel the same way.”
“Then, what do we do? What do you do, when passion for a man gets in the way of your work?”
“I don’t know. That’s never happened to me,” I admitted. “My writing comes first. Even when I try to make a honest effort with a guy, I always forget to call. I always let too many weeks go by, without seeing him. After a while, his needing my time begins to annoy me. I’ve stopped dating just to not hurt anyone’s feelings anymore.”
“So basically, you’re the female version of me.”
I touched my chest. “No, you’re the male version of me.”
He pulled me back to him. “I enjoyed our session today.”
“I did too.”
“Then, are we being greedy by wanting more?”
I bit my bottom lip. I could barely think with him so close to me, his muscular chest molding against me.
What should I do?
“Maybe,” I said. “We should get this out of our system.”
“Then, have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
I tried to clear the lusty fog in my head to think things through, but nothing came up except images of Hugo naked, standing over me, and covering my body with paint. With that image, my breathing shifted to panting.
“Okay,” I said. “Just dinner for now.”
“Just dinner,” he nodded. “For now.”
“And we take this slow.”
“I agree.”
“And we never forget the art. We stop, if it gets to be too much.”
He licked his lips. “And what if we don’t want to stop?”
My confidence weakened. “Then, we’re screwed.”
Chapter 3
Hugo
The art series had to come first, but Melody was like no other model or woman.
In just one session, I wanted to know everything about her. In just one session, I became so stiff in my pants that I had to remain standing behind the canvas to not scare her away. In just one session, I said forget hiding behind the canvas and sit right next to her, breathing in her sweet scent.
How unprofessional?
Models didn’t represent objects of desire. They were supposed to be studies of beauty. And while Melody triggered inspiration, desire also surged through my blood and throbbed in every bone, every time I looked at her. She was potent with charm. She made my heart stir and my body crave more.
After she left, I kept wondering why I hadn’t taken her on that long black couch. Why hadn’t I slide the fur coat and exposed her naked body? Why hadn’t I slipped my fingers along that soft skin.
All night, I dreamed of her.
By the early morning, I could no longer resist the urge that was burning in my veins. The urge to create. And so, I sketched and painted the images of Melody the whole day, taking just a few minutes off to send her a gift. It was a Bali couture dress of exquisite craftsmanship—beige tulle embellished with rose beads and frayed chiffon. I respectfully asked her to wear it that evening and delivered an arrangement of fresh pink roses to persuade her even more. I knew it would be worth the eight thousand dollars I spent, to see her in it that evening.
She’ll be lovely in it.
When the set, my nerves flared on edge. I arrived at her place an hour early and just waited outside.
What the hell is wrong with me?
And when I finally went to the door and she opened it, my heart stopped. The dress didn’t make her more beautiful, she complimented the dress. My fingers yearned to rip that tulle off her. The elegant gown left her shoulders bare. I imagined it slipping away from her body and falling to the ground. It was so tempting to decorate those bare shoulders with soft, slow kisses.
I opened my mouth, but no words left.
She blushed. “Thank you for the dress.”
I calmed the desire rising in my chest. “Thank you for wearing it tonight.”
I had more to say, but it would’ve been nothing gentlemanly.
Chatting about our day, we headed to South Beach where I’d made reservations at Midnight Fairy.
I hope she likes the place.
It was a restaurant serving high end southern cuisine—gourmet fried chicken and the best cornbread on the East Coast. Miami Daily had awarded them with their signature soft shell crab dish as the must-eat of the city. At the height of decadence, the space displayed elaborate lighting and lavish furnishings. Midnight Fairy was located right on Ocean Drive. Our table was on the balcony, facing the full moon as it bathed the beach in a haunting glow.
“Aren’t you Hugo Vale?” The waitress flirted with me, staring for too long, batting her eyes, and even stroking my shoulder.
“Yes, I am,” I smiled. “Can I have a few minutes of privacy with my date?”
“Oh, of course, Mr. Vale.”
After she left, Melody said, “She looks like she likes you.”
“That’s why I wanted some privacy. Should I ask for a different waitress?”
“No.”
“I want you to be comfortable.”
Her smile widened. “Thank you, but I’m not worried.”
“Good, and understand this, you’re the only woman I’m interested in this evening. No one else will take my gaze from you. Trust me.”
Maybe the waitress understood why I’d been taken aback because the rest of the evening, she kept it professional, returning minutes later and pouring two glasses of complimentary champagne.
I raised my glass.
Melody followed.
“To an amazing evening,” I said.
“Yes, to an amazing evening.”
“At Midnight Fairy, there are no menus,” I said. “The chef gets inspired the day before and decides on what he’ll serve everyone, before the restaurant opens.”
“Wow. This should be fun.”
“I hope so.”
She took a sip and then asked, “Did you paint today?”
How funny that all the women I’ve taken on dates, she’s the first one to ask?
“I did. I painted several images of you.”
She quirked her eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yes. Next session, I’ll show you.”
“I can’t wait. I wish you would’ve brought them with you.”
“Maybe I can take you to the studio tonight and show you.”
She held a wicked grin. “Is that how you get women to come back to your mansion, you tell them that you want to show them your art?”
“No, I usually just ask if they want to go back to my mansion. It’s something about the very word mansion, that gets most to say yes.”
“I imagine so.”
“Either way. Enough about my superficial dates and painting. Tell me about your erotica. I would love to know everything. Leave nothing out.”
“I bet you would.”
I leaned my head to the side. “Are you insinuating that I’m a horny guy?”
&n
bsp; “I am.”
I tipped my glass as if I was toasting. “Then you are correct.”
She laughed. “What do you want to know?”
“Why do you like to write erotica?”
“I want to inspire and arouse. When a person picks up a book and turns the pages, they slip into a world that they never believed could exist. They live a different life as another person. They experience things that make them feel more alive.”
