by Mira Gibson
It was then that Hunter asked, “What’s the sculpture really called?”
Looking down at him and touching eyes, though she knew it was dangerous to do so, she said, “Old Flame.”
“Old Flame? Like the one that got away?”
Holding his gaze was enough of an answer and when her point landed, he asked, “What about a new one?”
Hearing that, the suggestion in his deep voice, seeing his green eyes brighten with a hint of how else they might spend the hour, Greer begged herself to blurt out something sarcastic or insulting or at the very least turn for her clay, but she felt magnetized and could do nothing more than look down at him with eyes just as bright as his. She knew it was over when her face fell into a serious expression, one without her usual shields and guards, the mask she wore for so many people.
Perhaps sensing her willingness, Hunter grazed his hand up her thigh, his warm fingers ascending over her thin, leggings, but he stilled just shy of her hip.
His voice a whisper and his eye flicking to her leg, he said, “I like this.”
Without so much as an echo of sarcasm, she asked, “My leg?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “I like your tits too. And your pretty mouth.”
All of a sudden Greer couldn’t tell if she was breathing, but was fairly certain she wasn’t. The only thing she knew for sure was that a hot rush of tingles was sweeping through her, culminating between her legs in blossoming arousal.
As if she wasn’t already crumbling, he added in a deep whisper, “You’re making me hard.”
He wasn’t wrong. When she dared glance down the length of him, he became erect, growing thick and long until he was fully hard.
“Am I allowed to move?”
She snorted a laugh she hadn’t even felt coming, he was so cute asking for permission, and yet he didn’t wait for her to give it. He grasped his erection and began stroking himself. A thin groan escaped him and his eyelids grew heavy, then he glanced up at her, his lips parting, as he pleasured himself.
It was seriously hot.
“Can I look at you?” He asked gently.
Her voice was a thread, as she asked, “What?”
When he answered, it wasn’t so much a suggestion as a command. “Take your top off so I can look at your tits.”
Stroking his erection slowly and deliberately intrigued her and she grew wet. She had never seen a man masturbate, never studied the sly grin that was now coming over Hunter’s face, never drank in the sight of a man’s expression as it twisted, the slow blinks, and opening mouth. And because of it, Greer peeled off her cardigan and lifted her cotton tank up and over her head.
“Damn,” he groaned, staring up at her perky breasts, hard nipples, and the shape of her stomach and shoulders, as his eyes darted around like he couldn’t see enough of her at once. “Take off your leggings.”
Her response came out of her like weed over reeds. “And then what?”
“Then your panties.”
She nearly moaned at the thought, but managed to ask, “And then what?”
He was wriggling with pleasure and smiled, fading into a trance inspired by her body and the stimulation he was giving himself.
“Maybe you sit on my cock and get off, maybe marriage? Maybe something in-between? What do you want?”
A grin came over her face that he had his faculties enough to be sarcastic. That meant one of them was still in their right mind.
“Maybe you sit on my face and lick my dick. Don’t shoot down my ideas without contributing to the brainstorm, that’s just not fair.”
When she still wavered with indecision, Hunter sat up then stood before her and was cautious about grasping her hips. He angled his face so near hers, she stuttered out a shaky breath, feeling a fresh swell of arousal flutter between her legs until it blossomed into a burning ache she knew she wouldn’t be able to control.
Hooking his fingers under the waistband of her leggings, he worked them downward, lowering to his knees as he peeled the thin material to her ankles and freed her of them, one foot at a time. When he looked up at her, he looked so fucking sexy, dark hair akimbo, green eyes firing wild. He exhaled and the cool stream hit her white, lacy panties where the narrow strip hugged the apex between her legs. Then, slowly, never breaking eye contact, he pulled them down, and a moan escaped her in anticipation.
“It might not be my place,” he said. “But I think you should take real desire, lust, the stark emotions that fire when you’re in the throes of this, and find a way to put all that into your art.”
“Do you now?” She challenged.
“Yes,” he said with conviction. “I do.”
She wondered how he knew so much about it. He was just a model, wasn’t he? His very suggestion called to mind how often he did this. Maybe she wasn’t the first. Maybe she would be the next artist he bedded by virtue of the fact he was hot, naked, willing, and quite frankly, a bit too confident for any female artist who has been locked away and working too hard to resist.
Realizing this, Greer backed away and suddenly felt her profound lack of clothing. Wrapping her breasts with one arm and covering the light dusting of pubic hair with her other hand, she stared at him with new, discerning eyes.
“Why are you really here?”
Hunter got to his feet, wise enough to sense the dynamic had entirely changed in an instant.
“Greer, I think you’re hot.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, not buying it.
“I’m a guy. I went for it.”
She wasn’t convinced and meeting his statement with forced silence indicated as much.
Rather than explain himself, Hunter returned to the couch and struck the original pose with such exactness that she thought she might actually be able to get back on track.
But after she sat, disregarding her nudity, she poured more wine into her glass, stole a sip, and then wet her hands; he asked a question that once again pitched her into paranoid guardedness.
“Tell me about your gun.”
Chapter Five
From where he was lying on the couch, Greer looked like a porcelain goddess, her light brown hair spilling over her shoulder, the locks twirling over her right breast, its teardrop shape where the sculpture wasn’t blocking his view. The curve of her hip, which melted into the length of her thigh made it hard for him to concentrate or even breathe, but as riled up as he was, it wasn’t lost on Hunter that things had just gone south so hard and fast, he might never get the moment back.
He shouldn’t have asked about her gun.
Without taking her eyes off her sculpture, she bleakly stated, “This isn’t the best part of town.”
“So it’s a general precaution?”
“It’s something I don’t feel like discussing,” she countered, as if trying to sound reserved with nonchalance, but in the next moment, when she broke the genitals off her sculpture, he knew he had struck another nerve. She met his gaze, indicating the lump of clay in her hand that used to be a penis and testicles, and said, “Too big,” then let them fall into the water basin at her feet.
Hunter figured he deserved it and quietly said, “Thanks for keeping it real.”
He thought she might hit him back with another sarcastic remark to further lighten the mood, but she only shifted her stool so that the lines and curves of her tantalizing figure were entirely out of view, blocked by the sculpture.
“Why would you think I’m here for any reason other than modeling for you?” She didn’t crack, so he added, “I hope you’re not tying me in with your reason for carrying a gun.”
And it was true. He did hope that, but mainly because if she thought as much, it would mean she was onto him, though by his logic it would be a fierce overreaction on her part. What he had done wasn’t that bad, or so he told himself.
Greer had totally clammed up.
“You really think my dick is small?”
Her expression went slack as if to imply, it is now, and when he glanced
down at it, he was embarrassed to find he’d gone soft. He was about to suggest she angle her stool so he could see her, a reasonable argument in favor of him getting hard if that was what this modeling job required, but to Hunter’s surprise, she read his mind, rising from her stool and nearing him, her every step accentuating the gentle curves of her figure and causing her perky breasts to bounce slightly.
Gradually, he became erect, drinking in the sight of her.
When she spoke, her tone was soft and melodic. “You’re just a guy who went for it? Nothing more?”
He was afraid to speak. Any sudden movement might scare her off so he nodded as subtly as possible and dared a reply. “What else would I be?”
She reminded him not to move and his eyes widened, as she neared him, her shins meeting the couch. He liked how her gaze traveled the length of his body and when he detected the slightest smirk causing the corners of her mouth to lift, as she eyed his erection, Hunter was dying to find out what she might do next.
In a whisper, she said, “I’m tempted.”
“So am I.”
“Stop talking,” she ordered, though her tone was smooth. “No more questions.” She planted her knee on the couch and straddled him, looking down at his body, but didn’t lower. He could feel the heat rolling off of her, as she added, “If we do this, I’m not going to want to see you again.”
Christ, she was perfect. Not that he never wanted to see her again, but a woman who was willing to take what she craved with no plans of looking back, was incredibly sexy.
Still, he wondered how this might play out. “Won’t you need to finish your sculpture?” When she glared at him, he said, “Sorry. No talking. Got it.”
“I’m pretty good at working from memory as long as it’s fresh in my mind.”
She was lowering down and soon he felt the wet heat of her soft labia resting along his hard shaft. The weight of her, the sight of her breasts, her hair spilling over them, and the smooth wall of her stomach, the shape of her hips, was almost more than he could take, and when Greer began arching and tucking her back, sliding the slick sheath of her vagina up and down his erection to stimulate herself without inviting the length of him inside, Hunter knew it would be his undoing.
He groaned and reminded himself not to move, though his hips were already bucking.
Leaning forward, Greer planted her hands on the couch above his shoulders and as soon as she did, the tips of her locks hung in his face, but she smoothed them away so he could glance at her breasts. She was growing more and more wet, slipping along his penis where a drop of dew emerged.
“I want to touch you so badly,” he groaned.
“Okay,” she whispered in a breathy moan.
Slowly and without any sudden movements, he cupped her breasts. They were exactly a handful and beyond perfect because of it. As he gently grazed his thumbs over her nipples, hoping she would like the stimulation, Greer let out another breathy moan.
“I can lick these,” he offered, but soon realized she was floating off into her own world and might not have heard him. Her eyes were closed and she was thrusting along his erection with more and more pressure, using him to work herself into the degree of foreplay she required. “I can lick you.”
He was getting lost in the feel of her, but soon wondered if she was readying herself to take his hard erection inside of her, or if this was the main event. Not that he would turn his nose up at it. A sexy woman masturbating herself against his cock was right up there with Christmas, but if he wasn’t going to see her again, ideally they would use the time to fuck.
Hoping all she needed was a little incentive, he told her, “I’m really good with angles. I can work your clit when I’m inside you. Scout’s honor. Promise.”
She smiled, relaxing into a breathy laugh, as she opened her eyes and met his gaze.
“I don’t sleep with just anyone,” she explained.
“Yeah,” he said, glancing around. “This is nothing like sleeping together.”
Gently, she smacked his face, but it was playful.
“I’m paying you,” she pointed out. “So I really can’t turn this into something illegal.”
He couldn’t argue with her there, except to say, “Then don’t pay me.”
“You’re kidding?” She slowed her sensual gyration along his erection, poised to hear his response, but when he bucked his hips, prodding her to continue, she began stirring all over again.
“I’m not kidding,” he said. “I want to thrust into you and feel you and fuck you and watch you come all over my dick. You’re kind of killing me right now.”
Again, she stilled, but this time she took a moment to really study his expression and after a beat she said, “Okay.”
Lifting up, she braced the couch back with her hand and wrapped the other around his penis. The second she held him, a hot surge of desire shot through him and he tucked his hips, sliding his erection up and down her warm hand and groaning, but it didn’t last. Greer angled the length of him upwards until he felt the hot, wet sheath between her legs begin to press around his penis.
When she lowered down, expanding slowly to accommodate his girth, he groaned and got swept up in the silky feel of her. Deeper and deeper he penetrated her, as Greer moaned and gasped in breathy surprise at his shape, until he filled her and she was sitting flush against his hips.
Leaning back, she began thrusting, rising and falling, riding him and moaning softly. The sight of her was amazing, but the feel of her was insane. Her breasts jiggled every time she fell flush against him and when she rose up again, sighing then gasping at the angle, he could sense she wasn’t far from the edge. And that was a good thing. She was too sexy. He wasn’t sure how long he could hold off from exploding into the slippery heaven between her legs.
He grazed his hands up her thighs, traveling the soft lines, until he found her clitoris with his right thumb. The tight mound was slippery and when he began massaging it using firm but gentle pressure, she arched her head back, moaning and thrusting faster.
He wanted to tell her that she looked incredible, that she felt amazing, and that he wanted to come with her, at the same moment, but as he formed the words in his head he knew they would sound trite or cheesy or insincere. So he held his tongue, deciding that if she wanted to voice her experience to connect, he would reciprocate. But until then, he would keep his mouth shut, except to pant. He was edging closer and closer towards coming.
“There,” she breathed, as she rocked her hips, working his erection deep inside of her.
His thumb had been tracing a tight and slow circle around her clit so he kept the pressure and pace exactly the same, since it seemed to be working for her.
Greer’s mouth opened wide and her breathing quickened so fast that an orchestra of gasps and moans flossed up her throat and the next thing Hunter knew, the tight sheath of her body was clamping hard and expanding in fast alternation, the evidence of her fluttering climax.
“Oh, yes,” she cried out, riding the waves of her pleasure.
“Damn, Greer,” he groaned, on the brink. “You’re so fucking sexy I can’t hold off.”
“Not yet,” she ordered, riding him harder and faster. His thumb could barely keep hold against her clitoris, but the way she was moving, he assumed she might not need that aspect anymore. “I’m still coming.”
Shit, he thought. He was ready to pop. But he kept cool and stayed hard, conjuring visions of things no man should have to think about while fucking a sexy as hell artist in her studio. Anything to hold off, he told himself, and it was working.
Soon Greer settled down into a lazy grind, saving his cock inside her though she had crested over the peak of her orgasm.
“Baby?” He said, angling to get permission before ejaculating.
“Don’t call me baby. I’m twenty-seven.”
“Can I?”
“Not inside me.”
He didn’t want to slip out of her hot, slippery vagina, but couldn’t stop he
r from lifting off, grasping hold of his hard penis, and stroking him, as she sat on his thighs.
And that was all it took.
He came hard, squirting all over his muscular stomach and at times his pecs with the help of her confident hand, as Greer smiled down at him, glowing in the wake of her orgasm.
Hunter thought she might curl up beside him after and snuggle, maybe lift her face for a kiss, needing to be held. He thought maybe they would fall asleep, wake up in a half hour, and go at it again. Fantasies formed faster than he could make sense of them in the seconds following his orgasm, but Greer did none of those things.
Instead, she popped off the couch and padded away into her kitchen. The sight of her naked from behind was beautiful. When she returned with a roll of paper towels, she merely tossed it at him, plucked her glass of wine off the floor, and drained it from where she stood, nude and absolutely gorgeous beside the sculpture that would one day hold his likeness.
After he cleaned himself up, she said, “Leave it on the floor, I’ll get it later.” He obeyed, dropping the balled paper towels. “We have forty minutes.”
He realized he was grinning, but then it dawned on him she was implying there was plenty of time for her to work, not rest and fuck again. Not that he was disappointed, staring at her for the next forty minutes while she worked in the nude would give him more than enough material to file away in his spank-bank. But all told, if he was being completely honest with himself, though they had just climaxed together, he was already praying for round two.
Despite this, he was committed to being well behaved. He said nothing and was sure to keep still, as she molded her sculpture, working with steadfast concentration, which he found just as sexy if not more so than having witnessed her orgasm with his dick inside her.
Soon the hour came to a close and she suggested he dress himself, though it sounded like an order.
He quirked a smile and began pulling his jeans up, stepping into his boots a second later. After he got his shirt on then his jacket and skullcap, he neared her, the craving to hold her naked body in his arms surging through him stronger than an instinct.
