by Cari Quinn
He’s offering her his cherry, any way she likes it…
Afternoon Delight, Book 2
Kim O’Halloran is on a self-enforced hiatus from dating younger men. Until her erotic art class instructor puts a sexy, intriguing male model in front of her sketch pad.
Suddenly celibacy’s starting to seem like a really bad idea. Better—or worse—yet, she discovers the man she’s lusting over isn’t just her junior. He’s a virgin. And he’s asking her to corrupt him a time or two. Or fifty. For starters.
Michael Montgomery may only be in his mid-twenties, but he knows what and who he wants. Kim and her wicked ways are a perfect cure for the sexual frustration and bone-deep loneliness he’s put up with for way too long.
The timing in both their lives is all wrong to be pushing past their boundaries—in the bed, on the couch or against the car. Yet Kim finds herself enjoying teaching him how to please a woman…and Michael finds himself willing to use every trick she knows to persuade his commitment-phobic lover to change her mind about love.
Warning: This book contains a virgin hero who learns quick—and hard—and a heroine who doesn’t mind getting filthy during a lesson. Oh, and make sure to watch out for the dirty talking…bird.
Drawn Deep
Cari Quinn
Dedication
For my mom, who has unflagging patience, and for Taryn Elliott, who doesn’t like peas or avocados yet I still love her anyway.
Chapter One
“Artists, sharpen your pencils.”
Kim O’Halloran smothered a smile as she doodled along the spiral spine of her sketchbook. Sounded like her teacher had been watching a few too many NASCAR races, because he loved to start every class the same way.
Her pencil had been sharpened plenty, but this class wasn’t doing it for her. She’d been sure a class called Mastering the Art of the Erotic Technique would be exciting. Wrong-o. She’d taken it partly to fill a few hours on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights, and partly to ogle some hot, potentially young, male licorice without fear of pesky repercussions.
Namely, messy breakups, uncomfortable run-ins at work and disturbing encounters in her driveway when her ex stopped by to make sure she was “healing okay”.
She’d healed and had the scar tissue to prove it. After this many relationships going bust, only a sadist would willingly do something that would cause them pain. Her choice had been to develop a Teflon shell or be perennially doomed to disappointment.
Or she could take up drawing sexy nudes for entertainment. Assuming any ever showed up.
So far? Nada.
Oh, they’d had naked people to sketch, all right, like the rotund man with the rug on his chest. And back. And shoulders. Then there had been the orange-haired woman with abnormally large breasts. Despite the noteworthiness of her cleavage, Kim hadn’t learned much there except how to properly shade an areola.
She shifted on the uncomfortable wooden horse that wore her butt print more often than not. The latecomers to class got their pick of the crappy stations, and they included these hobby horse deals that required her to press her knees into the sides to stay balanced. Since she never closed the Fairdale Bird Sanctuary gift shop until the last souvenir shopper went away happy, she usually skated in right before Randall shut the door. Only two more classes were left after tonight. Then she’d take up naked origami or something.
She blinked as the door opened and sex personified glided across the classroom to speak with Randall. Hoo boy, who was that? His scuffed sneakers barely seemed to make contact with the floor.
“Class, tonight’s model is Michael Montgomery.” Randall leaned against his desk and gestured at the sulky-faced man at his side wearing a hoodie and faded jeans. “Michael’s a frequent model of mine, and I have a feeling you’ll enjoy sketching him. For tonight’s class, he won’t be fully nude. Tomorrow, however, you will draw him during the point of full arousal. Thursday night we’ll go over final techniques and you’ll submit your final project for my approval.”
Kim’s attention shorted out at the word arousal. Did Randall actually mean they’d be able to sketch Michael’s erection? Could she get a job being his fluffer? She’d work cheap, especially since it had been a while since she’d fluffed anything that didn’t reside in her own panties.
“If the muse cooperates,” Michael put in, offering a grin that seemed at odds with the male model pout he’d worn only a moment before.
“Headphones.” Randall winked and took the seat nearest to the model, as he always did. He sketched right along with the class, in the hopes of fostering a collaborative environment. “You know the drill.”
“I do.” Perching on his stool, Michael let his smile drift around the room. The class ratio was heavily weighted toward women, and most of them seemed intent on gazing wide-eyed at tonight’s specimen. His gaze touched everyone briefly, until he reached Kim’s row. She sat in the last seat and waited for him to stare at her while orchestra music swelled in her mind and her crumbled heart magically reknitted at the prospect of rough, sweaty sex. But Michael didn’t even look at her.
Just as well, since he had to be in his twenties. Been there, done that doggy-style.
After breaking up with Gary, a cook in the cafeteria at the bird sanctuary, she’d learned her lesson about dating younger guys. Eagerness to please between the sheets and a shared interest in comic books did not a match in heaven make.
Unfortunately finding single men her own age was equivalent to catching the Loch Ness monster with a fishing net. Which brought her right back around to younger men again. She should know better because knowing better was the first step to doing better. And/or being done.
Hell, why fight it? She’d gladly sign up for the support group if she got to enjoy the addiction first.
While she’d been lost in thought, Michael had unzipped his hoodie to reveal his bare chest above his faded jeans. His torso was a virtual lasagna of muscles—layer upon layer of them, all caught mid-ripple as he sat unmoving in a flex pose. The cheese on top were the whorls of light brown hair on his pecs.
No manscaping. Thank Jesus. With a grateful sigh, she started to sketch.
Michael’s dark hair wasn’t straight or curly, more a mishmash of the two, and so thick she imagined he spent a lot of time in the barber’s chair. His eyelids seemed to be weighted, giving him a perpetually sleepy look. He had a lush look about his face that didn’t match the sinewy lines of his body.
She didn’t consider herself a great artist by any means, but she spent what seemed like forever contouring the hollows and angles of his face. His eyes were deep, dark slashes, hidden by the inky fringe of his lashes. She wanted him to look up and see her, to bestow that panty-warming smile.
Then he did. And sweet dandelion wine, her lady parts sang hallelujah.
Michael broke his position and shifted lazily to his feet, shaking his limbs to get the circulation going again. He pulled his hoodie on, his gaze remaining riveted on hers all the while. He bent to gather the backpack he’d dropped at his feet then straightened to speak to one of the ladies, who was much quicker on the uptake than Kim.
When spotting a delicious man in the wild terrain of the suburban classroom, the importance of haste couldn’t be overstated. Yet all Kim could do was shade more lines around Michael’s eyes on her sketchpad and wonder if his irises were one color or every one of them, which was essentially the make-up of black. Black eyes were unique, at least to her mind.
Vaguely, she realized everyone had risen from their seats. To her right, Randall discussed the benefits of using charcoal over other media with a student. All Kim heard was that buzz in her ears that meant she was back in the game.
God help them both.
The brunette currently eye-mounting hi
m was trouble with a capital F. F for fuck him, he was screwed. Or he would be, if he didn’t watch himself.
Michael Montgomery dug his keys out of his pocket and smiled at one of the other women, expecting the sexy brunette to wander over anytime now. But she didn’t acknowledge him at all. She continued sketching then sailed out of the room without so much as a hello. No phone number coyly dropped on his bag, no wink and an air kiss. Absolutely nothing.
Too late he’d realized why she intrigued him—well, beyond the obvious. She wasn’t some random woman he’d tussled with over melons in the grocery store. This was her. Red glittery dress chick, whom he’d changed a flat tire for on the side of the road months ago. The one he hadn’t been able to forget for reasons he couldn’t figure out. She’d barely spoken two words to him, so occupied was she with her phone.
He hadn’t recognized her right away tonight because she’d worn little makeup and had her hair down, partially covering her face. That night she’d had it scraped back, showing off her gorgeous bone structure. And that lush mouth, painted a bold crimson.
Something about her had called to him then. The determination he’d sensed in her posture. Her fight to remain stoic. Hell, the way her eyes shone gold under the streetlights. Whatever it was, that same something was currently hammering the back of his skull—and the base of his cock.
The next night, she arrived last to class. He’d already stripped and had just returned from the bathroom where he’d primed his pump, so to speak. The pornographic soundtrack in his headphones should keep all thrusters operational.
Randall had taken his share of flak from the founders of the rec center where the class was held for this aspect of the course, but there was no denying that the session always had a waiting list two miles long. The brass couldn’t argue with money, even if they could with method. Nothing inappropriate had ever occurred between Michael and the students. It was art. A chance for them to draw a man fully aroused, rather than in his less noteworthy state of flaccidity.
The soundtrack in his ears was the audio track to his favorite porno—well, truthfully, it was the only porno he’d watched more than once. Years ago he’d been curious by all he’d been missing, but after a while, he’d realized that seeing the greener grass over the fence only made him want to roll in it even more. For the last year, he hadn’t watched or listened to anything overtly sexual other than when he was in this class. And since that was technically for work, he rationalized he had no choice.
Hey, it was a hard job, but someone had to do it.
An hour later, the class was over, the erection he’d shoved into his jeans ached like a motherfucker and the brunette had booked out the door yet again. Her eyes had said plenty as she examined his length with the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth. He couldn’t say definitively which contributed more to his desire—the moans and carnal demands through his headphones or the occasional swish of her pink tongue over her glossy full lips.
Now she was gone. Again.
He’d had trouble forgetting her after their first roadside meeting, but he knew it would be impossible now that he’d had time to study her when she didn’t realize he was watching. Had his arousal while looking at her the last couple of nights imprinted her in some way on his psyche? Or was it more?
He’d followed his gut with Rochelle. Maybe it was time to follow it one more time.
Michael stepped into the hallway and glanced up, surprise stopping him in his tracks. The woman who lingered in his mind like a favorite song stood waiting for him, one booted foot propped against the wall, the other tapping as if she couldn’t bear to be still. Pleasure smothered shock and his smile widened while his fingers tensed around the strap of his backpack.
“Lost, little girl?” The teasing question left his mouth before he had time to consider the wisdom of setting that tone. She was a student, and he was an employee of Rand’s and by extension, the rec center. Despite the fact that his role in her class had ended, he probably shouldn’t go there. Lonely nights by the side of the road weren’t cause to abandon ethics—his or hers. She most likely didn’t even recognize him as anything but her peter model.
Preening peter at the moment, if the tightness of his jeans had any say in the matter.
Then she grinned at him and he forgot he was even still upright, never mind who signed his checks. Just like that night on the road. Except what had drawn him then was her backbone, not her blinding smile.
“Nope, not lost. I was waiting for you.” She strode up to him, her sketchbook under one arm and her fringe purse tapping her hip. She wore it cross-body and the strap did an amazing plumping thing to already pretty impressive breasts.
Not that he’d looked. Much.
“Me?” They started walking, legs brushing until they moved far apart enough to avoid a collision. He’d enjoyed brushing up against her and learning her scent. She smelled like a mixture of charcoal and eraser and, oddly enough, mossy earth. Sort of humid and tropical.
Something he wouldn’t tell her unless he wanted to end this conversation before it even started.
“Yes, you.” She shot him a sideways glance. “Come on, a guy with a cock like yours can’t play shy very well.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” he muttered, amazed he didn’t blush.
He didn’t normally have conversations like this with women. Or anyone. Hard to wear the hermit label proudly if talking to strangers came easily.
It had, once. Before Rochelle he’d been a lot more social. His willingness to chat up anyone who came into the gas station where he worked had led to their first conversation. Well, that and desperation. He’d been frantic to escape from his shitty life and Roch with her fancy manners and fancier money had provided a welcome diversion.
Flirting was fun, or it had been the few times he’d tried it since those days. But flirting invariably led to cozying up in shadowy corners with coffee. Then came snuggling and soulful looks in each other’s eyes. Then came fucking, and his London Bridge would come crashing down.
Women always wanted more than he could comfortably give, especially when they saw his big house and heard that he’d lost his last partner. He’d spent far too long taking care of someone to want to resume that role right away again. A good time was one thing. Bindings he didn’t choose another.
“Is that so? You’ll have to tell me all about this shyness problem of yours.” Brown eyes twinkling, she linked her arm through his. The movement caused her entirely too soft breast to rub against his arm, and he stifled a groan. “Let’s go get coffee. I know a great diner across the street.”
“The Bottomless Cup? Yeah, it’s a great place.”
“And it’s raining out, so a hot cuppa and some soup sounds perfect.”
His first inclination was to make an excuse. Despite his interest, he’d dissuaded women for a damn long time. If he said yes to coffee, what would he say yes to next?
And how many regrets would he have if he turned her down and went home alone?
“You’re right. It does.” He smiled and motioned for her to go down the short flight of stairs ahead of them. “I have to be at work early tomorrow but it’s not that late yet. You never told me your name, by the way.” Something he should’ve asked four months ago, workplace boundaries aside.
“It’s Kim,” she replied, continuing before he could comment. “Work?” she asked, bounding down the stairs. “But you were just working. Unless you consider that play.”
“Play shouldn’t hurt that much.”
Her husky laughter dragged sharp nails of desire down his spine. “Sure you want to come out with me? Maybe I should let you have some alone time.”
He didn’t respond. Luckily she didn’t seem to need him to.
“Or maybe we should have some alone time,” she continued, shooting him a sparkling grin. “To, I don’t know, play chess. I’ve heard chess releases a lot of…stress.”
He grinned back, suddenly eager to see where this led. She’d embedded
herself inside him months ago. He couldn’t explain why. Didn’t want to. For once, being with someone held vastly more appeal than being by himself.
Lightly, he touched the base of her spine, testing them both. The heat from her body nearly scorched his hand. “Now you’ve made me curious about your moves.”
Her grin turned sly. “Oh, I’ll show them to you anytime you like, shy guy.”
Chapter Two
Michael immediately changed the subject, which disappointed Kim more than she could say. Despite the utter stupidity in playing games with a guy young enough to pal around with her baby brother—hell, Michael was probably even younger than Brad—she couldn’t seem to help herself.
His hot body weighed into the equation, absolutely, but it was more than that. He had a haunted thing going on in his dark eyes that drew her like a hawk to a bunny. She wanted to pounce, though not to eat him whole.
Unless they were naked. That had definite possibilities.
Once they were seated across from each other in a corner booth of the diner, Kim propped her chin on her palm and smiled. Considering how they’d met, she found it a little odd that Michael seemed slightly flustered by her attention. Surely he got plenty of notice from the ladies even fully dressed, so maybe he really was shy. That classified him as strictly not her type.
Minus the haunted eyes thing. And the sulky mouth that tipped into a crooked smile at the slightest provocation. And the cock.
Must not diminish the value of the cock.
“How old are you?” she blurted after they’d ordered. She’d already been served cinnamon coffee, while Michael had ordered a lemon-lime soda.
He choked on the sip he’d been taking from his straw. “What?”
“How old are you?” she enunciated slowly. Normally she didn’t ask men their age, since she figured as long as they were legal it wasn’t her place to police other people’s bedroom proclivities. Some guys liked older women, just like she couldn’t help being attracted to younger men. Who was she to judge?
