by Sadie Grey
The walls were raw, red brick where I could see them, but they were mostly hidden behind canvases and piles of art supplies I couldn’t identify in the gloom. The floor consisted of slats of wood so dark they were almost black.
The scent of paint and incense lingered in the air. It smelled vibrant and alive. This was a place where creation happened. A place of discovery and passion.
“This is a hell of a studio,” I said.
“Thanks. I like it.”
“How can you afford something so big? It must cost a fortune.”
He smiled a little half-smile. “I manage.”
He flipped a switch on the wall and lit up a space off to the right that looked like a kitchenette. A bottle of wine sat on the counter top next to two glasses.
“Would you like some wine?” he asked.
I waved my hand dismissively in front of me. “No, I better not.”
“Come on. I can tell that you’re all wound up. It’ll help you relax.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m kind of a lightweight when it comes to drinking.”
“It’s really good wine. Give it a try.” He held up the bottle invitingly.
“Okay, sure,” I said. “But just the one glass.”
“Absolutely.”
He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to me. The liquid was a deep burgundy in the soft light.
I took a sip. It was heavy and rich. An instant warmth spread through me. I reminded myself to only have one glass so I could keep my wits about me. I really wasn’t much of a drinker. At twenty years old, I couldn’t even buy liquor. A couple of glasses of wine was more than enough to knock me on my ass.
We stood there in comfortable silence while I looked around the studio. The rest of the space was broken up into smaller segments by strategically placed tables and screens.
One corner had a dark sheet hung up in it surrounded by standing lights. A camera on a tripod pointed at the sheet. I gestured at it.
“So you’re a photographer, too?” I asked.
He nodded and smiled. “Yes, I like to dabble in lots of different aspects of art. Drawing, painting, photography. Even a little pottery when I feel like getting my hands dirty.”
“Wow, a real renaissance man, huh?”
He shrugged. “I’m not exactly Da Vinci or anything. I like to think I’ve made a lot of beautiful things in this studio, but I’ve made a lot of crap, too.”
He laughed and I found myself smiling.
“I’m sure you’re just being modest. Your sketch was amazing.”
“I appreciate that, but trust me. I have boxes and boxes of embarrassing attempts. I should burn them, but every once in a while, I like to look at them to remind me of how far I’ve come. It’s all part of the process. Every not so good piece was a step towards my kind of good pieces. And those kind of good pieces will hopefully get me to some great pieces. Someday.”
His eyes stared somberly into the darkness, not looking at anything in particular. It was almost like he was looking off into the future, trying to see the artist he one day hoped to become. At that moment, I caught a glimpse of the tortured artist inside him.
I took a big sip of wine and groped around for something to say to wake him from his brooding contemplation. I noticed another screened in corner of the studio. Behind the screen appeared to be a bed covered in rumpled sheets with clothes strewn about it. A thought occurred to me.
“Do you live here?” I asked, gesturing towards the bed.
He blinked a couple of times, as if awakening from a trance. His eyes looked at the unkempt bed, and he smiled. It was good to see him smile. It lit up the whole studio and the mood lightened considerably.
“Technically, no. But I spend most of my time here. When I’m working, time sort of slips away from me so I just end up sleeping here most nights.”
In the very center of the loft, a ring of lights of various heights and sizes stood around an empty space. A lone easel sat on the edge of that space, facing in. I had a feeling that was where I was going to be posing.
“So, should we get started?” I asked.
He looked at me and shook his head. “All business, huh? There’s no rush. Tell me about yourself.”
I shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I grew up in a small, boring town. Left as soon as I could and came here to go to school.”
“What are you studying?”
“Business,” I said.
He rolled his eyes.
“What?” I asked defensively. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” he said. “It just seems so boring and safe. It doesn’t seem like something you’d be passionate about.”
“Well, we all can’t be starving artists,” I said, the heat rising in my voice. For some reason, his eyes twinkled with amusement when I said it. “Some of us want to earn a decent living. Some of us want security in our lives.”
“Security is important, yes, but I think choosing a career just because it’s safe is a bad idea. You should do something that interests you. Something you’re passionate about. Sure, it might be risky, but sometimes in life you have to take some risks.”
“I take risks. I took a risk posing the other day. I took a big risk coming here.”
“Yes, and I’m glad you did,” he said. “Look, I wasn’t trying to offend you. You just don’t strike me as the business type.”
“Oh yeah? What type do I look like?”
He looked me up and down. I felt small under that gaze.
“Sexy teacher. Maybe sexy lawyer. Possibly a sexy doctor.”
“Do all my jobs have to be sexy?”
“No, the jobs are all normal. You bring the sexy part with you.” He winked at me.
Before I could say anything, he continued.
“You said you’d never modeled before?”
“Yeah. This is all new to me.”
“So what made you do it?”
“I wish I could tell you it was for the love of art or to try out new things, but the truth is I lost my job and I need work. I need a lot of work if I want to afford school next year.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Actually, no, I’m not sorry.”
“Oh?” I asked, bristling again.
“If you still had that job, you’d have never walked into that studio the other day, and I would have never had the chance to draw you.”
“Oh, stop,” I said, but I couldn’t hold back a grin. “I bet you say that to all the naked girls.”
He smiled. “Not all of them. But sometimes, yes, there’s a connection. An unspoken dialogue between model and artist. Call it a muse, call it inspiration, call it whatever. But when it happens, I can’t ignore it. I go after it like I go after everything I want.”
“And you think we have that connection?” I asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
He rubbed the stubble on his chin with his hand. “Quite possibly. I’d very much like to find out.”
He stared at me intently, studying my face. No man had ever looked at me like that before. He wasn’t just looking at me. His eyes consumed me.
I shivered and felt my nipples harden against the fabric of my blouse. Those eyes made me feel things deep in my core that I had never felt before. If his gaze could make me feel that way, I wondered what his hands could do.
I lifted the wine glass to my lips and discovered it was empty. Hmm, how did that happen?
He flipped a switch and a soft white light flowed over me. He grabbed a camera off the counter beside him and snapped a picture of me. The light from the flash strobed in my eyes.
I flinched and held up a hand over my face. “Hey, at least warn me before you do that.”
“I wanted to catch a shot of you acting naturally.”
“Well, still. I don’t really want you taking my picture. I thought you were going to sketch me.”
“That’s still the plan. But this counts as posing, too. We’ll start with a few photos to capture the moment. Then, I’ll
sketch you.”
“So then we’re starting?”
“We’re starting, but try not to go all stiff on me. Have fun with it.”
I placed my empty glass on the counter and turned towards him. I tipped my head forward and a loose lock of hair fell across my cheek. The camera flashed again. I turned sideways and looked at him over my shoulder. Flash. I tilted my head back and laughed. Flash.
He hung the camera around his neck by a leather strap and hurried to refill my glass of wine. “Here,” he said, handing it to me.
I raised my palm and waved the glass away. “I better not.”
“I just want to get a photo of you taking a sip. Here, stand like this.” He put his hands on my shoulders and gently turned my body so that the lamp bathed my face in cool light. He tilted my chin up with a finger, letting it trace over my jawline for just a moment before letting go. His touch left a trail of fire on my skin, awakening all of the nerve endings in my body.
He gazed down into my eyes and smiled. “Perfection.”
I raised the glass to my lips and took a big, theatrical sip. He took more pictures.
“Excellent,” he said. “Let’s try something different, if you’re okay with it. How about you take off your blouse?”
I shook my head and grinned. “No, sir. How about you take off your blouse?”
He laughed.
“I’m serious,” I said, laughing with him. “It’s my turn to take your picture.”
He seemed to consider it for a second, the smile still lingering on his face. “Alright, why not?”
He took the camera strap from around his neck and stepped over in front of me. He stood at least a head taller than me and he looked down into my eyes. His face leaned in close to mine. I smelled that citrusy smell again.
“Here,” he said, and slipped the camera strap over my head. I held my hair up with one hand. He adjusted the strap around my neck. His fingertips grazed my skin, sending jolts of sensation through my entire body.
He stepped away from me and I was finally able to breathe. My muscles were tense and my mouth was dry.
“Whenever you’re ready, madame photographer,” he said.
“I’m ready,” I said, almost whispering.
He smiled and began unbuttoning his shirt. That smile was infectious, and I grinned at him despite my nervousness. I lifted the camera to my eye and took a picture.
He peeled the shirt off to reveal a black sleeveless undershirt beneath. It stretched taut over his firm chest. The sinews in his broad shoulders rippled as he balled the shirt up and threw it over my head. I snapped another few pictures.
I watched him through the camera lens. He couldn’t see exactly where I was looking which allowed me to study every stunning inch of him.
He shifted from pose to pose, completely at ease in front of the camera. He put his hand behind his head, making his biceps flex and tighten under his skin. He crossed his arms, showing off a whole different set of muscles and the imposing width of his shoulders.
He lifted the hem of his black undershirt revealing the sharp ridge of his abs over his hips. His jeans hung dangerously low on those hips and my eyes followed the thin trail of hair down from his navel to the bulge in his pants.
I felt powerful on this end of the camera. It was thrilling that this gorgeous man was posing and showing off just a few feet in front of me. I felt dominant.
“Alright,” I said. “Drink some wine. I want to capture this moment.”
He narrowed his eyes at me in mock displeasure, but he couldn’t hold the expression, and a grin split his face. He grabbed his glass of wine and raised it towards me.
“To Angela.”
Flash.
He tipped the glass back and drained it while I took his picture. He wiped the wine from his lips with the back of his hand. His lips were stained a delicious purple. He took two long strides over to the light switch and turned it off, blanketing us in dusk.
His eyes shimmered in the dark. He held his hand out to me.
I took it and felt an electric shock pass between us when I touched his skin. Butterflies took flight in my stomach as he guided me away from the kitchen and deeper into darkness.
He took me to the center of the studio, just inside the ring of lights. He leaned in close again and lifted the camera from around my neck. His hot breath tickled my skin and sent vibrations shuddering through me.
He whispered into my ear. “Your turn.”
Chapter 4
I felt dizzy, intoxicated by the wine and by him.
He stepped away from me and his footsteps sounded loud in the darkness. He walked over to a tall stand of lights and switched them on, bathing me in their warm glow. He placed the camera on a table and grabbed a large sketchpad. He flipped through the pages, studying the drawings as they flickered past his vision. He stopped on a blank page and placed the pad on the easel.
I turned my back to him and to the light, casting my face in shadows. My fingers trembled as I grasped the hem of my blouse and slipped it over my head. The cool air felt good against my flushed skin. I hadn’t worn a bra since I knew I would just have to take it off. Most of them were a little tight these days, and I didn’t want to leave lines on my skin.
I crossed my arms over my naked breasts and half-turned around. I looked over my shoulder to see if he was watching me.
He was.
“Perfect,” he said. “Stand just like that.”
He stood by the easel with crossed arms. The contours of his muscles were outlined in stark shadows. His eyes danced over me, tracing my curves. He stood that way for almost a minute, and I began to wonder if he was disappointed in what he saw.
Something seemed to click in his eyes and his body uncoiled like a snake. His muscles rippled as he attacked the blank page. His hand moved in big smooth arcs as he outlined the shape of me. Those hands were quick and sure. Each movement precise. They hypnotized me with their motion. I vaguely wondered what those hands could do with my actual body instead of just a drawing of me.
A thin sheen of shimmering sweat lined his furrowed brow. Line by line, pieces of me appeared on the surface of the page. I could just see the sketch from the corner of my eye. I strained to get a better view but I was terrified to move out of the pose.
I started feeling lightheaded. The position I was in was awkward, and I didn’t know how long I could hold it. My muscles burned and trembled until I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Dominic,” I called out.
He shook his head as if coming out of a trance and looked at me.
“I’m sorry, but do you think I could maybe try a different position?”
He blinked. He looked down at his sketch and then back at me. He nodded, seeming satisfied.
“Yes, certainly. I have just the thing.”
I slumped forward and the screaming in my muscles quieted to a dull roar. The trembling stopped as I flexed my limbs to regain circulation.
He vanished beyond the lights and returned with a large cushion about half the size of a mattress. He laid it flat in the middle of the ring of lights. Then he grabbed a bed sheet from a nearby table and billowed it out in front of him, letting it fall over the cushion.
“Here, lie on this. It should be much more comfortable.”
I felt a rush of gratitude. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
I laid chest down on the cushion. The lush fabric of the sheet slid against my bare breasts as I propped my chin in my hands and watched him.
His shadow weaved among the circle of lights. He flipped some on, some off, nodding and shaking his head as he went. He tested out the different combinations of lightness and dark until he seemed satisfied.
He called out from behind one of the big stands of lights. “Try lying on your back.”
A thrill rippled through me. Here we go, I thought. I spun on the cushion and reclined on my elbows. The pose pushed my breasts out in front of me. I hoped he would notice.
&nb
sp; His head penetrated the circle of lights and he paused. His eyes burned as he drank in the sight of me. I felt a surge of pride and something naughtier.
I sat up, keeping my shoulders pulled back. My legs were angled in a “V” in front of me with my knees slightly bent. My hands reached down and gripped the fabric of my skirt near my thighs. I tugged at it ever so slowly, inch by inch, revealing the bare skin of my legs as if I was pulling back a curtain.
