by Vremont, Ann
Guess so.
“Oh, and one last thing, hon?”
The woman’s grin was downright lecherous and Bryce hesitated to answer. “Yes?”
“Don’t overthink the size of his sketchpad.”
*****
Bryce stood for a few stunned seconds watching the empty space where Erato had been. Sure that her big, bad muse had actually left, she ducked into her bedroom for a pair of sandals.
And some panties.
She pulled open the closet door and bent to rummage through the pile of shoes that constantly littered the floor. Only the pile of shoes was gone and a single pair of gold strapped sandals stood spotlighted from the closet’s bare light bulb. She picked the shoes up and examined them. A soft suede lined the inside of the straps and the soles were thickly cushioned to absorb her weight without pinching her spine. The gold-tone surface was subdued, beautiful in a discreet way.
“Easy choice.” Trying to suppress a grin, she dropped the sandals onto the floor and slipped them on before walking to her dresser. Opening the top drawer, the grin fell from her face.
“She stole my panties?” Bryce looked up at the ceiling, shaking her fist, a string of sailor-sanctioned words lining up along her tongue.
The alarm clock blared. She hadn’t set an alarm and the sound jarred all the righteous fury from her. Bryce bounced across the bed, slapped the switch off and swore when she saw what time it was. It was eight fifty—making her five minutes late already. Turning on the bed, she slid back across it, dashed through the living room and grabbed her house keys from the hook by the door.
Outside, she locked the first deadbolt, stepped three feet to the right and knocked on Diaz’s door.
Chapter Five
“You came back?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Feeling like the magic of Erato’s visit still cloistered her, Bryce turned the answer into a tease. Her body brushed his, slow and lingering, as she entered the apartment and placed her keys on the hook next to his. Damned if he hadn’t looked relieved to see her. When he didn’t say anything, she turned to find him staring at her.
“That dress…” he started. His gaze widened and slowly moved down her body. He stopped at the show of cleavage where the blouse’s front panel crossed over her breast and wrapped around her waist. His mouth pushed forward, the pucker wistful as he studied the rounded flare of her hips and thighs. He smiled at the gold sandals and then moved back up her body in the same deliberate crawl.
“It’s really…wow,” he finished.
Feeling a slow blush heat her cheeks, she gave a soft “thank you”, and moved into the living room.
“It’s new?” he asked. His voice sounded relatively sure it was new. When Bryce nodded “yes”, a frown pulled at the corners of his full mouth. “Who’s it for?”
Impatient for him to leave the security of the door, she moved closer to the bedroom. “Tonight, it’s for you, at least for the next few minutes.”
His expression slid to confused, and Bryce sighed. “You do still want me in your bed?” Her wrist itched where the bracelet touched it and she gave an irritated twitch of her hand. Had she really just asked him if he wanted her in his bed?
Must be the bracelet talking. It sure didn’t sound like something she’d say.
“Right, yes!” Diaz answered, locking the door and closing in on her at last.
She could almost hear the exclamation point at the end of his sentence, and the wolfish gleam in his eyes had her gripping the doorframe. The thought that she was making him hot, even with the bracelet’s help, had cream sliding past the seal of her labia to wet her thighs. “Sorry I was a little late,” she murmured as he opened the bedroom door for her.
Diaz put his hand against the small of her back, guiding her into the room and toward the bed. She could feel the heat in his touch and the muscles in her legs turned to warmed jelly.
“Worth the wait, I assure you.”
It might have sounded like a stock phrase some smooth-talker would offer, but it was coming from Diaz. He was smooth without being a smooth-talker. She sat down and watched him move about the room as he changed the position of the lights to account for the growing outside shadows that had found their way inside.
While he was pre-occupied with the lighting, she studied him. He was still shirtless but had switched into long black pants after his shower. The pants were satiny and loose, but the way they sought after his skin easily suggested the silhouette of his powerful thighs and calves. His hair hadn’t dried and naturally gathered at the back of his neck, dipping between his shoulder blades in a small “v”. Sparkling beads of moisture dotted his back, shoulders and chest like freckles, filling Bryce with the urge to lick them away.
When he pulled a new sketch pad from beneath the bed and placed it on the chair, she had to choke back her surprise. She would have guessed the first pad to measure around eleven by fourteen inches. The new pad must have been at least eighteen by twenty four.
The switch was definitely something she would have noticed and spent hours overthinking if Erato hadn’t warned her in advance. Even with the warning, curiosity pricked at her. But then he turned back to readjust the light—presenting the profile of his body to her—and she understood the reason for the bigger pad.
He didn’t need wider paper to sketch her body; the man had a steel beam down his pants he was trying to hide.
Satisfied at last with the lighting, he faced her and she slammed shut her wide-eyed, open-mouthed appreciation before he could catch the direction of her gaze.
“So, you want me to leave for a few seconds?” he asked and gestured at her clothing.
Already? she wondered. But, then, hadn’t she rushed him into the bedroom?
Bryce looked around, searching for the shawl despite Erato’s admonition. When she didn’t see it, she glanced up at him. Guilty and hopeful, his expression told her he’d put the shawl away.
“I thought, if you came back, you wouldn’t need it,” he said. His eyelids fluttered slowly, like a butterfly in a snow storm, its wings weighted down. “I want to see all of you, Bryce.”
She felt as if he’d just body slammed her, the need in his voice soft yet forceful. Each word carried a heavy sensuality. It almost hurt to listen to him and she was sure that denying him would be an exquisite torture.
Well, at least he wasn’t holding a fruit bowl out—yet.
Even though she had spent less than half an hour in the muse’s company, she wouldn’t put it past Erato to meddle and pop the idea into his head. Relenting, Bryce nodded at the door as she reached for the edge of her blouse. “It’ll just take me a couple seconds. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
A visible reluctance weighed his feet down as he left the room—as if he was as eager for the unveiling as he was to have her posed naked on his bed. She hurried him out of the room with an impatient wave. When his compliance ended just across the room’s threshold, she made a sweeping motion to have him close the door. The last thing she saw was a bad boy grin surface on his face. The grin made his eyes shine brighter and a responsive heat flared between her thighs.
Alone and shyly aware of her aroused state, she removed her clothes slower than she intended. She’d be completely exposed again, especially the parts that weren’t included in Erato’s little list of Bryce’s “assets”. Once she was completely undressed, but for the bracelet, she carefully folded the clothes and placed them on the open shelf of his nightstand. Reclining against the bedcovers, she tried to place her hand across her mons in a casual position. It rested there with all the grace of a department store mannequin’s. Snorting with self-irritation, she tried merely to relax her hand.
She called out to him, too soft and nervous the first time so that she had to repeat herself. “I’m ready.”
His return was quick, telling her that he had been waiting just outside the door, as eager to begin, perhaps, as she was to delay. Seeing that she wasn’t in the same position, he stopped at the si
de of the chair. “I want you in the same pose,” he said.
Bryce nodded but didn’t move—couldn’t move. And Diaz was only making it worse with the thoughtful way he sucked at his bottom lip. She could feel him pulling her in with each suck. She watched the bottom lip emerge wet, and the thin layer of gloss mesmerized her.
“Nervous all over again?”
Bryce swallowed. “Yeah. Terrified if you want to know the truth.”
Diaz approached the bed and sat down next to her, his hands held tightly in his lap. “Why?”
She arched one brow at him as if the simple expression would convey how rude it was for him to make her confess more. But he seemed to understand.
“Bryce, I only paint what’s beautiful.” He touched her arm, tried to smooth away the tension. “You’re beautiful.”
She shook off the possibility. “I—I don’t even know how to pose.”
“I’ll pose you.” He tried to lift her arm but she stiffened. Drawing back, he rested his chin in his hand and studied her. “Roll to your other side, okay?”
A relieved flush heated her body as she instantly sought to obey him. She wouldn’t, at least, have to see him looking at her. The thought was followed a second later by regret.
She wouldn’t be able to see him at all.
“I imagine you’re a quick study,” he said.
Bryce felt his weight leave the bed and then she heard him pull something from beneath the bed. There was the crisp brush of paper against paper and she pulled her arms closer to her chest—suddenly and inexplicably nervous. Was he going to show her poses? Of what? Was there a plus-sized Playboy she’d never heard of—or, worse yet, some fetish magazine? Dread coated the inside of her stomach.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered as she felt his weight return to the mattress.
Once she had complied, he leaned across her several times. His movements and the accompanying sounds gave her the impression that he had opened several books or heavy-bound magazines on the bunched up bedspread in front of her.
Feeling his bare chest against her back each time he placed something else in front of her, Bryce’s alarm notched another level higher.
How many porn mags could one man—
His body stretched out alongside hers. The feel of his chest fully against her back and the press of his clothed erection between the cheeks of her bottom cut through the rest of her question.
“You can open your eyes now,” he whispered against the sensitive skin of her throat.
She took her time obeying him, both afraid of what she’d find and glorying in the heat of his body and the tantalizing whisper of ultra-fine body hair against her. When he prompted her with an “all the way”, she sighed and finally looked down at the books in front of her.
Rubens, Pontormo, Titian. Naked women looked up at her, the expressions varying from contentment to passion to indifference. Leda and the Swan, Venus, Gaia. All goddesses or the consorts of gods. All beautiful. All like her in their size. Following the books were vintage comics from the sixties, encased in plastic, but their covers filled with Frazetta’s voluptuous, kick-ass women.
When she shook her head and began explaining that she understood these things in the abstract, Diaz pressed his lips against her ear.
“Just look,” he said. He turned the pages of a Rubens book and then rested his hand across her arm. His thumb caressed the bottom curve of her breast, the pad permanently indented from so many hours holding a brush. “What do you see?”
When she didn’t answer, he upped the stakes, his hand sliding down the full arc of her hip. “What about them is beautiful to you?”
Shivering from his touch, Bryce looked at Venus as Paris handed the golden apple to her. Hera stood with her back to the artist while Athena looked on, tight lipped. The women’s skin glowed, looking soft and lickable. Their full thighs and sturdy calves were distinctly feminine. The faces of the two goddesses facing her were mature, but the bloom was still on their rounded cheeks.
“Okay, what don’t you find beautiful about them?” Diaz asked as she remained silent.
Bryce jerked her head down, burrowing against the pillow. There wasn’t anything about them that wasn’t beautiful. “It’s not the same.” His persistence had her near tears. “The artists found them beautiful, painted them beautiful.”
She felt the exasperated twitch of his cock against her bottom and he buried his face in the bend of her neck. “Bryce, baby.” He sighed her name, his grip on her tightening. “I already told you, I think you’re beautiful.”
And I can find a hundred guys who don’t.
She twisted the bracelet around the circle of her wrist a few times and then chewed on an already tattered nail. “Can I keep the bracelet on?” she asked, not quite relenting.
“Of course.”
Diaz went to remove one of the books but she stayed his hand.
“Not yet,” she said. “I want to look a little more.” She wanted him to stay next to her, too, filling the soft valley of her ass with his cock. He had stayed hard the whole time, the knowledge squeezing a contraction from the eager muscles of her cunt.
“It’s all so stylized,” she said. Running a finger over the image of a reclining woman, she tapped the clean mons. “It’s all so powdered and…shaved?”
His cock twitched again, longer and stronger than when it had first jumped against her skin. Her body, disobedient, twitched back, momentarily gripping his erection.
“Let me shave you.” The request was whispered. His hand, still on her hip, dropped down to brush once against the blonde fur of her sex.
“If you want me…it, like that,” she stammered, “it will take me about fifteen minutes.”
“I want to do it.” His touch grew bolder, starting first with a brief caress of her inner thigh. He combed his fingers up through her pubic hair, his nails lightly raking her skin. Then he smoothed the hair back down, his first two fingers slipping between the thick folds of her labia to touch her clit.
Bryce jerked against him, her breathing panicky and erratic. Erato couldn’t have meant that she yield to any and all requests?
“I need to learn your contours, Bryce.” He stroked deeper, his thumb joining the fray to keep the pressure stacked on her clit. He nuzzled her neck, his cock pulsing between her ass cheeks as the strokes to her pussy grew faster.
Panting, she covered his hand with her own, forcing him to still his touch, but not pushing him away. What hadn’t he just discovered about her contours? He had worked the exterior of her cunt until she was hovering on the point of orgasm. That should be enough.
“Step over the edge, Bryce.” He breathed the words into her ear. “You won’t mind the fall—and I’ll be right there with you.”
“You, you can shave me,” was all she could muster. Hell, if he was disgusted with her come Monday, she could always teach English in Japan.
“You’re sure?” Wrapped tightly in his growing passion, the question didn’t even sound like real words.
“Yes.” Bryce wanted to cry. She didn’t want to think about why the tears were there, hovering, she only knew that she was oddly relieved when he got up and left the room.
Chapter Six
The books were still open on the bed and Bryce picked them up, trying to find some calm by stacking them into an even line on the floor before she eased them back under the bed. When it sounded like Diaz had finished gathering everything he would need to shave her, she returned to the bed and partially hid beneath the covers. Did he want to do it on the bed? Somewhere else? It seemed like something terribly messy to do outside the bathroom.
Diaz came into the bedroom carrying a bowl filled with water and two towels wrapped around the razor and shaving cream. He placed these on the floor and then turned off all but the standing lamp. Instead of returning to the shaving supplies or telling her where he wanted her, he laid down next to her. He was on his side, one hand propping his head up. He touched his fingertips to her collarbone then
slowly trailed them up to her chin. With just his index finger, he stroked her bottom lip.
His gaze drifted between her mouth and eyes. “This is going to be very intimate.” When Bryce could only manage a swallow and a nod, he smiled.
“So,” he asked, “are you going to let me kiss you?”
He was asking permission to kiss her after he’d had his hand between her legs? And yet, she wasn’t a virgin down there, at least not technically. She’d taken care of that herself. But her mouth—twenty-nine years old and she’d never kissed a boy. How could she confess that? Tell the truth, lie or just say “no”?
No, you can’t kiss me. Take my pussy, take my ass, but please don’t kiss me.
She didn’t think she could stand kissing him tonight and then going back to being near strangers on Monday.
“You look like I just ran your puppy over, Bryce.”
His expression was troubled, more so when she answered him.
“I feel like you kinda did,” she whispered.
He pulled his hand back to his own body. “Then why are you here?”
Certainly not because of Erato’s bribe. She could still remember the first day she’d seen him. It had been the day he’d moved in and she’d cast him as the star of that night’s fantasy. Something about that climax had felt utterly connected—as if he’d actually done something to give it to her. From that night on, she’d invited no other man into her fantasies and it wasn’t long before she’d developed a full-on crush for Diaz.
She’d noticed the way she was never invisible to him despite her best attempts, but she also had noticed the way nothing was invisible to him. And even though the latter realization made her feel a little less special, it didn’t lessen the crush. She went to bed thinking about him, particularly following those days when she could hear him working out next door, or when they had passed in the courtyard and she had imagined that his eyes lingered a little longer and a little more favorably than they should have. She’d stroke herself while thinking about him, inside and out. Her fingers became his, the small box of sex toys in her dresser making poor substitutes for his cock.
