The Master & the Muses

by Amanda McIntyre

  I was transported from the limited borders of reality to a state of carnal ecstasy—it was magical, euphoric. Closing my eyes, I leaned back, rocking my hips, feeling my body tighten. I cradled my arms over my head, in full control of my body’s pleasure until at last, I came undone and felt my muscles contracting around him. He pushed his hips against mine and emptied his hot seed.

  “Untie me,” he instructed in a fierce whisper, and as soon as I had he had me on my back, capturing my mouth in a long kiss.

  Just as quickly, he leaped from the bed, grabbed his pants and tossed me my dressing robe. “Come with me. This moment is precious.”

  “But my dress.” I pointed to the gown I’d worn before.

  “Never mind the dress, Sara. This is kismet. Come, we must hurry.”

  I had not yet tied my robe before he grabbed my hand and, half-naked, we ran back to the studio down the hall. I prayed no one else was home.

  He grabbed a sketchpad as I finished dressing and guided me to the fainting couch. As if arranging a curtain, he positioned me, loosening my robe slightly so only a glimpse of my breast was visible, and then he stood back to observe his work.

  “Absolutely perfect,” he stated. “You’re a goddess.” He leaned down and kissed me tenderly.

  I rested my cheek in my hand, feeling utterly satisfied, and offered him a smile of pure contentment as he sat in his chair and began furiously sketching.

  We were lovers. If he wasn’t painting me, he was worshipping me with a passion akin to it. I reveled in this attention, blossomed as a woman beneath his hand, grew in status and acceptance among his closely knit circle of friends—some prominent artists and poets, most with an opinion on everything under the sun. They drew me into their conversations, interested in my thoughts as a woman, as an equal. It was enough to incite my hunger for more. Perhaps I wanted to prove something to myself, or to Deven or my family. Even now, I don’t know what it is that drives me, but I have never been completely at ease with myself.

  On a rare occasion, Thomas allowed me to be “borrowed” for a short interval by one of his peers, but he was precise in how long they could keep me.

  Thomas loved gathering the boys around him, leaving an open-door policy to the house most of the time. Artists would wander in and out at all hours, seeking his consultation on various matters, or sometimes just to share a drink. When one of them had the good fortune to sell a painting, it was cause for a grand celebration with plenty of food and wine for all.

  It was at one of these impromptu soirées that I met a woman named Grace, a former model and longtime friend of Thomas.

  I’d discovered, not from Thomas but from Grace herself, that she was currently hired by Thomas to keep the studio clean, although I couldn’t remember ever seeing her except that once on the balcony. This evening she was quiet around me, but chatty with the artists she called “her boys.”

  I sensed a tension between us almost immediately. I suspected it had to do with Thomas, but there was something else—a kind of superiority she held over me, as if she was on the inside and I was not, nor ever would be.

  I checked the platter of oysters I’d brought from the pub around the corner. They were Thomas’s favorite and he insisted that I buy them for tonight’s celebration. He was bringing home a surprise. With a parting glance at the group, engaged fully in conversation with Grace, who looked like a queen holding her court, I took my glass of wine and stepped out onto the balcony. I leaned against the wall and surveyed the autumn sun descending on the horizon. Below, the gaslights began to glimmer, turned by the lamplighter’s key. My eye caught the shape of a carriage parked down the street, the silhouette of a driver seated atop the bench in dark silence. I sensed he was watching me, and a shiver ran over my shoulders. The sound of another carriage approaching from the opposite direction drew my attention to where it stopped below. When I looked up again, both the first driver and the phantom carriage were gone. I could not shake the feeling that it had been Deven, perhaps alone, or did he have Amelia with him? I’d heard from her only once since I’d left. She’d written to say that Aunt Perdy and Uncle Marcus would not allow her to have anything more to do with me. For all intents and purposes, they told her, she no longer had a cousin. I wondered why Deven and Amelia would come this far and not contact me. Despite how my relatives felt about me, I hoped that all was well at home.

  I heard Thomas’s raucous laughter below and took another quick look at the mysterious coach. Determined not to let my imagination ruin Thomas’s surprise, I focused on the carriage. A man stood to the side as Thomas paid the driver. “It’s about time you arrived,” I called down to him. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  He looked up and grinned. “How very much like Shakespeare’s Juliet you appear as you lean over the balcony. There is someone I am anxious for you to meet. We’ll be up in a few moments.”

  “I think Sara was considering the idea…wait a minute, let’s ask her.”

  I heard my name and stepped back inside, walking to where the group sat around the fire, lounging with their drinks in hand.

  “You wanted to ask me what?” I asked, taking a sip of my port. I did not fear the questions the brotherhood could dredge up, especially under the influence of a good port. Quite often, they included me in their conversations, drawing me in to ask my opinion as a woman.

  Watts leaped up and offered me his chair, but I declined, preferring to stand. He returned to his seat and gave me a wicked smile as he patted his lap. “Here then, perhaps?” He wiggled his brows. I shot him a look of friendly warning.

  Woolner spoke up, addressing me. “Wasn’t it you, Sara, who was so fascinated by the nipple piercing of the woman at the club a few weeks back?”

  Everyone’s attention turned, awaiting my response. Grace sat on the arm of a chair, sipping from her glass. Her luminous blue eyes drifted up to look at me. “I found them interesting, I suppose,” I answered cautiously as I suspected there was more to this topic than mere conversation. I scanned their faces. “Why do you ask, gentlemen?”

  “We were curious, if you’d ever consider doing it.” Hunt leaned forward in his chair, his dark brown eyes alive with interest. A hush had come over the room. I glanced at Grace, whom I barely knew, but the crook of her eyebrow conveyed a private challenge.

  “Is it dangerous, do you think, for your health?” I asked, delaying any sort of commitment to an answer.

  Woolner chuckled, raising his glass. “It seems every woman at the club has them and, by God, they all look in splendid health to me!” Rousing laughter followed on the heels of his comment.

  I took a long swallow on my second glass of port for the evening and set the empty glass on the table. Summoning my courage, I slanted Grace a side look. “Well, gentlemen, I suppose it is not entirely out of the realm of possibility,” I answered with a careless shrug.

  Woolner let out a whoop and slapped his leg. He held out his palm to Watts and grinned as money was exchanged between them.

  “See there, I told you that you underestimate our little Sara!” Woolner said.

  I was aware, then, that it had been a ruse, a mere bet between brothers about how open-minded I was. I laughed along with them but wished that Thomas would hurry upstairs. I started for the door to see the reason for his delay.

  “I will do it,” Grace stated boldly.

  That got the attention of every man in the room, as it did mine.

  “That’s right. I’ll do it right now, if Sara agrees to perform the task.”

  My eyes widened. Had she really suggested such an absurd idea?

  “Ouch,” I heard one of the men mutter under his breath.

  She shrugged. “How bad can it be? Come on, Sara, I understand you’re good with a needle and thread.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Grace, and you might want to watch how much more of that port you have tonight.” Thomas stepped into the room behind me, his hand patting the small of my back.

  “Good God, Grac
e, as if we don’t have enough tongues wagging against us as it is! Can you imagine if something went awry and you wound up in the infirmary, what those bastard critics would do to us in the papers?” He walked to her, smoothed his hand over her cheek and looked at me.

  “Now if my two favorite women are done with this nonsense, I suggest that if anything should be allowed to touch either of you lovely creatures it should be me.”

  He smiled as he drew me into his arms and kissed my cheek.

  “Let it go, my muse,” he whispered in my ear. “Now give me that beautiful smile of yours and meet our new brother.”

  Chapter 7

  “EVERYONE, I’D LIKE YOU TO MEET MR. EDWARD Rhys, the newest member of our little den of creativity.”

  I looked behind me, having quite forgotten that Thomas said he had someone with him. The gentleman stepped from the shadows into the glow of the firelight. He was on the thin side, and his face showed more than a week’s beard, not allowing for any possibility of seeing what his face truly looked like. He wore his hair long, and it appeared he’d not bathed in a few days. His eyes were his most striking feature, a pale gray-green that held your gaze. I knew immediately that Thomas saw in them great potential.

  “Mr. Rhys comes from Wales. He’s been traveling, doing research, selling his paintings in the manner most artists do, doing portraits for hire down at the Cremorne. I finally convinced him to join us and soak up some of our creative genius.”

  “Mr. Rhys, welcome. I’m Sara.”

  He held out his hand, taking mine in a gentle grasp and offering a smile that was just as charming. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  He followed Thomas around the room, greeting each of the brothers. Grace stood, offering her hand to him. “Mr. Rhys, it’s nice to see Thomas took my advice.”

  “Thank you, Grace.” Rhys took Grace’s hand and kissed it.

  “As if you wouldn’t shove your advice down my throat, woman, if I didn’t,” Thomas laughed. “Still, I’m grateful to you this time. This one has real talent.”

  “Yes, I’m very aware that Mr. Rhys is something special,” she remarked, slanting him a smile.

  An uncomfortable silence followed and Grace chuckled quietly. She boldly walked up to Thomas and started to give him a kiss. He turned, offering his cheek instead. They grinned at each other and Grace smacked him on the shoulder then went back to her seat.

  The rest of the group didn’t seem to notice the interaction nor the fact that Mr. Rhys seemed lost. It looked like the poor man hadn’t eaten in days. “Come, Mr. Rhys, get yourself a plate. We have all this food and barely anyone has touched a bite.” I took Mr. Rhys’s arm, guided him to the banquet table and offered him a plate.

  It did not take him long to fill his plate, with no hand to carry his drink.

  “Let me bring your drink,” I said, pouring a glass of red table wine. He glanced up at me, nodded and scanned the room, choosing the spot at the end of the large table apart from the cluster of chairs near the fire.

  “There you go,” I placed the glass in front of him, waiting a moment for a response. There was something different about him. He seemed more down-to-earth in his manner.

  I looked up at Thomas as he joined his new protégé at the table. He reached for my hand and drew me to his side.

  “Thank you, my dear, for preparing such a grand feast and for making Mr. Rhys feel welcome here.” He reached over and slapped Rhys on the back. “You’ll not find a woman any better than Sara.” Our guest looked up, his eyes lingering on mine until at last I looked away.

  I caught Thomas’s expression of concern, the compassion in his eyes for Mr. Rhys. He shook his head as if to tell me it would be well.

  “We’ll get you a nice place to lay your head, Edward. After a stout breakfast, we’ll get started setting up a spot for you here in the studio.” Thomas smiled.

  While Thomas and the others visited, I snuck out of the studio and readied Mr. Rhys’s bedroom. The room had formerly belonged to Thomas’s flesh-and-blood brother. I’d never met him, but Thomas had nothing but praise for him. It was in passing conversation with one of the other artists one day that I found out that the woman Thomas’s brother left to marry was Thomas’s first wife. That alone explained why Thomas was not yet ready to commit to a relationship, perhaps. Lately he’d taken to spending several nights a week in my bed, but I wondered if his nightly visits would slow with a new guest in the house? I was unsure that I truly wanted to be tied down to Thomas, anyway. I was making good money and had been building a nice nest egg to further my adventures. I was supplied with everything that I needed and I had great admiration and a healthy respect for my employer. What more did I need than that? The goals that I’d set out for myself were slowly coming to fruition. Still, while I was open to the possibilities with Thomas, I had to consider, too, the other influences in his life—one of them being his mysterious bond with Grace Farmer.

  I’d just laid out fresh towels on the end of the bed and turned to leave when I abruptly ran into Mr. Rhys’s chest. A gasp flew from my throat as he grasped my arms to prevent me from toppling backward. His light green eyes held my gaze intently. I cleared my throat, looking for my voice. “I left toiletries by your basin,” I stated, unsure how to read his expression. “And the loo is right next door.”

  He let his arms fall to his sides as he stepped around me and picked up a fresh towel, burying his face in the fabric.

  I paused at the door, looking back over my shoulder, and watched as he leaned down and slowly rubbed his hand over the bedcovering. I wondered what he’d been through before Grace found him. I suspected I would learn the answer with time. “If you need anything, Mr. Rhys, I’ll just be in the studio.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Rodin. You’ve been more than kind, both you and your husband.”

  I opened my mouth to correct his misjudgment, instead offering him a smile. “Please call me, Sara.”

  “Aye, then…thank you, Sara,” he said.

  The sound of my name rolled off his tongue like a sweet confection. It was lovely, his voice and his manner. A vast change from the brotherhood, who were always so loud and boisterous, constantly teasing and joking about.

  “Good night then, Mr. Rhys,” I said, closing the door behind me.

  “You were very kind to our guest tonight, thank you.” Thomas lay on his side, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger.

  “I don’t mind, Thomas. I find it interesting that Mr. Rhys thought we were husband and wife.” I tossed the idea out to see what his response would be.

  “Our relationship is a healthy one, don’t you agree?” He leaned down to give me a tender kiss. “What Mr. Rhys thinks of our relationship is of no concern to us, now is it?”

  It was clear he didn’t wish to discuss his marriage with me. Instead, he’d led me to think that bachelorhood was his preference. And whatever his reason, perhaps it was. That suited me just fine, so long as I was the only one he was sleeping with.

  “Is Grace’s view of our relationship of any importance to you, Thomas?” I asked, needing to know what underlying bond they shared.

  “Sara, you shouldn’t fret over Grace. She and I have known each other a long time.”

  “Yes, it seems she makes that point clear every time she sees me. Perhaps she’s jealous?”

  The moonlight from beyond the window streamed in across the bedsheets. I curled in close to Thomas, feeling a sudden chill. His arm came around me, holding me to his chest.

  “Grace? Jealous? I think you misjudge the woman. Grace is a free spirit. We’ve always had an understanding, she and I. I don’t try to hold her down and she is free to come and go as she pleases. I think what you see is her natural protectiveness of me.”

  “Free as in she is able to sleep with whomever she pleases?” I asked, wanting to ask if he shared the same free-spirited ideals.

  A long silence stretched out before he answered. “Is she sleeping with one of the brothers?” he asked.
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br />   His question in answer to mine caused me to lean back, searching his handsome face. I understood that there were likely some residual wounds left from his first marriage, in light of the fact he did not speak of his wife, yet he seemed even more defensive about Grace. “I have no idea, Thomas, who she might be sleeping with, nor do I care.” I kissed the warm, firm plane of his chest, feeling his body come alive at my touch. “With the exception of you, of course.” I smiled, leaving a trail of kisses down the midline of his torso. I suppose it was egotistical to think that could be all it took to awaken his passion. Still, I didn’t want him to think about Grace, even as a friend.

  A sound in the hall startled us both, neither of us being used to anyone else staying overnight in the two-story flat. He chuckled low and drew my face up to meet his.

  “There’s a favor I want to ask of you, Sara,” he said, turning to his side to face me.

  I tucked a shock of his hair over his ear and kissed him slowly. “What is it, my love?” It was a term of endearment, nothing more. We both knew it.

  “I would like you to pose for Edward. I’m not working on anything at the moment.”

  I slid my hand down between us, encircling the warmth of his hardening shaft. “I wouldn’t say that’s entirely true, Master Rodin.”

  Thomas chuckled. “You are a wicked little muse.”

  He playfully smacked my bottom and I buried my face in his chest, joining his quiet laughter.

  “Yes, you are,” he whispered turning me to my back. “But I think you rather like it.” He nudged my knees apart and, on one swift movement, entered me with a pleased sigh.

  He rolled his hips, rocking gently until I arched against him in a silent plea.

  “Wicked muse,” he laughed quietly, withdrawing partway and lifting one of my legs over his shoulder. He pushed in again, emitting a groan that caused me to unravel beneath him.

  An explosive climax overtook me and I shoved the sheeting against my mouth as he continued his insistent thrusts, prolonging my pleasure. He bent my knee, changing his angle, setting off another climax. This time he joined me, uttering a sensuous groan deep in his throat.