This story is loosely the second chapter of An Artist and Her Muse.
"Come on then, Nick."
I flinched a little as my bare back pressed against the cool wall of the studio. Nick stood in front of me, a knowing smile on his handsome face. That smile told me that he knew what I wanted. My nakedness no doubt confirmed it for him.
The fact that our usual state of dress and undress was reversed wasn't lost on me. In the time Nick had been my model, I'd studied, painted and admired every delicious inch of him. Since then, I'd had the distinct pleasure of getting to know his body much more intimately. Now I was the naked one and I felt strangely vulnerable. I wondered if perhaps he felt like that as my model. I hadn't really thought about it before. When we worked, I tried to keep it as professional as possible; well, okay, not on the night we'd become lovers. It wasn't that I was coy about my nakedness; I knew he enjoyed my body and thought me beautiful. It was just that it felt kind of unusual, but then so was our deal.
"Let's do it, Nick."
He offered his hand to me gallantly, grinning like a slightly anxious but happy schoolboy. I took it in mine and flashed him a smile. We'd talked about this and now I wanted to do it. We closed our deal, shaking hands firmly like skilled negotiators. At that moment I somehow felt that I deserved more than a simple handshake. Surely a kiss would be an appropriate if completely unbusinesslike way to seal the deal?
I held his hand gently, the contrast of his hand in mine made me smile. Mine, small, the fingers tapered and slim and paint stained by a stubborn redish pigment that had become ingrained in my skin and refused to budge no matter how much I scrubbed. His were tanned, thick fingered, the nails short and squared. In the short time that we'd know each other, I had grown to love his hands. I'd drawn and painted them many times. Nick had strong, capable hands, the kind that could build and make and mend things. Clever hands that could cook a gourmet meal, could gently stroke the hair away from my face, could grip my ass and hips in a tight embrace and pull me to him just so.
They were hands that could make the centre of the world, the juncture of his forefinger, the fleshy pad of his thumb and the exquisite pleasure pain of a sensitive nipple. He had the kind of hands that could hold me hard, leaving the palest mauve passion bruises on my skin and convince me that at that moment, I truly belonged to him.
Sometimes in a mellow mood he'd use those beautiful hands to gently cup my face, making me feel like a cherished child, while he bestowed chaste kisses to my forehead, eyelids, cheeks and the pulse in my neck. He'd make me weak with the tender pleasure of it. I'll admit that chastity and anything remotely childlike were the furthest things from my mind as we stood there in the dimly lit studio, my heart beating fast, my head full of decidedly unchaste thoughts.
I stroked his warm, dry palm around my face, breathing in the scent of him, brushing his knuckles and fingers across my lips. I could feel the pulse at his wrist beating fast, his excitement evident in that tiny vital sign. He winced, flinching and uttering a little moan of pain and surprise as I bit the meaty pad at the base of his thumb, nibbling and sucking his flesh, trapping his hand hard against my mouth. His pain turned to pleasure as I wetly kissed the hurt away, working my tongue along the grooves between his fingers, probing into the soft cleft and creases where fingers met palm. A vision of his tongue between my legs sent an electric pulse through my body.
His hand still in mine, I placed the softest of kisses on his lips just lightly brushing against him, enjoying his warm breath and prolonging the moment when our tongues would make wet contact. Licking at the corners of his mouth, I trailed my tongue over the contours of his lips. He kissed me back firmly, slowly sucking my bottom lip into his mouth as if devouring me, making something inside me melt, turn to liquid, and slowly seep out of my body. As I pulled away, he smiled mischievously, a beautiful, naughty smile that travelled all the way up to his eyes.
"I like the way you do business Nick, I really do."
My hands moved up to hold his beautifully muscled forearm. I grasped it possessively, then loosened my grip a little to thumb the tracery of blue veins and arteries that decorated the soft inner surface of his wrist. My fingers stroked the light brown curls and caressed all the way up to the curve of his bicep, seeking the baby- soft skin in the crook of his elbow. The combination of that soft, smooth skin and the inherent strength in that flesh made me swoon a little. It sounds so old fashioned but it's how I reacted to the sight and feel of a strong masculine arm, Nick's in particular.
"Lovely sweetman... just perfect."
I pulled his arm towards me slightly, testing for resistance.
"Let it go loose, it's mine now to do what I want with, that's the arrangement, yes?"
He nodded his agreement quietly, letting his arm grow heavy in my hands theoretically transferring ownership and responsibility for it to me. I smiled my approval.
"Good, then we understand one another."
Brushing his hand across my hard nipples would have been good and God knows I'd trembled at the smooth caressing touch of his hands on my thighs, but right now, at this very second, my want of him centred squarely between my thighs and wouldn't be ignored.
I could feel my flesh swelling with the need to be touched. I stalled for a moment wondering if I could really go ahead with it, use him as I needed, selfishly, for my pleasure. I think he must have sensed my thoughts and my momentary uncertainty, but his words also spoke clearly of his own needs.
