Crap. I have to walk into a crowded room and get naked. I don’t suppose she has a stripper pole that I can warm up on. “That’s it? I just lie down and they draw me?”
“To start. The class is expected to draw three images tonight from three different angles. So we’ll get you lying down facing one direction, then have you flip over so they can draw you from a new perspective, and we’ll finish with a sitting portrait.”
I gulp. “How long is the class again?”
“Only an hour, and don’t worry, you’ll survive,” she says, her voice ringing with laughter. Clasping my shoulder, she looks me in the eye with utmost sincerity. “I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but everyone is nervous the first time. I can tell just standing here that you have a gorgeous figure and most important, you’re confident in your looks. Don’t let a little case of the nerves run you off. I am a firm believer that facing the things that strike fear in you is a great way to build character.”
I’m sure she’s right, but that doesn’t dull the churning feeling gripping me right now. Retrieving a white fluffy robe from cabinet near her desk, Mrs. Jackson directs me to a room that looks to be a teacher’s lounge that she claims all the models use and is completely secure. There are textbooks littering a small circular table at its center, and a short row of cabinets along the wall behind it that house an overlarge coffee maker, stacks of Styrofoam cups and stirrers, various creamers, and a microwave. It’s exactly what I imagined a teacher’s lounge to look like.
Glimpsing a mini fridge humming off to the side, I steal a bottle of water and gulp it down, hoping it will give me enough distraction to calm down.
Then I realize what a total mistake I just made, because I’ll end up having to use the bathroom a dozen times, so I spend the next ten minutes in the adjacent bathroom trying to evacuate my bladder.
Twenty minutes later, and I am standing outside a closed door completely naked but for the robe clenched around me. The blue and cream speckled linoleum is cool under my bare feet. Through a long, rectangular window, I can see Mrs. Jackson lecturing her students. There’s a mix of men and women, all roughly my age, seated on their stools in front of the canvasses they will be immortalizing my image on.
It strikes me all over again that I go to school with these people. If they didn’t know me before, they will now. I’ll be the-girl-who-took-her-clothes-off.
Before I can freak myself out more, Mrs. Jackson notices my presence and her burgundy painted lips split into a wide grin. She says something to the class, and they all turn their heads to look at me.
God, I should run now. But I don’t.
Mrs. Jackson walks over and opens the door. “Come in, come in. We were just talking about you.” She waves me inside with a flip of her hand, and I follow her into the room. My focus is on her back, on the way the fabric ripples like soft ocean waves with each step she takes. If I look up, I’ll bolt. It’s that simple.
“Please drop your robe and stretch out on the table,” she directs.
My fingers tighten on the plush fabric for a brief instant before I shove it away. I climb onto the table, feeling the slight chill of the wood seep through thin cotton sheet against my buttocks. Turning onto my side, I allow Mrs. Jackson to manipulate my limbs how she wants them. My right arm stretches out, is bent at the elbow with my hand opened wide to support my head. My left arm is brought forward on the table to steady me. My legs, which are clamped tight together and stretched long, are separated. She brings one knee forward, and I tense as the air touches between my thighs.
My mind goes wild imagining what the students positioned directly south of me must see. What will they draw? Do they like what they see? Are they turned on, or just as embarrassed as I am? I may take off my clothes for a living, but that doesn’t make me an exhibitionist. I don’t enjoy showing off my body to anyone willing to look at it. At least, not in this context. Even in a strip club, there are boundaries, limitations.
After I am positioned just how Mrs. Jackson wants me, she leaves the circle, taking on the role of an observer. “Okay, class. As you know, you have twenty minutes to perform your first sketch. Try to capture the form as you see it. Focus on light and shadow and use it to create depth in the drawing. I will be walking around the room to take a peek at everyone’s work. If you have a question for me, just raise your hand and I will come over. Clock starts now.”
With the exception of the light scratching of pencils on canvas and the dull clack of Mrs. Jackson’s pumps as she moves around the room, everything is silent. At first it makes me even more aware of all the eyes on me, but as the minutes tick by, I begin to relax and I find my thoughts drifting inward.
I’m in a nearly sleep-like state by the time we’re halfway into the second pose, when I hear the knock on the door. It’s a faint rap, and my gaze flicks up, following Mrs. Jackson’s back as she walks over to answer it.
She opens the door a crack and sticks her head out—murmurs follow, the words unintelligible. Although curious, I retreat back into myself.
I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve been using this time to reflect on my relationship with Ransom. Annie’s suggestion is still fresh in my mind and with the end of class looming on the horizon, I’ve come to realize that I am not over him. Not in the slightest. Severing ties hasn’t worked. Having to see him every day, in fact, has only made the distance worse.
Seeing but no touching. The detached way we speak to each other. The longing looks and denial that nothing is going on between us. All of it keeps the wounds fresh.
Without that clean break, it’s impossible to close the door. Instead, the smallest look or spoken word sends it flying wide open again.
The memories are inescapable, and so is he.
That point is only solidified when Mrs. Jackson steps back and I see Ransom enter the room.
TWENTY-ONE
My heart stops dead in my chest and my gaze skates down Ransom’s body. He’s dressed in simple black slacks and a pale pink button-down shirt, and I can’t help drinking him. It’s like he was plucked right out of my thoughts and dropped into the room just to torture me.
What is he doing here? I communicate the question with a firm look, one that Ransom returns with a cool, even face that reveals absolutely nothing.
Defiance. That’s what I’m labeling that look. He knows this is the last place he should be, the last place I would want him to be, but he showed up anyway. Annie once said he was a man abusing his power, and I have to admit, right now I agree with her. I wonder what he told himself to defy all of his rules and risk being here tonight.
Mrs. Jackson is giving him a guided tour of her students’ work, pointing to certain aspects that she finds notable. He nods and murmurs a reply at all the right times, but each time he looks away from me, his gaze returns a heartbeat later.
The more it happens, the more my insides flare with heat. It’s a demanding ache that starts in my chest as a flicker of nerves and travels lower until it’s a burning desire for so much more. He scans my body, and to the casual observer, it’s a clinical assessment. Just a professor observing art in progress. To me, though, this is foreplay. Annie may have been right, but I find that I don’t really mind.
He’s teasing me with his constant looks. And that hint of a smile teasing his thick, firm lips? He slays me. I can’t stop the memories of him looking at me like that when he was inside of me.
It’s impossible to miss the desire in his eyes, just as it’s impossible to deny the mounting need in my belly as he moves beyond my peripheral vision. Unable to see him, my breathing grows deeper, heavier, and I have to double my efforts to concentrate on maintaining my pose.
“She’s doing very well,” Mrs. Jackson comments, and my ears perk up.
“I can see that.” Ransom’s voice is soft and husky. Unobtrusive in the otherwise quiet room, but like a pin drop, I hear every word.
“If only all of my models were as poised as this one. I’m tempted to bribe her into dropping
your class and joining mine.” There’s a teasing lilt to Mrs. Jackson’s voice, but I suspect she’s partially serious.
“The semester ends in two weeks, Celeste. You’re free to scoop up whoever you want then.”
“Indeed I will.”
“Do you mind if I sit in on the rest of the class? I’d love to see the finished products.”
“Absolutely,” Mrs. Jackson says wholeheartedly. “You can have my chair if you’d like.”
I want so badly to turn and look at him. I can feel Ransom’s eyes on me, staring at the slope of my back, the curve of my butt. The place between my thighs that begs for his attention.
When Mrs. Jackson calls for the final round of sketches to begin, I stand on unsteady legs and try not to focus too much on the moisture pooled between my legs. A fact that becomes impossible to ignore when she draws up a chair and tells me to straddle it.
I’m facing Ransom this time, unable to escape from that penetrating gaze. With as much brazenness as I can muster, I ease down onto the hard wood and prop my arms on the back of the chair, folding them one over the other. The air touches my exposed clit, and with my thighs split open, I am painfully aware of how aroused I am.
Mrs. Jackson artfully arranges my hair over my shoulders, so it cascades down my back, and then she gives me a perfunctory nod, pleased with her work, and disappears to resume her walk around the room.
I am out of my element. Ransom’s eyes study mine, his dark gaze narrowed slightly as if he recognizes this about me. I refuse to look away first. Confidence, that’s the image I want to project. I’m also hoping that my actions will inform him that this thing between us isn’t over. If there were any hope of ending things between us, it ended the moment he walked through that door.
As his eyes drop lower, lingering on my breasts, which have firmed in the air-conditioned room, I don’t think that will be a problem. Ransom doesn’t appear to have given up either. As his gaze lands at the gap created by the chair between my legs, I see his nostrils flare and his lips part and something inside me just…snaps.
Between one breath and the next, I have decided that I won’t be leaving here tonight alone. I made a mistake when I sent him away, and now I fully intend to rectify the situation.
Despite the cool air skating down my spine from overhead, beads of perspiration form around my hairline and under my arms, making me feel damp all over. By the time the class ends and the robe is returned to me, my mouth feels like I’ve stuffed it with cotton balls. It doesn’t matter that I downed an entire bottle of water before coming in here. I’m dehydrated, and it’s all Ransom’s fault.
He makes me crazy. Needy. Desperate.
I’m directed back to the teacher’s lounge, where I change back into my street clothes. When I return the robe to Mrs. Jackson, Ransom is nowhere to be seen.
My shoulders drop and my mood deflates. I can’t deny that I am disappointed by this. I had plans. Plans that involved signaling him to meet me outside. Where the dark sky would provide the perfect backdrop for our reunion. Was I confident that I would win him back? Not even remotely, but sometimes a girl has to lie to herself to find the courage she needs to press forward.
“You did great tonight,” Mrs. Jackson praises as she signs my form and hands it back. Her golden eyes twinkle as she looks up at me from behind her desk. “How did you enjoy the experience?”
I feel my cheeks heat as I think about just how much I enjoyed it once Ransom walked in. “It was different. Once I relaxed, it wasn’t too bad.”
“Good, then I hope you’ll consider coming back. I could always use a few more willing victims.”
I shake her hand, not giving her a response, and she wishes me a good evening. Despite the disappointment I feel, I walk out of the building with my head held high. Tonight I feel like I’ve overcome something. I don’t know what it is, but I feel good, and I’m glad that I chose to see it through.
The path I take is winding and framed by arching utility lights which create a swath of salmon colored light that’s a little hard on the eyes. Because it’s after dark, and I am alone but for a few people off in the distance, the campus takes on an eerie atmosphere. I can almost imagine a serial killer lurking in the shadows.
Kicking up my pace, I hurry to reach the nearly vacant parking lot. My car is one of a handful left, and as I notice the figure standing in wait, my heart skips a beat and my steps falter.
Until I realize who it is.
My heart skips before redoubling its effort and my blood quickens, pounding in my ears as I close the distance between us. When he hears my footsteps approaching, his dark head lifts and he steps into the light.
“Ransom.” My voice is breathy, relieved and excited and so many things I can’t begin to name, and as he meets me halfway and I leap into his waiting arms, into his fervent kiss, everything seems to click into place.
This is where I want to be. Where I should have been all along. None of the problems that faced us are gone, yet they cease to matter anymore. I wrap my arms and legs around his sturdy frame and kiss him with abandon. There is no care for the world around us. At this moment, only the two of us exist.
“You taste so good,” Ransom says against my mouth. His hands cup my butt, squeezing the soft globes and pressing me against his erection.
I lick his lips, wanting to taste him everywhere. There is no time to think, only act, and as I am the one driving this train, I issue the directions. “Keys. In my purse.” That’s all the information I give him, but being the intelligent man he is, Ransom doesn’t need anything more.
In a matter of moments, he has the door open and is shoving our entwined bodies into the spacious backseat of my Camry. My hands dive between our heaving bodies and begin working on his belt as he grasps both halves of my collared polo. With a vicious yank, the fabric tears easily from collar to belly button.
I look at him with what I imagine to be a mix of horror, anger, and lust. The latter emotion wins out. “That’s just about the hottest thing I have ever witnessed.”
He grins, and in the dark, it makes him look sinister. I like it. No, scratch that. I fucking love that.
My hands can’t move fast enough. Once his belt is undone, I shimmy the loose fabric over his firm ass. His cock springs out, standing like an arrow pointing to home base.
The throbbing between my legs increases and I whimper and arch my back as Ransom licks my nipples through my lacy bra. His hands slip between the stretchy waistband on my pants and guide them over my hips along with my underwear. When the material bunches up at my knees, he doesn’t stop to remove my shoes so he can finish the task.
No. Ransom is too impatient for that.
Instead, he lifts both legs up setting them on his right shoulder, ankles crossed, and leans forward, crushing my knees to my chest. The toes of my Keds scrape the fabric of the car’s ceiling as he gets into position.
Like this, our faces are only inches apart and with the way the light from the parking lot shines through the back window, all I see is him.
He’s all I ever see.
His cockhead presses into me, and I struggle for breath as I look into his eyes. “You feel it too don’t you, Joe? You feel that tightness in your chest. The kind that steals your breath and makes you feel like you might die even as everything in your world feels like it’s finally fallen into place.” His voice is thick and raspy, causing tendrils of heat to coil between my legs where his cock threatens to split me wide open.
“This is where I belong, Josephine. Between your silky thighs, buried so deep that you feel me inside your chest. That’s where I live, Joe, right here.” His hot palm covers the space between my breasts, directly over my pounding heart. “Don’t try to send me away again, because I’m not leaving.”
Hot tears leak from the corners of my eyes and spill into the hair at my temples. My reply is simple. “I won’t.” Two words, and it’s done. We’re together again. Sometimes that’s all it takes.
My lung
s constrict as his hips surge forward. My eyes burn as he stretches me, making good on his promise—I feel him, all the way to my heart.
***
Sometime later, I rouse from the light sleep I’ve fallen into. The windows are fogged up and the air inside the car is cold but heavy. My skin prickles with goosebumps, the fine hairs on my arms standing on end. I burrow deeper into Ransom’s arms, trying to soak up as much of his heat as I can. Like all men, he’s a furnace, almost too hot to touch, but too tempting to stay away. My fingers travel across his chest, playing with the fine hairs that dust it.
“Why did you stick around?” The question spills from my mouth before it’s a conscious thought.
His answer is a long time coming. Covering my hand with his, he says, “How could I not? You’re special to me, Joesphine. You give me something I haven’t had in a long time. Hell, I’m not sure I’ve ever had it, but it feels right.”
“What’s that?” I ask, angling my head back to look at him.
He tilts his head down and kisses my mouth. “Feelings, Joe. You make me feel things I know I shouldn’t, but that I can’t stop. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
I know what he means. Although, I don’t think either of us has really tried all that hard. Lust—it’s one of the deadliest sins. “Feelings don’t always make sense.”
“I don’t think they’re supposed to.” He pauses, his hand tightening around mine. “I want you to come back to my place, spend the night.”
“I thought…” Surprised, my words trail off. It feels like we’re in a bubble right now. A bubble that’s in danger of bursting if I don’t choose my words carefully.
“That I didn’t want you there,” Ransom finishes for me, and I nod. Easing me off of him, he sits up and rakes a hand through his damp hair. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I huddle into myself as I wait for him to continue.
Sex looks good on him. His skin is flushed, his lips a deeper shade of red and plumped from my kisses, and his clothes are rumpled and twisted in a way that makes me want to ravage him all over again.
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