by Mira Gibson
“Told you I can work from memory as long as it’s fresh.”
Calculating quickly in his head, he guessed, “So after about three days it’s gone.”
“Not gone, but too fussy to be useful,” she said, angling her stark hazel eyes up at him.
“Every two days,” he concluded. “I can live with that.”
“It wasn’t an invitation,” she said, cracking the faintest smile.
In response, he neared her, losing his cool.
“I feel like we started something we didn’t get to finish.”
Her curled mouth straightened, as she sank into her hip, accentuating soft curves her sweater couldn’t hide. She looked suddenly apologetic, casting her gaze down at her sculpture.
Gradually, she admitted, “We did start something we didn’t finish. You’re right. It was a bad night.”
“But your friend took your mind off it?”
Her eyes snapped up, as her brow knit together. “I called a few people. He showed up and he knows me really well. Look,” she said, covering her mouth with her hands to compose herself. “It was rude of me to send you off...”
“In the middle of...”
Correcting him, she said, “At the start of... all that.” Airily, she turned on her heel for the coffee table, adding, “I’m sorry and I have your money for today and-”
But he stopped her before she could reach for the wad of cash on its surface. “I don’t need your money.”
“You don’t want my money. You very much need it.”
It wasn’t lost on him that she was quoting his very argument, albeit he had made it in the spirit of convincing her to see wherever their chemistry might take them.
“I don’t need money,” he said, curious why she would think otherwise.
When she stated, “An Interview with Hunter Black: Why Starving Artists Stay Starving,” implying she had read the article in Vice Magazine online, he knew he didn’t necessarily have a leg to stand on, but that wasn’t what concerned him. The way she was looking at him, he knew she felt lied to.
“Is that why you haven’t returned any of my texts?” He asked.
“I find it strange you never mentioned you're also a sculptor, a well known one, and that you’re also going to be in the Phoenix.”
“I don’t like to bring it up with artists I don’t know,” he shrugged, angling for a way to get past this conversation. “People can be really competitive and I have a few feathers in my cap. I didn’t want to intimidate you.”
“Right,” she said with a sarcastic smirk, staring him down. “I asked around. You haven’t modeled for anyone else.”
“I saw you at The Haven and I was interested. Jennifer hooked me up. What are you getting at?”
“I have trust issues,” she stated frankly.
“Yeah, I’m catching on.” He wanted to tell her she could trust him, but until he worked out whatever diabolical plan Aidan was gearing up for, he wouldn’t feel right about making such a statement. “I’m going to take my clothes off now.”
Turning for the stool, he shed his jacket then his shirt and set them down. His boots came next with his socks, followed by his jeans, all the while he could feel her gaze burning into the back of his head.
She was right. It was fucking freezing in here. He almost whimpered stripping out of his boxer-briefs and laying them on the pile.
Cupping his genitals, he faced her.
Hesitating, she twirled her finger around a lock of hair. When she spoke, it wasn’t laced with subtext addressing their hot tryst, like he expected.
“So,” she began, working up the nerve. “I need to make things... anatomical.”
His brows shot up to his forehead.
“So... I’m going to need to see... all of you.” When he widened his eyes, thinking there was no worse time for her radiator to have been broken, she added, “Right now he’s kind of androgynous.”
“I get it.”
She winced apologetically. “You’ll need to be erect.”
And she didn’t want to fuck? Hunter vowed that the second he got home he was putting antlers and fangs on his Greer sculpture, as gory and grotesque as it would make her.
Art imitating life, indeed...
Grumbling, he made his way to the couch, but only managed to stare at it, daunted at the notion of getting hard without her help. He had been able to do it when they’d first met, but he realized that was before his confidence plummeted.
“Are you okay?” She asked. “I can turn around.”
But he countered with, “I need to see you.”
“Oh,” she said easily, not quite getting his request.
A sudden burst of frustration flared in his chest and he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “I don’t get you. The other day you said you were tempted like I was and we went for it. We were about to go there again the other night. And you can just shut it off? Just like that?”
She dropped her facade in an instant. “This isn’t easy for me. But I have to focus on my career.”
“Why can’t you do both?”
“Because I’m not strong enough. Because I’m flawed. Because I never figured out how to multi-task.” She let out a long sigh, closing her eyes as if it would help her get control and lift out of the undeniable intimacy of their very real conversation. When she opened them again, she looked exhausted. “My last relationship was my only relationship and it didn’t end well. Maybe it never ended. We broke up and he wasn’t here, but he was always on my mind and I can’t live under that dark cloud again.”
“That’s who was here the other night?”
“Yes.”
Letting out another long sigh, her eyes went soft in way that told Hunter she was seeing him in her mind now, but it wasn’t a fond memory.
And before he realized what he was doing, the words he told himself not to say were flying out of his mouth. “You can trust me.”
Holding his gaze for a long moment, she asked, “Trust what?” in a tone that sounded defeated. “Trust that it won’t end? No one can promise that. Trust that it won’t turn ugly, that it won’t twist into a relationship I don’t even recognize anymore? That I’ll feel trapped, in love with a stranger who I’m not sure I even like? I would tolerate all of that if it didn’t come at such a high cost. But when I’m tangled in that shit, I don’t make art. I fret and sulk and drink and obsess and I don’t want to do that to myself again.”
“Is it possible you’re getting a little ahead of yourself here?” When she didn’t respond except to search his eyes from across the studio, he clarified. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I trust that I’m interested in getting to know you and there’s no harm in taking it one day at a time. Look, I wouldn’t be saying this if I thought you were a pit stop on my long journey to have a good time.”
Challenging him, she said, “You don’t know me well enough to make that determination.”
“I’m a guy. I want to have sex with you, a lot of sex, but I trust I’ll get to know you as a by-product and I’ll want to stick around because of it.” She cracked a smile, but he was already adding, “Unless you turn out to be crazy.”
“I’m a little crazy.”
“So am I, so as long as you don’t exceed my particular brand of insanity, we’ll be fine. Now,” he said, glancing down at the couch, “where do you want me?”
“On my bed.”
His eyes snapped to her, thrown by her complete one-eighty.
The kittenish smirk he was hoping for spread across her face and she said, “I need you fully erect. I explained this.”
He groaned, but it wasn’t entirely from pleasure. “So we’re going to stop as soon as I’m there and I’ll have to suffer with blue-balls for an hour?”
“Two hours,” she reminded him, stepping soundlessly until she reached him. “Or maybe...” That smile of hers was growing. “Maybe if I get an eyeful and really commit your every inch to memory, you won’t actually have to pose.”
“I’m listening,” he said, gazing down at her and gently grasping her waist.
She draped her hands over his shoulders, lifting onto her tiptoes, and as her lips brushed his, she whispered, “Don’t hurt me.”
Through a crooked smile, he said, “I’m not that big.”
“No, you’re not,” she agreed, but her teasing didn’t stop his growing erection.
His shaft had straightened its way against her sweater and he was throbbing at the thought of seeing her, feeling her, and licking her as soon as she got rid of her clothes.
Because she needed to hear it and because it was true, he said, “No part of me is going to hurt you.”
Though they were nose to nose, Hunter leaned in, closing the gap. When their lips met, an electric thrill coursed through him, while at the same time he melted, warming and merging with her, wrapping her tightly and feeling the heat of her along his erection where it fit snuggly between them. The kiss ebbed and flowed, her smooth lips pressing and brushing his, his tongue gently probing her mouth, exploring the petal-soft curves there.
She eased back, staring up into his eyes and grasping his hips. The expression on her face would’ve made him hard if he wasn’t already - the coy grin curling her lip, the glint of arousal brightening her eyes...
When she bit her lower lip, it was his undoing, but he reeled it in just as she took hold of his hand, turning and walking out of the studio, through the archway stenciled with vines of ivy, and into her bedroom that was just as neatly organized as the last time he had seen it.
He didn’t wait for her to lift her sweater, but took hold of the hem, pulling it up and off, as she raised her arms.
To his delight, he saw her perky breasts and hard nipples, which he leaned in and suckled, holding her hips.
As he grazed his wet tongue in gentle circles around and over her left nipple, feeling its eraser-shape and the firm mound of her breast, she caressed his shoulders and plowed her delicate fingers through his hair.
If her bedroom was cold, he didn’t feel it.
Eager to have all of her, he fumbled, unbuttoning and unzipping her skinny jeans, but soon conquered the garment, only to be thwarted when he couldn't get the damn things down. Laughing, he whispered, “A little help?”
“I know, but they make my ass look great,” she said with an eye roll, wriggling them down her hips and forcing them to cooperate when they didn’t want to pass her knees.
“No argument there.”
Freeing her ankles, she fell on her back to the bed then scooted up until her head met the pillows.
He wanted to join her, but looking at her from where he was standing at the footboard was too much fun.
The natural shape of her breasts was flawless, her stomach was toned yet soft, and her long legs, the feminine point of her knees where they angled demurely over one another, made her look like some kind of porcelain goddess.
When he remained, drinking in the sight of her, she lifted onto her elbows, asking, “I’m freezing, what are you waiting for?”
He rested his gaze on her transparent, lavender panties and noticed the fine line of her slit, the hint of velvety petals therein.
“Take those off,” he suggested, his tone deep yet faint, as he grasped his erection, beginning to stroke himself.
Obliging, she raised her hips, peeling off her panties, then tossed them to the floor.
His voice was a whisper, as he said, “Spread your legs.”
She did, and he groaned in response, looking at her pink, wet vagina.
“Can I watch you?”
“Touch myself?” She asked with a curious smile. When he cocked his brow up, giving her a subtle nod, she said, “So this is our thing now?”
“I’ll look at you and you’ll look at me, and we’ll both have enough to go on.”
“Hunter,” she smiled even wider, grazing her fingertips up and down her slick labia and then circling her clitoris with the lubrication. She let out a breathy moan then finished her point. “You’re not making a sculpture that looks like me, are you?”
“It’s a two-way street,” he said easily.
“You’re turning me on,” she moaned.
Kneeling on the foot of the bed and nearing her, he asked, “It turns you on that my sculpture looks like you?”
“Yeah, it does.”
Gently, he removed her hand and replaced it with his tongue. The second he licked her, he knew he loved her taste and the breathy moans escaping her, as she rested her head on the pillows, lying back, made him ache. He was dying to thrust into her.
Miraculously, she was still able to hold a conversation.
“What are you calling it?”
“My sculpture?”
She gasped then settled into a squirmy repose, as he licked her vagina.
“You like feeling my breath on you?”
She nodded and moaned.
He placed his tongue flush against her clitoris and began tracing tight circles, pitching Greer into a luscious frenzy, and said, “Brooklyn Flame.”
Again, she gasped, but not because of anything he was doing between her legs.
“Plagiarism!” She exclaimed.
He laughed and had to admit he liked seeing her both aroused and slightly pissed.
“You said yours was called Jackass.”
“Old Flame, it’s called Old Flame and you have to pick a different title!”
She was staring down at him, but he knew how to shut up her complaints.
Kissing his way up her body, giving particular attention to her nipples when his mouth reached them, he angled over her, feeling for the hot, wet apex between her legs with his hard penis. He found it as if by magnetism. His lips met hers and as he held the kiss, he slowly penetrated her so that she would feel his every inch.
He loved how she gasped and moaned, breathy and excited in response to his first, drawn-out thrust. She struggled to maintain their kiss, her lips pressing and relaxing, more moans escaping, as her body gradually expanded to accommodate his girth.
When his erection was met with firm resistance deep inside her, having filled her completely, he gazed down at her and shifted his hips, pressing his pubic bone gently against her clitoris, which he then massaged in slow circles, grinding into her.
“Oh,” she moaned, barely able to keep her eyes open.
Christ, she was beautiful.
Before she could slip away, he whispered, “I’m going to give it to you slow and strong.”
She smiled, and he would have licked her teeth if he thought he could part with the sight of her pretty face.
When he sensed he had her climbing, he was getting good at deciphering her sound effects; he switched from grinding to delivering quick, gentle thrusts. She was hot and slick and the friction he was stirring up, feeling her hugging his erection, sliding tightly, felt like a dream.
Her words came out breathy, as she whispered, “You’re bringing me there.”
Pressing his lips to her cheek in a lingering kiss, he thought good, and gave it to her a little harder. She moaned in his ear and he thought he might explode in response, but he cooled himself, slowing the pace just a bit.
“No,” she objected in a breathy burst. “Keep doing what you were doing.”
Bossy. Just as he had suspected, but he smiled, finding the rhythm she liked.
“Oh Hunter,” she said, melting with his every thrust to indicate he was hitting the spot. She was holding his biceps, squeezing and at times grazing his arms, which was reward enough for him to hold steady, fucking her exactly how she wanted, even though his muscles were burning and his back was getting slick with sweat.
Her breathing quickened and she suddenly felt tight. She would soon climax.
Urgently, she lifted her face, locking her lips with his, and in the next moment the slick sheath he was thrusting into began fluttering then clenching powerfully around his erection in an orgasm that in Hunter’s estimation looked like ecstasy.
Her head arched b
ack, as she moaned, her body going limp as though she was riding over the crest. Soon she tapered off and when her eyes opened and she gazed up at him, he blurted out, “I never want to leave this bed.”
Smiling, she said, “I’m not kicking you out. You haven’t even come yet.”
He had stopped thrusting, but realized holding his hard penis inside her felt just as good so he savored the sensation for a long moment, studying the lines and curves of her face, and then began moving inside her.
Running her fingers through his hair in a way that sent tingles shimmying across his skin, she said, “You can fuck me how you like. You don’t have to be gentle.”
His mouth spread into a crooked smile. “I like this. And I wouldn’t call any of this fucking.”
“No?” She threw a touch of sarcasm into her next guess. “Making love?”
“Something in-between. Is there a word for that?”
She pursed her lips into a frown as if to say she wasn’t sure.
But he quickened his pace, thrusting with more and more strength, eager to climax. He knew women didn’t like things dragging out once they’d had an orgasm.
She looked so sweet, smiling up at him, as he went from thrusting to pounding, letting go and welcoming the pleasure that would surely follow.
Groaning, he felt it coming, but was so lost in the moment it didn’t occur to him to ask where he should ejaculate.
Reading his mind, she whispered, “Come inside me.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m on the pill.”
Hearing that made him groan.
And when she added, “I want to feel you coming inside me,” that was all it took.
Suddenly, he groaned, while thrusting and climaxing deep inside her, and the emotion it inspired felt an awful lot like love.
“I can feel you,” she whispered, smiling. “It feels so good.”
“God,” he said, stilling on top of her and gazing down into her eyes. “You’re killing me.”
Her fingertips were tracing his jawline then his ears, but she grasped his arms and asked, “Killing you?”
“Feeling things I don’t usually feel,” he said and quickly revised his point. “Ever feel.”