Her Body of Work

by Marie Donovan

  “She is?” Marco’s mind boggled at the image of the elegant Annike kneeling to examine some male model’s penis.

  “Oh, yes. She started painting when she was a young girl in Sweden. This kind of painting has a long and respected tradition in Scandinavia.”

  Marco couldn’t keep silent anymore. “What kind of parents let you paint naked men when you were only twelve?”

  “Paint naked men when I was twelve?” Rey stopped dead and stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Getting the right shade of pink and making sure the veins ran in the right direction. I think you’re a great artist, but I don’t think it’s proper for young girls to paint pictures of naked men.”

  Rey looked puzzled. “I agree.” Understanding dawned on her face. “Oh, Marco. You thought Annike painted naked men?” She bent at the waist and laughed until her ivory cheeks turned red.

  “My Cuban upbringing might be more conservative than your Swedish background, but…” He stopped as Rey waved her hand. Straightening and stifling a couple more giggles, she cupped his jaw with her long fingers.

  “You are a good man, Marco Flores.” She stood on tiptoe and pressed a brief kiss on his mouth. He savored the spicy cinnamon taste of her lips. She pulled away after a minute and smiled at him. “Annike doesn’t teach nude painting here at the Swedish-American Museum. She teaches traditional Swedish decorative painting.”

  “No naked men?” Marco felt a mixture of relief and embarrassment.

  “Nope. We painted floral designs on chairs, tables, small wooden plaques. I always had trouble mixing the right shade of pink for the flowers and making sure the veins on the leaves went in the right direction.” She smiled at him and laced her fingers through his, his hand wrapping around hers. “I didn’t draw nude men until I was eighteen and in art school. Men are much more interesting than flowers.”

  “I’m glad you think so. If you’d become a florist, we might not have met.” He pulled her into the shadows of a darkened exhibit. “Let’s go in here.”

  Rey looked at the display. It was new since she’d last visited the museum. Life-size replicas of Viking bards told their epic stories around a bonfire under a midnight-blue ceiling twinkling with tiny fiber-optic stars. “That redheaded Viking looks like my uncle Lars.”

  He moved behind her as she gazed at the hairy, bearded figures. “That’s nice,” he said, cupping her shoulders. He wasn’t paying attention to the exhibit at all. “Tell me about the first time you drew a naked man.”

  His intimate tone made her breath catch. “Why?”

  “When I model, I want to make sure I’m doing it right.”

  “You’re doing just fine.” Her voice wasn’t as steady as she’d hoped.

  “What did that model do?”

  “If it helps you…”

  “It will. I like to know how you like it. So I can do it for you.”

  Oh, he did it for her just fine. She dragged herself back to that time ten years ago when she’d realized the power and beauty of the male body. “He lay on a sheet-draped chaise longue.”

  “Like the one in your studio.”

  The chaise where he’d put her ankles on his shoulders and thrust into her. “Yes.” She had to clear her throat.

  “Then what did you do?”

  “At first I concentrated on sketching the lines and curves of his arms and legs. I was too embarrassed to focus on anything else. I was very young and inexperienced.”

  “Inexperienced with naked men?”

  “Totally.” She’d been a virgin, in fact.

  “And then?”

  “The scratch of charcoal on rough-toothed drawing paper was the only sound in the room. I left his face and genitals for last. When I finally drew his face, I could tell he was bored, but he didn’t move.” Rey’s breath quickened. The quiet darkness wrapped them in a sensual blanket.

  “Our eyes met. Suddenly, he was more than just a collection of curved lines and shadows. The essence of his spirit leapt out at me.”

  “Mmm.” Marco hummed deep in his throat, sending vibrations down her back. His strong chest and arms sheltered her in warmth.

  “When I looked, really looked, at what I’d drawn, it was crap. Charcoal scribbles without meaning, without anything. I tore the paper off my sketch pad and threw it on the floor.

  “I hardly had to look at the fresh paper as I drew. My charcoal stick knew where to go. The model couldn’t look away from me. His gray eyes darkened to black and his breathing quickened.”

  “Did it make you hot to watch him lie there naked?”

  “Yes,” Rey whispered. “I focused on drawing the thick, long lines of his penis.” Marco’s own penis thickened and lengthened against her bottom. She could hardly believe she was getting so aroused in a public place.

  Marco had to touch her silky skin before he went crazy. He slipped his hand underneath her soft, fluffy sweater and thin turtleneck, caressing the bare skin of her belly. His finger dipped under her waistband, brushing the top edge of her bikini panties. “What happened next?” he whispered.

  “My mouth was suddenly dry, so I licked my lips and his eyes narrowed.” She shifted against his crotch, rubbing her curvy little ass across his throbbing cock.

  “He got hard.” Her voice was breathy as he cupped her breast, her nipple springing to life under his stroking finger.

  “Who could blame him? He was probably imagining your little pink tongue licking across his cock.” He swooped in and circled his own tongue around the perfect shell of her ear.

  She shuddered. “The instructor ended the session right away.”

  “Why?” he asked absentmindedly, pinching her nipple.

  “You know why.” Her voice was teasing. “Erections in an art class are a big no-no.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course.” She turned in his arms. “Haven’t you come across that rule? If a model keeps getting aroused in front of a class, the instructor may not hire him to pose anymore.”

  “Oh. Right.” He’d made another goof by not knowing anything about the modeling scene. He tried to return to their cocoon of sensuality. “I remember being very aroused by you the first time we met. Why did you hire me?”

  Even in the dim light he saw her cheeks flush. “In a one-on-one modeling situation, it’s up to the artist’s discretion what’s acceptable.”

  “Was I acceptable?” He swiveled his hips into hers, his erection settling into the welcoming juncture of her thighs.

  She inhaled sharply. “Very acceptable. But we’re on the brink of being unacceptable here.”

  He heard the Scouts approaching again and knew their privacy would be shattered in a few seconds. He whispered in her ear, “Let’s go to the loft. I can do some more modeling for you.”

  “Oh.” She looked disappointed.

  He bit her earlobe, rasping his tongue and teeth along the soft flesh. “Modeling how I lick your nipples, modeling how I grab your lush, curvy ass, modeling how I slide my cock deep inside you until you scream.”

  She shuddered in his arms, almost coming from his words. “If we hurry, we can catch the next bus.”

  He grinned. “Forget public transportation. I’ll spring for a taxi.”

  MARCO SLAMMED THE LOFT door shut and pushed Rey against it. “You’re in trouble now, lusty wench.” He nipped her neck, grinding his body into hers.

  She broke into a fit of giggles. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

  “What do you call unzipping my pants in the taxi and wrapping those long fingers around my cock?” He couldn’t believe she’d done that. The fifteen-minute cab ride had been torture. Only the cabbie’s watchful eye and a residual regard for public decency had kept him from grabbing her wrist and pumping her hand up and down.

  “Did you want my mouth on you instead?” Damned if she didn’t circle her pouty lips with her clever pink tongue.

  He groaned and yanked open her parka.

  “I know exactly what you ne
ed.” She started toward her bedroom. “Come get undressed.”

  “I plan to.” He grabbed her lush hips and cradled them against his rock-hard penis.

  Flushed, she wiggled against him for a second before slipping away. “I have a treat for you.” She walked past her bedroom and opened what he’d thought was a closet door. Instead a small wooden hut with a glass door nestled in an alcove. Rey flipped a switch and the hut lit up. Pale wooden benches lined the matching wood-paneled walls. Rey opened the door and stepped in.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Marco stood in the hut’s open doorway.

  “It’s my very own personal sauna. I bought it with my first commission check. The heater is top-of-the-line.” Rey smiled as she turned knobs on the side of an upright stainless-steel box. “You’ve had a sauna before, haven’t you?”

  “Miami is one huge sauna, but yes, I used to go to the steam room at the health club.” The heater began to hum, and so did Marco’s sense of anticipation. There was plenty of room on the benches for two, especially if those two were sitting extremely close together. Or one inside the other.

  Rey carried a hammered-copper bucket with a wooden handle out of the sauna and filled it at the nearby faucet. “The steam and heat will help you warm up. It should be ready in a few minutes.” She pulled a fluffy white towel from the cabinet and hung it on the rack next to her own pink satin bathrobe. He imagined the satin slipping over Rey’s generous curves, clinging to her full breasts, outlining their firm tips. It was definitely time to get steamy, sauna or no.

  He yanked his sweater over his head and unbuttoned the collar of his long-sleeved thermal T-shirt. After that he still had a thin T-shirt underneath. Dios mío, it was hard to get naked in this city.

  He emerged bare-chested from his pile of winter clothes. Rey wasn’t getting naked at all. What was the deal?

  “When you go in, sit on the towel and use this ladle to throw water on the rocks to create steam.” She set the full bucket inside the sauna.

  “Isn’t this sauna big enough for two?”

  She blinked as if she’d never considered it. “I suppose. I’ve never used the sauna with anyone else.”

  He was glad to hear it. They could lose their sauna virginity together. “Come into the sauna with me.”

  She caught her lush bottom lip between her teeth. “In Scandinavia men and women don’t use the sauna together.”

  “They don’t?” What a waste of naked skin and steam.

  She shook her head. “The sauna is traditionally a nonsexual activity. Sometimes family members share a sauna, but that’s all.”

  “I’d really be more comfortable if you were there with me.” He put what he hoped was a winning smile on his face.

  “Well…” She tipped her head to the side, considering his request.

  “If I faint from the heat, you can drag me out by the ankles.” As if someone who grew up in Cuba without air-conditioning wasn’t used to heat and humidity.

  “All right. Just for a few minutes until you acclimatize yourself.” She pulled another towel from the cabinet.

  “Great.” He unbuckled his belt and pushed his jeans and briefs to the floor and kicked them aside. “I’m the only one naked. You have to catch up, beautiful.”

  Her breasts rose and fell rapidly and her pink tongue peeped out to moisten her lips, the towel dropping from her suddenly loose grip. She broke eye contact and stooped to grab it, her pale hair falling in a curtain across her pink cheeks.

  Tenderness crept over him for this woman who dealt with naked men all day but still blushed when he complimented her.

  She stood and draped her towel next to his, smoothing the terry cloth until it hung in perfect pleats. She was fussing with the other towel when he crossed the small space to stand behind her. He stopped, his palms sweaty. He hadn’t been so nervous since his last undercover mission. He was too damn eager for her and he didn’t like it. If she were naked and writhing under him, he could drive away the strange longing in his blood.

  “Are you hot, Reina?” he whispered in her ear. She stood as still as one of her statues, gripping the towel.

  “The sauna is almost ready.” Her voice was a husky whisper.

  “I can’t wait to take a sauna with you. Watching the hot, steamy air touching every inch of your naked body. Making you wet and dripping.” His hand glided between her denim-clad thighs. “Do you like being hot and wet?”

  She let out a low, sexy moan and shifted her legs wider. He stroked her center, its heat and moisture radiating through her jeans.

  “Let’s start with this sweater.” He slipped his hands inside her heavy sweater, cupping a breast in each palm. “Such a shame to cover these.” He pulled her sweater off and ran his fingers over her nipples.

  Static electricity from the sky-blue wool drew her golden goddess hair into an angelic halo. Some strands clung to his face, and he inhaled the clean floral scent of her shampoo. “I love the way you smell.”

  She patted her flyaway hair. Even through her thick turtleneck her nipples elongated and stiffened. He brushed his thumbs over the tight nubs, pinching them gently.

  She sighed and rolled her head to the side. He tried to slide his tongue along the side of her neck but only managed to lick her high collar. A piece of lint stuck to his tongue. He tried to scrape it off with his teeth, but the damn thread wouldn’t budge. He let go of one of her breasts.

  Rey murmured in protest and turned her head. When she saw him picking the fluffy fiber out of his mouth, she laughed.

  “Enough of these damn clothes. I want you naked, Reina.” He lunged for her, but she took a step back.

  “No touching allowed if you want me to take a sauna with you,” she commanded, a teasing glint in her eye. “Sit on the bench out here until I’m ready for you.”

  He looked at her flushed cheeks and jutting nipples. “I think you’re ready for me.”

  “Marco…” She stood with her hands on her hips until he obeyed, reluctantly sitting next to the copper bucket. He shivered at the cool, smooth wood against his overheated testicles.

  Rey stepped away from him and gripped the bottom of her turtleneck and raised it. His breathing accelerated and he caught a glimpse of skin above her waist. As she inched up the shirt, the undersides of her breasts appeared. He bit his knuckle. She was wearing sheer black lace.

  Slowly Rey revealed the full curves of her breasts. The bra’s demicups barely contained her bounty, the rosy rims of her nipples peeking out from the top. He wanted to suck on them until she screamed his name. She pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor.

  “Much better.” She stretched her arms over her head, and her nipples popped free of the lace cups. “Oh, my goodness.” She looked at them in mock surprise.

  “Do you like my bra?” She cupped her breasts.

  “Yes.” It came out as a croak.

  “It seems a bit small.” She brushed the pink tips of her nipples, caught above the cups. “Of course, my nipples aren’t usually so hard and pointy. Do you think that might be the problem?”

  “I don’t.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I don’t think that’s a problem.”

  She reached for the front clasp and flicked it open. Her heavy breasts spilled into her hands. “Much better.” She lifted and squeezed them, massaging the soft white flesh.

  His testicles tightened, and a drop of fluid oozed onto the tip of his cock. Any more and he’d make a mess on the floor. “I thought you said no touching allowed.”

  “I never said I couldn’t touch myself.” She released her breasts and unbuttoned her jeans. She eased the zipper open until Marco saw a tiny triangle of black lace peeping through the opening.

  He caught a glimpse of the blond curls between her legs pressed against the lace. “Do you like to touch yourself, Reina?” If she said yes, he would have to empty the copper bucket over his lap to keep from exploding.

  She gave him a sultry smile as she pushed down her jeans u
ntil they puddled around her ankles. “Sometimes.” She turned slightly and he nearly swallowed his tongue.

  The miniature scrap of lace couldn’t hide the engorged lips of her sex, the swollen nub pulsing. The thong’s narrow band dipped between the full curves of her bottom, framing her pale hips in black.

  She kicked away her pants. “I love thongs.”

  “Dios mío, so do I,” he muttered.

  “I never wore them until recently. Sometimes when I’m walking around the city, just running errands, my thong…” She trailed off, reaching for a hair clip.

  “Yes?” He held his breath in anticipation.

  She twisted her hair and fastened it to the top of her head, her breasts swaying. She gave him a mysterious smile.

  She slid her hand over the curve of one breast, drawing languid circles around her nipple. Her hand slipped lower over the soft ivory skin of her belly, stopping just above the scalloped black lace of her thong.

  Marco couldn’t stifle a groan. He started to get up from the bench and she lifted her hand away from the tiny panties.

  “I forgot what I was going to say.” She furrowed her brow in mock puzzlement.

  “Try to remember,” he said, grinding out the words. She was killing him. He sat gingerly, adjusting his painfully erect cock and throbbing testicles.

  She dipped her finger under the band of black lace, pulling it away from her slick golden curls. “It rubs the sensitive nub between my legs, up and down, back and forth. Yesterday I was shopping in Marshall Field’s and got really hot and aroused. I went into a fitting room.”

  “What did you do then?” If she had pleasured herself in a public dressing room, he would lose any shred of self-control and explode before she touched him.

  She walked past him and opened the door to the sauna. “The room was like this, small and private.” She turned and beckoned to him.

  He leaped off the bench and followed her inside, mesmerized by the creamy buttocks framed in black. “Did you touch yourself?”

  “I thought about it.” She gave him a sultry smile. “But I decided to wait until I got home to you.”

  Home to him. He stopped dead in the doorway, blind-sided by her turn of phrase. No one had ever come home to him.