Seduce Me Tonight (13 page)

He sounded almost anxious, which piqued my curiosity. I sighed, too tired to be self-conscious at this point. ‘Sure. What’s up?’

‘Wait here.’

I sat on one of the stools, twisting my neck to crack it and release some of the tension in my tight shoulders. It was late September and the room was cooler than usual, probably because no one had thought yet to turn on the heat. We had been in the grip of a very pleasant Indian summer for weeks and no one was in a hurry to welcome winter. Still, I would have to make a point of saying something to Antonio so I wouldn’t have to suffer through the next class session. My nipples were like rocks, poking through my thin pink robe like some 1950s pinup and aching like they’d been pinched and twisted all night. Like the natural redhead I was, I blushed hotly at the thought of Antonio’s capable hands on my breasts.

Thankfully, before my thoughts could go too far down that dirty path, he returned carrying a medium-sized canvas. He had it facing his body, so I couldn’t see the painting. Despite my exhaustion, I was more than a little curious. I assumed it was the work of one of his students, but I wasn’t sure why he’d be showing it to me privately. I knew nothing about art. He put the canvas on one of the students’ easels, but it wasn’t until he stepped to the side that I could get a good look at it.

‘No one has seen this yet,’ he said, his voice sounding hesitant. ‘I wanted you to be the first. What do you think?’

It was a painting of me, though it took me a moment to even realise that it was me. Seeing a painting is a visceral experience, much more so than seeing a photograph. I responded to the art first, not to the subject. What I saw were the soft, rounded curves of a woman, her pale body stretched out on an ornate purple couch, her long red hair trailing down one shoulder, a playful smile teasing her lips in a way that made me want to smile too. The light of the painting was ethereal, as if the woman – who I finally realised was me – cast the glow that lit the space around her. It wasn’t quite an angelic effect, because the woman so obviously revelled in the sensuality of her nakedness, but it was otherworldly. I realised the luminosity was not light at all but eroticism, as if all her passion was bottled up, trapped beneath the surface of her skin, illuminating her and the room around her. It was, to say the least, a breathtaking effect and nothing like any of the other work Antonio had done.

It wasn’t until I took a deep breath that I realised I’d been holding it in since Antonio revealed the painting to me.

‘Well?’ he asked, sounding wholly unlike himself. ‘What do you think?’

I was moved by his art, but I was even more touched by the tentativeness in his voice, the realisation that he was nervous about my reaction and eager for my approval making me forget how beautiful and aloof he was. This was not the Antonio I knew, but I liked him and was even more attracted to him for this show of vulnerability.

‘It’s incredible, Antonio. I’m honoured,’ I said. ‘I hope it doesn’t sound vain to say that it’s one of your most beautiful paintings.’

He laughed, regaining some of his confidence, though I think it was more masculine than artistic pride. ‘It is vain, but that’s all right. You inspire beautiful art.’

I couldn’t stop looking at the painting, at myself. Was that how he saw me? Was I that beautiful, erotic creature on the canvas? I didn’t feel like that. While I recognised myself in the features, I didn’t think I looked like that, either. I had taken enough classes with bitter, brutal acting coaches to know I would never pass for the ingénue or even the leading lady. I was a character actress, the full-figured best friend, the comedic relief in a drama, the secondary character who added colour and dimension to the plot – and I was fine with that. But Antonio had made me into –
painted
me into – a seductress, an erotic beauty.

‘Why –’ I couldn’t quite figure out how to phrase the question. I didn’t know if he would understand. I tried again. ‘Why did you paint me like
that
? So … exotic?’

He looked from me to the painting and then back to me. ‘Because you are so incredibly beautiful and you don’t even know it.’

It was trite, clichéd. Simple. Yet I believed he felt that way. ‘Thank you.’

I took a step towards him, wanting somehow to let him know how grateful I was that he would not only paint me but let me be the first to see it. I put my hand on his shoulder, felt the fine bones shift beneath my hand as I leaned forward and kissed his smooth cheek.

‘Thank you so much for showing it to me, Antonio.’

‘Valerie –’

When I started to move away, he put his hand on my waist, stilling me. He leaned in, as if to kiss my cheek, but his lips settled against mine. They were cold, from the air or from nervousness, I couldn’t be sure. Our lips and his hand on my waist were the only parts of our bodies that touched. As I relaxed into the kiss and felt his lips part and his tongue tentatively lick my bottom lip, I realised I wanted to touch more of him. I put my arms around his narrow waist and pulled him closer, feeling soft and feminine and desirable in his arms.

He let out a soft sigh against my mouth as if, finally, he could relax. ‘I have wanted to kiss you like that since that first night in the summer class,’ he confessed. ‘I’ve been a man obsessed.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ I murmured against his open mouth.

‘I didn’t know how to approach you.’

His confession, his raw vulnerability, made me ache with need. I kissed him again, taking his bottom lip into my mouth and sucking it with gentle persistence. He pulled me closer, moulding his angular body against my rounded one, stroking my hip with one hand while he twisted my long hair up in the other, his fingers tangling in the wavy strands.

‘So beautiful,’ he murmured against my mouth. ‘So luscious.’

No one had ever called me luscious before. I felt myself responding to his words as much as to his gentle caresses.

I whimpered as he trailed feather-light kisses across my jaw and down my neck. I clung to him, not sure who was supporting whom, as we sunk to the hardwood floor in one slow, fluid motion. He was stretched out on top of me, his warm body between my legs, the cold, hard floor against my back. I hardly noticed any discomfort as he looked into my eyes and smiled.

‘Is this OK?’

‘More than OK,’ I breathed. ‘It’s wonderful.’

He knelt up between my spread thighs and undid the belt of my robe. I trembled as he parted it, feeling shy and vulnerable, as if he had never seen me naked before. In a way, Antonio had seen more of me than anyone ever had. And yet, this was different. This was … intimate. I resisted the urge to cover myself with my hands and lay there, letting him study my body in a way that had nothing at all to do with art.

He leaned forward and ran his hands down my body, pausing to stroke my plump breasts and hard nipples before running the flat of his hand over my rounded stomach, down farther over my bare mound. I spread my legs wider, opening myself fully to him as he touched me. I could feel the wetness growing between my thighs, could almost imagine my pussy swelling and opening for him, an exotic pink flower tipped with dew.

‘You are stunning,’ he said, his gaze between my legs. He slid a finger gently inside me, then pulled it out and over my clit. I gasped and he chuckled. ‘I can’t believe you’re here, like this.’

He stretched out on top of me again, shifting his weight so that his legs were spread on either side of my right leg while his hand worked between my thighs. He wore a white linen shirt and dark trousers and his body was warm, far warmer than the room warranted. I was making him hot. I was arousing him the way he was arousing me. I put my hands on the back of his head and pulled him down so I could kiss his mouth while he slid his finger back inside of me. He caressed me lightly, as if learning my internal curves the same way he had memorised my external ones.

I thrust my hips up to meet that one slender finger, longing for more. Needing more. Needing everything he could give me. He gasped as my thigh pressed up hard between his legs. I held onto his waist as he rocked against me, pressing his impressive erection against my thigh. I gasped when he added a second finger inside my wetness, imagining how good his cock would feel.

‘Oh, God. You’re driving me crazy, Antonio.’ I pressed my mouth against his neck and bit down, gently at first and then harder as his fingers became more insistent. ‘I want you.’

He didn’t answer, but only continued to press his fingers deep into my pussy and then withdraw them before pushing them into me once more. Fucking me slowly with those long, graceful fingers. I braced my feet against the floor to keep us from sliding, my robe riding up underneath me. Reaching between his legs, I rubbed his erection through his pants, trying to give him just a taste of the pleasure he was giving me. I felt myself grow even wetter as I touched him and felt his cock jump against my hand.

He kept fucking me, slowly, steadily, those two fingers making me throb inside for something else. Something bigger.

‘More, Antonio,’ I whimpered. ‘More, please.’

He added a third finger, slowly twisting them inside me like a corkscrew in a wine bottle, capturing me on his hand. He pinned my shoulder to the floor, his fingers hard on my tender flesh. I writhed against him as I cried out my pleasure, my voice echoing in the empty studio. I knew I would be bruised from the experience, but it didn’t matter. If anything, it only aroused me more to think of having Antonio’s mark on my body like a smudge of paint on a canvas. I fondled him roughly, impatient to feel him buried inside of me.

‘Fuck me,’ I cried, my voice a plaintive plea.

I ground my clit against the palm of his hand, whimpering as he fucked me. Shifting his weight, he braced himself on his knees so I could work his zipper down over his swollen cock. I reached into his pants, pulled his erection free, ran my fingers along the glistening tip and then stroked the length of him roughly. He moaned in response and pinched and rolled one of my nipples between his fingers.

‘Do you want me?’ he asked, barely a whisper.

I nodded.

‘Yes?’

‘Please, Antonio, yes.’ He was playing with me, making me want him more, teasing me with his fingers and his dark eyes heavy-lidded with his desire, my pale body reflected in their depths.

He pulled his fingers from my pussy and I cried out at the sudden emptiness. He dragged his trousers down to his hips, freeing himself just enough to take his cock in his hand and press it to my pussy.

‘Yes?’ he asked again, rubbing the head along my slit, teasing me, making me squirm.

I groaned in anticipation and longing, shaking my head back and forth on the floor, my long hair making a swishing sound on the hardwood.

‘No?’ He made as if to pull away.

I reached down and gripped his wrist. ‘Yes!’ I moaned through gritted teeth. ‘Yes! Now!’

He let me guide his hand, pressing the wide tip of his cock to my opening stretched from his fingers. I blinked away tears of intense emotion as he carefully slid into me and the softness of my body enveloped the hardness of his.

‘Fuck me, Antonio,’ I whispered. ‘Please.’

He did. He pushed into me, rocking his entire body on me, hitching my hips up around his waist so he could go deeper. Slowly, slowly, so slow I thought I would die from the excruciating need, he fucked me. I tilted my hips, felt the slightest twinge of pain as he went as deep as he could and then we were pressed together hipbone to hipbone, rocking on the floor in a slow, sinuous motion that pressed my clit against his pubic bone. I shivered, quaking against him with the need of my release. We were barely moving, but the combination of fullness and friction brought me to orgasm in a gush of wetness that surrounded him.

I felt him tense, felt the quiver in his taut thigh muscles as I came, my muscles tightening down on his thick length. He went rigid above me as I rolled my hips down and back and then up and forward, letting him feel every wet inch of my pussy. He came with a deep inhalation of breath, his cock swelling and releasing inside of me, my thighs damp from both of us.

He shifted off me and moved his hand between my legs, pressing the tips of his fingers against my pussy, making slow circular motions over my engorged labia. I felt swollen and sensitive and moved to stop him, but he resisted.

‘Let me,’ he whispered. ‘Please trust me.’

I relaxed my hold on his slender wrist, whimpering at the intensity of the sensations as I went limp on the floor. His fingers stroked me harder, bringing me to the edge all over again, and I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

‘Look up, Valerie’ he said. ‘Look at how beautiful you are.’

I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. I was nearly incoherent, so close to another orgasm I felt as if my muscles had turned to liquid and were leaking out from between my legs. I did as he said, looked up and over his shoulder. I saw myself looking down from his painting, saw the knowing smile, the light illuminating not just the painting but our bodies on the floor. I saw myself the way Antonio saw me, I saw the passion, the eroticism. And then I came again.

I arched my hips off the floor until the only things supporting my and Antonio’s weight were my shoulders and feet pressed to the floor. I came with his fingers pressed to my vulva as he painted my wetness over swollen, tender flesh. I came, screaming his name over and over in a litany of desire even while I stared into my own eyes in the painting he had created of me.
For
me.

‘Beautiful girl,’ he murmured, his fingers still pressed against me, my thighs clamped tightly around his wrist. ‘My beautiful, beautiful muse.’

Above us, I smiled wickedly.

The rain beat at the windows as if it intended to get in. I stared out the windshield and concentrated on driving. The car was silent except for the sound of the unrelenting rain and the soft snores from my three passengers. Damned men. They could sleep through anything.

Somehow, I’d gotten suckered into going on this trip. I couldn’t remember exactly how it had happened. One minute I’d been sitting in the office listening to the guys talk about their fishing trip and the next thing I knew I was nodding my head and agreeing how great it would be to get away from it all for a spell in the woods, with a room to myself and all the fresh air and sunshine I could stand. Fast forward a month, and here I was driving Landon’s truck through a pounding rainstorm during an unseasonably cold April in Virginia, while Landon, Brian and Greg slept like the proverbial three bears. Which I guess made me Goldilocks in search of a soft place of my own to sleep.