Stolen Moments (21 page)

“Yes, I need you to be nude.” This time I matched her directness.

“Of course.” Her smile lit the room.

“I’ll set up in here. You can change in the bathroom if you’d like. There’s a terry robe behind the door.” I hoped I sounded more professional than I felt.

She walked away from me toward the bathroom, and I turned my back to busy myself with setting the scene in front of the large glass window that ran from floor to eave at the front of the house. I pulled an air mattress from the closet and inflated it. It was a handy thing to have on hand for company, and I was glad to have it now. I placed the mattress in front of the window and covered it with an emerald green satin sheet, knowing that it would bring out the color in her eyes. Then I put large pillows here and there atop the mattress and grabbed a matching emerald sheet to drape her form.

She padded from the bathroom in bare feet, wearing the white terry robe that was just a little too large for me but fit her perfectly. She looked at me questioningly. “What do you want me to do?”

Let me touch you,
I thought, swallowing my words. I held the sheet out to her. “Lie down there.” I pointed to the mattress. “On your side, and drape this sheet over you loosely.” I turned away from her and held my hand out so that she could pass me the robe.

In a moment, she asked, “Is this what you want?”

I stepped back and turned. She was on her side, the green sheet draped across her hip, barely covering her breasts. She had propped her head in her hand and her long auburn hair hung down to the side. Her eyes were lidded and her lips slightly parted. She had captured a perfect look, midway between desire and satisfaction, and I knew I had to get it down. I grabbed a brush and began to paint. The background had been painted days ago. The waterfalls, the pool, and the horse were fine, but it was the woman on the blanket in the picture that wasn’t quite right. Now, looking at her so close to me, I was possessed. The image flew effortlessly from my fingers through the brush and onto the canvas. Never had a painting come so easily.

And so, a new ritual began. Each morning at precisely 10:00 a.m., Rêve would arrive at my door. We would have tea and talk a while; then she would disrobe, and I would get to work. I began to get more and more familiar with her body. I became used to touching her, rearranging her pose. She acted like the consummate professional model, I like the consummate professional artist. I couldn’t let her know the passions that were seething underneath the surface. I couldn’t tell her how I touched myself in the night and whispered her name as I came against my own hand. I treasured the time we spent together and was in awe of the work that was happening. I vowed I would do nothing to ruin either.

I knew the series of paintings was coming to an end. There was just one more left to do, an idea that had been percolating in my mind. I wasn’t sure how to approach Rêve about the concept, but my inner self told me to be honest and direct. All she could say was no, which would be a disappointment but certainly not a catastrophe.

I was nervous as I opened the door that last day. Rêve seemed amused at my nervousness, but she never said a word.

“We’re almost through,” I said, handing her a cup of tea.

“Yes. Perhaps you will let me see them now?”

“I’d like to do the last painting, and then you can see them all.”

She put her teacup down and started for the bathroom to change.

“Wait,” I said. She looked at me quizzically as I continued. “I want to paint you naked…on the horse.”

She seemed to hesitate and then replied softly, “I trust your artist’s eye, Logan. I trust you.” And then she began to undress, without the formality of the bathroom or the terry robe.

“Stay here a moment,” I told her. “I’ll come back to get you.”

I took the paint supplies out onto the porch, then went down the steps and unsaddled the Appaloosa. The horse looked at me curiously as I draped a small, fresh blanket over her back, then went back to grazing as I walked into the house to get Rêve. I led her out of the house and down the steps. She was naked, yet she walked out into the day with the dignity of a queen. If I hadn’t fallen in love with her before, I fell in love with her then.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“I want you to lie on your back. Let your legs and arms drape down on each side. Turn your head toward me and close your eyes.”

She grabbed the horse’s mane and mounted it; then she lay back, her head toward the horse’s rear. She relaxed into the pose, and I was delighted at the picture in front of me. She had effortlessly captured what I wanted, as though she could see the picture in my mind. Luckily, the horse did her part, standing and grazing as if nothing were different. Still, there was something wrong with the picture, and it didn’t take me long to realize what it was.

“Do you mind if I touch you?” I asked as I always did before rearranging her pose. “This isn’t quite right.”

Her eyes were laughing as she answered. “You are the artist, Logan. Come. Do what you must.”

I rearranged her hair so it fell like a blanket across the horse’s rear. I opened her legs just a little wider, and then I took her arm and laid it across her stomach until the long fingers of her hand rested against her pubic hair.

“I need your nipples hard,” I told her as I ran my hands over her breasts, lingering just a little too long.

She moaned slightly as I touched her.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I…I didn’t mean to…It’s just…”

Her emerald eyes darkened in what I thought was longing, but I wasn’t really certain. I hesitated, worried that I had offended her. She broke the silence first. “It’s all right,” she said. “I want you to get this right.”

I painted in a frenzy, each stroke bringing Rêve to life on the canvas. When I was done, I took the painting into the house and placed it in order among the finished paintings. Then I removed the covers that draped the others and went out to get Rêve.

I was surprised to see that her eyes were still closed. I stood watching the rise and fall of her perfect breasts. How I longed to reach out and cover them with my mouth! Instead, I shook myself from my thoughts and touched her hand. She opened her eyes, using one hand to shield them from the sun as she looked at me.

“Are we done?”

“Yes. Here, let me help you.” I moved to help her from the horse and was surprised when she took my hand and placed it on her breast.

“Don’t be shy, Logan,” she purred. “Touch me. Stroke me.”

I stood on the ground next to the horse. She was of average size for an Appaloosa, little more than fourteen hands—about fifty-eight inches high at the withers. For once I was thankful for my height, which put my mouth and hands at just the right level to reach Rêve’s body without effort. I began to stroke her, running my hands down her body and across her breasts. I could feel the tremor in her muscles as my hands moved on her skin. I walked around the horse, looking at Rêve as I went, touching her firmly as though I were examining prime horseflesh. She lay there so beautiful and exposed, so trusting.

“Touch me, Logan,” she said again, guiding my hand between her legs.

I opened her lips and looked at the pink flower covered with pearly wetness. I slid my fingers into her and laid my thumb against the swell of her desire. Her breath came in short gasps as I moved slowly in and out, up and down. She let her legs relax, opening them wider, inviting me deeper. Almost imperceptibly, she seemed to stop breathing and I knew she was going down into the orgasm, focusing on the feeling that was building between her legs. She tightened around my fingers and then she came against my hand, her juices running out over my fingers. I placed a soft kiss on her stomach and laid my head on it as I waited for her body to calm.

She moaned as I slipped my fingers from her. I lifted my head off her abdomen and looked deeply into her eyes as she sat up and slid off the horse into my arms. Her body burned against mine as I gently lowered her to the ground. We stood for a moment, barely touching, and I fought the desire to cover her mouth with mine.

“Logan,” she whispered, stroking my cheek with her fingers.

I grabbed her hand and brought it to my lips. “I know,” I whispered back.

“Do you?”

I nodded as I took her hand and led her into the house. The first painting she saw as we entered was of her standing at the edge of the pool, her back arched, ready to dive into the cold water. She walked slowly from painting to painting, and I watched as one small tear rolled down her cheek. I held my breath when she stopped in front of the picture of her by the side of the pond, her long fingers tangled in the auburn hair between her legs, a look of ecstasy on her face.

“These are extraordinary,” she said as she turned to face me.

“You are extraordinary,” I replied solemnly.

She stepped into my arms as easily as she had ridden into my life. I sank my fingers into her hair and pulled her mouth against mine, drinking in the sweetness of her lips. She answered my kiss with her own, and somewhere in the distance, I heard myself moan as her tongue danced hot and demanding against mine.

“I’m going to take you, Logan,” she said huskily, pulling me toward the mattress in front of the window.

She tore at my blouse as we fell onto the pillows, and I felt the buttons pop, then heard them clicking against the wooden floor. All the desire I had kept locked up burst in waves of burning heat as my breasts touched hers.

“Oh God, Rêve,” I groaned as I pulled back and struggled to get rid of the rest of my clothing.

She lifted her mouth from mine and nibbled her way down my body until her mouth reached the essence of my desire. Her fingers opened me and slid up and down in firm, circular motions. I lay under her, atop the green satin sheet, and her chestnut mane feathered against my thighs as she placed her mouth on me. Her tongue was firm and insistent and her mouth was soft but demanding as she pulled me into it. I pushed hard against her, moving my hips to let her know that she was reaching just the right spot.

I wanted this to last; I wanted the moment of our coming to be perfect—not the hurried passion born of frustration, but the deep waves of an orgasm born of love and desire. I knew I was about to come, but it was too soon…too soon, and so I stopped her.

She moved up and lay against me, breathing heavily. “Mon Dieu, why did you do that?” she complained as she rolled over on her back.

“Shh. Shh. Just let me love you, Rêve. Just let me love you.” Her skin was soft and smooth under my fingertips as I drew ever-widening circles against her thighs. She arched up against me, grabbing my wrist and pushing my hand between her legs.

“Not yet, Rêve,” I whispered against her mouth, then placed my hand just above the curve of her buttocks and slid her closer to me.

I touched her cheek and kissed her reverently, with small, soft kisses that trailed a path down her throat to her breasts. Her breasts were so beautiful, firm mounds of silky flesh that fit perfectly in my hands. I lifted first one, then the other, into my mouth. I sucked them, then took the hardened nipples gently between my teeth. I could feel her body react with each movement I made, and my body responded with equal fervor.

“Oh, Logan,” she cried, her voice thick with desire.

I kissed and touched every inch of her skin, delighting in her desire, until I lay between her legs, my cheek against her thigh. I slid my fingers between her lips, opening them gently. She was swollen and hard; small drops of her juices glistened like diamonds in the chestnut hair between her legs, and it excited me to know that I had done that to her.

I leaned into her then, opening her hood with my tongue just enough to touch the hard bud beneath before pulling her into my mouth. I slipped my fingers into her and curved them ever so slightly until I found the small rough button that lay just inside. I massaged and tapped it gently, letting her movements lead the way until she arched against my mouth and trapped my fingers inside with the pulsating waves of her orgasms. I stayed in her until I felt her body relax against the pillows, and then slowly moved up to hold her in my arms.

She didn’t say a word, but the wetness on her cheeks told me all I needed to know. She stretched against me as though she could not get enough contact and then slid her hand down to touch me. Her hand covered me and her long, slender fingers slid between my folds. No piano concerto she ever wrote could be as beautiful to me as the feel of her fingers playing against my skin.

“I want you, Logan,” she said, slipping her long fingers inside me, filling me with her touch. “I want you to come for me, now.”

Her words, her touch, were all it took. I couldn’t hold back a second longer. The dam burst, and I rocked with wave after wave of ecstasy. Her fingers were magic, and I was alive again.

We lay sated in each other’s arms, lost in our own thoughts, until I heard Rêve sigh. “I don’t want this to end, Logan.”

“It doesn’t have to end. We have all the time in the world, Rêve.” I kissed the top of her head softly and ran my hand down her side, bringing it to rest gently against the curve of her hip.

“Do we?” she whispered.

I lay awake until dawn, holding Rêve in my arms as she slept, listening to the soft puffs of her breath caress the silence of the night.