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Authors: Juliette Jones
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to be your model,” I tell him.I already understand that I’m agreeing to much more than a business deal . This pull is far too strong to deny.
Max’s eyes are an unusual shade of deep blue, framed by thick black lashes. He watches me for a few seconds, then he reaches out to slowly unclasp the clip from my hair. My long hair falls loose , cascading in feather-soft waves over my shoulders and down my back. He slides my glasses off. My vision isn’t actually too bad without them. Someone told me about a year or so ago that I looked too young to be a curator. So I got the glasses because I thought they might make me look older and more sophisticated. “Hell ,” he rasps. “You are so damn pretty.”
The way he says that makes me … believe him. Like he’s not ju st saying that to get me naked. Like he actually means it. This makes me bolder.
“Do you … want to paint me now?”
He contemplates me coolly, that arrogant sneer turning me on even more.
The corner of his mouth quirks and he stands to his full height. Damn, he’s big. He probably weighs twice what I weigh and is at least six inches taller than me. The thought of being naked and vulnerable in front of this massive wall of gorgeous man-flesh is making me feel … hot . Primal urges rage inside me. I want him to use all that manly power on me. To mark me and to claim me.
It must be all those erotic books I’ve been reading.
Max unbuckles his leather chaps and lets them fall to the floor. His jeans hug his body like you wouldn’t believe. His plaid cotton shirt strains over his muscular shoulders as he grabs an easel and a blank canvas. He walks over and sets them next to his huge bed, which sits under a window. The bed’s covered in a mountain of plush pillows and duvets. It looks comfortable. The room is softly lit and th e sky outside is dark now . “I want you naked on the bed,” he says. “Then I’ll put you in the position I want.”
Oh god. I can’t believe I’m doing this. He’s going to see how wet I am. He’s going to touch me.
Which is exactly what I want him to do. I need him, with a fever I’ve never felt before.
So I walk over to the side of the bed, close to where he’s standing . He’s squeezing some paint onto a palette as he watches me.
I’ve never done a strip-tease before. I’ve had plenty of guys ask me out and I’ve gone on a few dinner dates with men who have tried to woo me and kiss me and one even asked me to marry him. I declined. None of them were what I was looking for.
This is what I’ve been looking for. Right here. All six feet, three inches of brooding genius cowboy hero.
And I plan on getting it.
So, even though I’ve never done this before, I feel ready. Like a lusty nymph who’s just discovered voracious new appetites . Like I was born for this moment.
I start to untie my black silk mini-dress. I let my fingers glide across my skin as I ease the fabric open. I’m wearing a cream lace push-up bra and panties. Even though no one ever sees them except me, I always wear sexy lingerie under my work clothes. I deal with a lot of wealthy, self-important, egotistical assholes on a daily basis so I like to dress for success. Knowing I’m dressed like a sex kitten under my power suit makes me feel like I’ve got an ace up my sleeve. It gives me confidence, and in New York – especially in the New York art scene – confidence is essential if you want to survive.
I drop my dress onto a chair.
Max exhales a low oath.
I have full breasts and curvy hips. My slim waist sort of accentuates how full my breasts are. And this bra happens to accentuate this detail even more. Plus my panties are see-through. I hadn’t actually planned to wear such sexy underwear today but now I’m glad I did.
Max is staring at me with a hungry, wolfish look on his face.
So I unhook my bra, freeing my breasts with a delicate bounce.
Now all I’m wearing is my tiny, saturated panties, thigh-high stockings and my
Max’s eyes are an unusual shade of deep blue, framed by thick black lashes. He watches me for a few seconds, then he reaches out to slowly unclasp the clip from my hair. My long hair falls loose , cascading in feather-soft waves over my shoulders and down my back. He slides my glasses off. My vision isn’t actually too bad without them. Someone told me about a year or so ago that I looked too young to be a curator. So I got the glasses because I thought they might make me look older and more sophisticated. “Hell ,” he rasps. “You are so damn pretty.”
The way he says that makes me … believe him. Like he’s not ju st saying that to get me naked. Like he actually means it. This makes me bolder.
“Do you … want to paint me now?”
He contemplates me coolly, that arrogant sneer turning me on even more.
The corner of his mouth quirks and he stands to his full height. Damn, he’s big. He probably weighs twice what I weigh and is at least six inches taller than me. The thought of being naked and vulnerable in front of this massive wall of gorgeous man-flesh is making me feel … hot . Primal urges rage inside me. I want him to use all that manly power on me. To mark me and to claim me.
It must be all those erotic books I’ve been reading.
Max unbuckles his leather chaps and lets them fall to the floor. His jeans hug his body like you wouldn’t believe. His plaid cotton shirt strains over his muscular shoulders as he grabs an easel and a blank canvas. He walks over and sets them next to his huge bed, which sits under a window. The bed’s covered in a mountain of plush pillows and duvets. It looks comfortable. The room is softly lit and th e sky outside is dark now . “I want you naked on the bed,” he says. “Then I’ll put you in the position I want.”
Oh god. I can’t believe I’m doing this. He’s going to see how wet I am. He’s going to touch me.
Which is exactly what I want him to do. I need him, with a fever I’ve never felt before.
So I walk over to the side of the bed, close to where he’s standing . He’s squeezing some paint onto a palette as he watches me.
I’ve never done a strip-tease before. I’ve had plenty of guys ask me out and I’ve gone on a few dinner dates with men who have tried to woo me and kiss me and one even asked me to marry him. I declined. None of them were what I was looking for.
This is what I’ve been looking for. Right here. All six feet, three inches of brooding genius cowboy hero.
And I plan on getting it.
So, even though I’ve never done this before, I feel ready. Like a lusty nymph who’s just discovered voracious new appetites . Like I was born for this moment.
I start to untie my black silk mini-dress. I let my fingers glide across my skin as I ease the fabric open. I’m wearing a cream lace push-up bra and panties. Even though no one ever sees them except me, I always wear sexy lingerie under my work clothes. I deal with a lot of wealthy, self-important, egotistical assholes on a daily basis so I like to dress for success. Knowing I’m dressed like a sex kitten under my power suit makes me feel like I’ve got an ace up my sleeve. It gives me confidence, and in New York – especially in the New York art scene – confidence is essential if you want to survive.
I drop my dress onto a chair.
Max exhales a low oath.
I have full breasts and curvy hips. My slim waist sort of accentuates how full my breasts are. And this bra happens to accentuate this detail even more. Plus my panties are see-through. I hadn’t actually planned to wear such sexy underwear today but now I’m glad I did.
Max is staring at me with a hungry, wolfish look on his face.
So I unhook my bra, freeing my breasts with a delicate bounce.
Now all I’m wearing is my tiny, saturated panties, thigh-high stockings and my
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