It’s just nerves.” He turned away. Sex “No, I’m f-fuh…fine,” she’d yawned again. Her legs went around his waist automatically. “Sorry. “Now don’t move.”
The sketching took about two hours, with a break for her feet every half hour or so. Her nose and cheeks were red with cold and her hair tucked underneath a 1970s style winter hat. I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? “Great.” He pulled the canvas and easel from the corner and began to set up his brushes and paints. “No, you go on home. You’ve done this a hundred times. “Yes?”
“It’s me, Claire,” came the tinny voice. He grabbed her wrists in one hand and held them above her head, as strong as the manacles. She found, to her surprise, that her legs felt like jelly. Why would they keep an art room so cold, when they know that there would be nude models? His gloved hand caught under her chin and he tilted her head up to meet his gaze. Thank you,” she said sheepishly. “Claire?” he said, bewildered. “We’re almost done, Claire. Marc swept one leather-clad hand up her side and fondled her breast, teasing the pouting tip.
