38. Frank
FRANK
“I’ve never posed for anyone before. What do I need to do?”
“Nothing in particular. Just be your beautiful self.”
God, I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to make it through this. Ember’s wearing a short silky robe cinched at the waist, one of the items we bought her when she moved in. It’s always a turn-on to see her wearing something that we provided, but in this case it’s obvious there’s nothing but her beneath it.
The fabric is taut over her nipples, accentuating every mouth-watering detail. Though it’s not my usual medium, I could write poetry about the swell of her breasts, and her bare legs have me thinking filthy, dirty thoughts.
I’m torn between wanting to capture her beauty in clay and carry her off to the bedroom, caveman-style. It’s our day off, so I’m planning to do both.
“Are you sure you want to do this outside?” I ask. “I could set up in the living room, or even the bedroom.”
“I’m sure. I’ve always liked watching you working in the sunlight. Today, I’ll have a close-up view.”
She’s been watching me while I sculpt? It’d be hard to underestimate how good that makes me feel, and I wonder how I never knew.
When she steps out onto the patio, I’m immediately grateful for her desire to pose outdoors. Even though the sun isn’t shining directly on her, it still does incredible things to that silky robe, adding a transparent quality that brings me close to rearranging the day’s events.
While I enjoy her stunning body, I’m assured that no one outside of our household will see her. We’re set up on the patio, and the tall walls that surround our back yard ensure her privacy.
She settles onto the cushions I arranged on the bench, and when her robe parts, my dick goes hard. I made it through an entire life drawing course in art school without having a reaction like this, and that was when I was in my late teens.
But nothing with Ember has been business as usual.
I’ve wanted to sculpt her for as long as I can remember, and the day’s finally come. I’d prefer to do a large-scale work or even a series, but this might be my only opportunity to have her model for me.
I’m continually aware that I’m on borrowed time with her.
“How would you like me to pose?”
“However you’re comfortable. Would you like to lie down?”
She tries out a few positions, and ends up on her side, her upper body elevated by the cushions. “How’s this?”
“Good.”
Smiling shyly, she gets to her feet and undoes the knot at her waist, shrugs off the robe, and sets it aside before lying back down. Twisting her torso, she bends an arm above her, reminding me of a classical painting, though she’s more beautiful than any I’ve ever seen.
With my throat suddenly dry, I manage to say, “Let me know when you need a break.”
As I shove my lust aside and get to work, she watches.
Usually, I get lost in my work pretty quickly, but my body won’t stop nudging me with reminders that there are things that bring more immediate gratification than making art.
“How long have you been sculpting?” she asks as I start to shape the wet clay.
“Since I was in school. I took a class and liked it. It’s a good contrast to working with ink on skin all day.”
Ember nods, her eyes following my every movement. “You’re so creative.”
“And you’re so smart.” I push my thumbs into the slab and force up a section of clay that will become Ember’s legs. Her nose crinkles as she frowns, and I add, “We all have our strengths.”
Maybe it’s because she’s still young, but I don’t think Ember has any idea how special she is. She works hard for what she wants, sure, and that’s a great quality, but she’s also clever and brilliant and so fucking capable.
She’s destined for so much more than three ink slingers like us.
Her eyes are closed now, and I pause to take mental pictures, bittersweet almost an actual flavor I can taste on my lips.