39. Ember
EMBER
I had no idea posing would get me so hot. And I don’t mean the temperature outside.
It takes an effort to hold still with Frank’s eyes on me. Even though he’s intent on his creation, his gaze sears me every time he looks up. It makes me want to press my thighs together, stretch sensually … touch myself.
Who is this person I’ve become? I never would have imagined that I could respond this way. I try to distract myself by thinking about something else, but my mind refuses to cooperate. I can’t look at him for more than a moment at a time, because it makes me feel things I should absolutely not be feeling.
More than lust. So much more.
I hear the sliding door move, and then Griffin and Zeb are there. My nipples get hard at being on display for all three of them like this, and my pussy tingles. Biting my lip, I try to seem outwardly cool and hope they don’t say anything.
“Beautiful,” Zeb murmurs, and I blush.
“Look at all that virgin skin,” Griffin says. I know he means the fact that I don’t have any tattoos, but being Griffin, his voice sounds flirty and suggestive.
“You ever thought about getting inked, Ember?” Zeb asks.
It comes to me then—the perfect way to remember these men once we’ve moved on. Of course, I’ll never forget my time with them, but a physical memento would be nice. “I never did before … but I’d like it if each of you could give me a small tattoo.”
One of them sucks in a breath; I’m not sure which one, but it’s not the response I was expecting, and it sends my emotions teetering into dangerous territory.
Sleeping with them is risky enough; getting my feelings involved would be disastrous. But there are moments, when one of them is kind or funny or generous or tender, that I’m aware how easily I could let this become more than it is.
We have an arrangement of convenience, that’s all. I’ll ruin things for all of us if I forget it, so I do my best to keep my feelings in my lockbox where they belong.
“Sure,” Frank says, and his voice is rough. “We could do that. You know the drill; we’ll get some ideas from you about what you want, and where, and sketch out some possibilities.”
“Right,” Zeb says, and his voice sounds different too. “What he said.”
I wait for Griffin to say something ridiculous about his tattoo covering my entire body or something, but he doesn’t.
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I say, “but I’d love your ideas, too. After all, you’re the artists.”
All three men are silent then, but their eyes feast on my body like I’m an all-you-can-eat buffet at one of the casinos.
Finally, Griffin clears his throat. “I’ve got a gig with the band. I’ll be back later.”
There’s an undertone there, but I don’t get a chance to figure out what he’s thinking, because he turns and leaves without another word.
Zeb looks back and forth between me and Frank’s clay, which has been transformed into a body with limbs, torso, and a head with flowing hair. Somehow he’s managed to capture different textures with broad strokes of his powerful hands.
“Looking good,” Zeb says, though his eyes are on me instead of Frank’s creation. Then he goes back inside, leaving me alone with Frank again.
“It does look good, really good,” I tell him.
“It’s rough. I’d like to refine it, but I’m sure you’re tired of holding the same position.”
He steps away from the sculpture, and I take that as my cue to stretch my arms and legs. “I am getting a little stiff.” I slip my robe back on, not bothering to tie it, and go over to view his work from a different angle. It looks even better up close. “Frank, this is incredible. You’re so talented.”
Touched by how he’s rendered my likeness, I throw my arms around him and stretch on tiptoes to kiss him. After I land a peck on his cheek, he turns and kisses me back, though he doesn’t touch me.
“I need to wash up.” He holds out his clay-covered hands, which make it look like he’s starting to turn into a sculpture himself.
“Or we could wash up together.” Taking hold of his wrists, I guide his dirty hands inside my robe, where he wastes no time cupping my breasts and stroking his thumbs over my hardening nipples.
He nuzzles my neck, the scruff of his beard sending a thrill across my skin. “I don’t know how I kept my hands off you.”
His comment makes me feel warm all over, because I know how he gets immersed in his artwork. It’s flattering to think that I’m that much of a distraction.
I’m also glad that I wasn’t the only one getting hot and bothered. It’s wild that as many times as we’ve been together, the desire only seems to grow.
Hands and mouth all over me, Frank backs me up to the bench, sits me down, and kneels at my feet. His hands spread my knees wide, and then he buries his face between my legs, pausing only to mutter an appreciative curse when he discovers how wet I am.
The sounds he makes as he eats me multiply the sensations, and have me squirming in my seat, though his strong grip keeps me grounded. When his tongue flies back and forth over my clit, I cry out, not realizing until a moment later that neighbors could hear me.
I dig my hands into Frank’s hair to anchor myself just before I completely lose control. Even when my eyes squeeze shut, I hold onto the sight of this man worshipping my pussy, and it keeps me coming for a blissfully long time.
He pulls back when it starts to feel like too much, because he knows my body so well by now. The grin he gives me makes it hard for me to catch my breath.
I want him so badly.