28. Nick
NICK
W e make it out of the cab and into my apartment in one piece, but the moment we step inside, I’m not sure how to proceed. In truth, I want to take her straight to the bedroom and undress her, but hesitation tugs at me. That gnawing sense of what could go wrong if I don’t stay in control.
“How hungry are you?” I ask as Zinnia sets her bag on the counter. “We could eat now, or—”
“I’m starving,” she says, but when her eyes fall to my lips, I know she’s not talking about food. “Can we go to bed, Nick? That entire afternoon was like extended foreplay.”
I chuckle, relieved. “I thought it was just me.”
“Hell no. But…” She takes my hand, considering her words carefully before speaking again. “I wonder if you’d be open to… trying something.”
My brows rise. “Trying something?”
She nods. “I like you a lot, and I think you feel the same.”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation, and her lips lift in a grin that quickly fades.
“That’s good, but I can feel you holding back with me. I understand why when we’re in public,” she adds quickly, “but when it’s only you and me, I want you to feel comfortable letting go.”
I frown. She’s right, I have been holding back, but I wasn’t aware she’d noticed.
“Okay…” I say cautiously.
“Do you ever watch porn?” she asks. The question comes out of nowhere, and my frown deepens.
“No.”
“ Never ?”
My face heats. “I have in the past, but no, not generally.”
“Why?”
I lift a shoulder. “I don’t make a habit of indulging in stuff like that.” Though as I think about this, it occurs to me how many of my usual restraints have fallen away in recent weeks. How I’ve been drinking more, jacking off more, running classes more off-the-cuff.
Then there’s sleeping with an ex-student…
“Why?” she repeats.
I laugh uncomfortably. “What is this?”
She softens. “I’m not trying to be difficult. I just want to know. How does it feel when you do watch porn? When you have in the past?”
“I…” I shift my weight. “I don’t know.”
“Does it turn you on?”
What kind of question is that? “Of course.”
“And what’s that like?” she presses. “Being that turned on?”
I consider this for a moment. If anyone else had asked me these questions, I’d tell them to fuck off , but I want to be honest with her. She’s never hidden herself from me.
“It feels…” I search for the right words. “Out of control. Too much.” It’s not until I’ve answered that I realize how often I’ve felt this way with Zinnia. From day one.
“Like Jackson Pollock,” she says thoughtfully. “That’s why you hate him.”
“I don’t hate him,” I counter. “His work… makes me uneasy.”
She nods. “Of course it does. Like you said, Pollock is chaos. It’s nothing like the Renaissance, with all its rules and conventions. It makes perfect sense why you prefer that.”
I laugh, fighting the smile tugging at my mouth. Of course she sees that for what it is. She sees everything. She sees the parts I try to hide.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
“What if it’s not too much?” she asks gently, touching my arm. “When you’re turned on, Nick, when you’re excited or passionate, what if it’s not too much? What if it’s just the right amount?”
I open and close my mouth, unsure how to answer. For so long I’ve worked to keep my passions, my impulses, my desires in check. They’ve felt… overwhelming. Dangerous. Threatening, almost.
But what if Zinnia’s right? I think about how she described Pollock’s work: intense emotional expression, safely contained . What if, with Zinnia, I could somehow contain my desires?
I look at the sketchbook sitting on the coffee table, thinking about how it's felt to draw again. Cathartic. Expansive. A relief.
Being intimate with her feels the same, but she’s right, I’m holding back. I’m holding myself so damn tightly, it’s a wonder I’ve managed to come at all.
“What do you want to try?” I ask, half curious, half terrified.
She laughs, squeezing my arm. “Relax. I’m not suggesting a threesome or to film ourselves or anything.”
A relieved chuckle slips from me, and I let her tug me into the bedroom.
She pushes the door closed, then turns around so her back is flush to my front, motioning to the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door.
I didn’t install it. It was there when I moved in. I make a habit of avoiding it.
But now, she makes me look. I take in the couple before us.
Zinnia, with her gorgeous hourglass figure in that dress, those dark bangs across her forehead, the fierce desire in her eyes.
And some other guy I barely recognize, much older than her, gray in his hair and beard, glasses crooked on his nose, frown on his brow. The frown smooths, and Zinnia smiles.
“I want you to watch yourself, Nick.”
I blink. “ Watch myself?”
She nods. “Watch yourself fuck me.”
“But…” I scratch my chin, confused. “Why?”
“I want you to get out of your head and see what I see. That your passion is beautiful, not shameful. That when you let go, you don’t lose yourself. You become more yourself.”
Shit.
My heart jumps as I meet her gaze in the reflection. The thought of being exposed and seeing myself like that, seeing that loss of composure, churns my stomach.
But as I take in the hopeful look on her face, I know I’ll do it.
For her.
“That’s really what you want?”
“That’s really what I want,” she says. She turns back, stroking my cheek gently. “You need to know… there’s no judgment from me, no shame. You could never disappoint me, Nick. It’s safe to lose control with me, okay?”
Emotion rushes up inside me, taking me by surprise, but I quickly swallow it. I want to believe her. The truth is, I want to let go with her, to give in to whatever this thing is between us without reservation. I want to do everything I can with her, while I still have the chance.
And if she thinks this will work, I’m prepared to try.
“Let me be your Jackson Pollock canvas,” she whispers, her lips lifting in a smile.
I exhale, dropping my forehead to hers. “Okay,” I say hoarsely, and she presses her mouth to mine. I start to remove my glasses, but Zinnia stops me with a wry twist of her lips.
“Nice try, but you’ll need these to see.”
Dammit . I give her a sheepish smile, pushing them back up my nose. She’s not kidding around with this, and it makes me want to take it seriously. To do it properly for her. For me too.
For us .
“Besides,” she adds, giving me a dirty smile, “I love those glasses. You look so sexy in them.”
Surprise socks me in the chest. I’ve worn glasses since I was fourteen, and not once have I considered them something a woman might like . I gave zero consideration to the frames when selecting them, and I’ve never updated the style. They’re practical, nothing more.
But to Zinnia, they are more. It seems everything about me is more to her.
“Thank you,” she says, rising on her toes to brush her lips to mine. “I love that you’re willing to try this with me. And if there’s anything you want me to do for you, say the word.”
An image flashes through my head—of Zinnia entering my office, closing the door, bending over my desk—and my cock thickens in response. Not that I’d ever do it, of course, but… it’s nice to know she’d be willing if I wanted to. Something tells me this woman would be willing to do anything I asked.
You can do whatever you like to me.
Her words from Wednesday night replay in my head, stirring that same primal need low in my gut.
And with it, that same urge to rein it in rises, but I catch myself.
This is what she’s talking about, isn’t it?
That desperate attempt to cling to control.
But what has that gotten me, really? Years without artistic expression, without the touch and understanding of a woman. Years without feeling anything at all.
And I don’t want to be that guy anymore.
I crush my mouth to hers, fingers threading into her hair as I kiss her, suddenly ravenous.
She doesn’t hesitate, mouth opening to welcome me with her tongue, fingers scrabbling to free my belt, hands wrapping around my cock, stroking eagerly.
Heat slams through me, and instinctively I tighten my muscles, bracing against it.
Zinnia senses this, stepping back to give me a moment.
She slowly peels her dress off to reveal a matching black set of lacy underwear like nothing I’ve ever seen.
It’s always been nude-colored underwear at life drawing, then she was fully naked when she undressed last time she was here, but this is…
Shit .
My breath stutters as my gaze rakes over her full breasts, barely contained by the low cups of her bra.
And when she turns to gaze at me seductively over her shoulder, the cut of a black lace thong between her round ass cheeks almost makes me lose it on the spot.
She’s perfection when she’s naked, but there’s something about this underwear that somehow adds to her beauty. Its own kind of art.
“Fuck, Zinnia,” I groan, unable to stop my hands from straying to her. “You’re killing me.”
She issues a breathless laugh. “That’s not my intention, I swear.”
“I think it is.” I graze my teeth over her shoulder, resisting the urge to bite down. “You know exactly what you’re doing, honey.”
I nudge her to sit on the edge of the bed, then lower myself to my knees, trailing kisses down her chest, tugging her breasts free.
They spill over her bra, presenting themselves to me like a gift, and I bury my face between them, tweaking her nipples with my fingers, working my tongue over the stiff peaks.
“Oh, God,” she whimpers, arching into my touch.
Her fingers tunnel into my hair, tugging on the strands, and I can’t stop myself from grinding my stiff cock against the side of the mattress between her legs.
Zinnia notices, breath speeding up, eyes watching me hungrily.
She tugs at my shirt, tossing it aside, and when her hands land hot on my skin, a groan tears from my mouth.