24. Live Model
Samantha
I’ll be spending the next two weeks at Alexander’s place.
I still have trouble wrapping my head around it.
It feels too soon—we’re only at the beginning of our story.
But the idea of spending Christmas alone doesn’t appeal to me.
Mara and Emelyne are heading south to be with their families, and for the first time in a long while, I haven’t been invited to my parents’ holiday celebrations.
Their rejection hurts, but I’m learning to live with it.
After classes, Gilles picked Emelyne and me up at the apartment and helped move my things to the penthouse—especially my easel and some drawing supplies.
Alexander even entrusted me with the keys to his kingdom.
I think he’s trying to make up for my parents’ behavior, but he doesn’t have to. That was their choice. Not his.
Emelyne stops in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, admiring the city view, then turns back toward the apartment, scanning it with a critical eye.
“There’s something missing.”
I smile.
“A Christmas tree.”
Her face lights up.
“Exactly!”
The idea excites us. An hour later, the scent of pine fills the apartment. Emelyne helps me set up the tree, and we head back out to buy decorations. Unfortunately, time slips away, and she has to meet Mara at the train station so they don’t miss their train.
The apartment falls silent again after she leaves, but I’m not sad.
I start decorating, eager to see Alexander’s expression when he discovers the tree.
At my parents’ place, Kristel was always the one in charge. Her privilege. A themed tree, copied straight from a magazine photo. Perfect. Impersonal.
I want something else.
I begin with the garlands. Different shades of blue and violet create a deep backdrop, almost nocturnal.
I hang a string of lights whose delicate flicker reminds me of starlight.
Then come the ornaments in warmer tones—red, orange, gold—growing more intense toward the top.
I mix textures: velvet, glossy glass, semi-transparent finishes.
It’s a little like how I imagine the tree in the Garden of Eden and its forbidden fruit. Dark and mysterious, yet bursting with life.
When Alexander comes home, his exhaustion vanishes instantly.
He pulls me into his arms, almost lifting me off the ground.
“Thank you. You’re the only one who would think of something like this.”
His voice is soft, grateful.
“You deserve a little magic too.” I say simply. So do I.
Just then, the doorbell rings. I grab some cash and go open the door. The delivery guy is there with an enormous pizza box.
I hand him thirty euros.
“Keep the change. Happy holidays.”
As we eat, Alexander watches me with that hesitant expression I’m starting to recognize.
“My parents are inviting us on the twenty-fifth at noon for Christmas lunch. Oliver, Marion, and their kids—Elias and Laure—will be there. I told them I’d talk to you first. What do you think?”
My heart tightens.
“Won’t it be awkward for them to see us together? After all, you were with Kristel for over three years. What did you tell them about us?”
“I told them everything.”
He pauses.
“My parents aren’t like yours, Sam. Sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that…”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
I rest my hand over his. His parents, Madeleine and Romain, have always been kind to me, even though I haven’t seen them much these past few years.
I lower my eyes to my pizza.
“Do you really want me to come?”
Sensing my insecurity, he abandons his slice and stands, pulling me into his arms. He turns my chair so I’m facing him.
“Of course I want you to come. Do you still need me to say it?”
“Yes.”
I answer without shame, lifting my eyes to his.
“I want you to tell me. Every day.”
I take a breath.
“I’m not afraid to admit it, Alexander. I’ve felt rejected my entire life. I don’t need you to stand on my own. I know my worth. But I need you to tell me when you want me to come. And when you’re happy to see me, I need to hear it.”
His gaze softens. He kneels in front of me so we’re at eye level, cradling my face in his hands.
“I want you to come. I want you here, by my side.”
He looks straight into my eyes.
“There’s no one I want more by my side than you.”
That night, we make love slowly, without urgency. Afterward, he cleans me with careful, almost tender gestures, then pulls me close. I curl against his chest and fall asleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
*
The next day, we have breakfast facing each other in the kitchen, both dressed casually. He’s in jeans and a shirt with rolled-up sleeves, I’m in a wool wrap top and yoga pants.
“I need a live model this week.”
He tenses immediately.
“You want to bring a model… here?”
He doesn’t refuse, but the idea puts him on edge.
I suddenly understand everything it awakens in him. Kristel. Grégoire. The betrayal.
“I’ll find another solution,” I say gently.
He hesitates. Then a mischievous smile lights up his features.
“I’ll pose for you.”
I sit up straight, surprised.
“Are you serious?”
“Why not?”
I don’t wait for him to change his mind. I rush to the guest room where I store all my supplies. I return with my easel, my portfolio, and my charcoal.
Alexander laughs at my enthusiasm, but when you have such a beautiful model ready to pose for you, you don’t waste time.
I set up a blanket and white sheet on the living room floor, then arrange a few cushions. I create a small intimate space, bathed in natural light filtering through the bay windows. Then I set up my easel and attach a large white sheet to it.
“There, all set.”
“Let’s do it then.”
Usually, our models undress in another room or behind a screen, then put on a robe while waiting to pose. It only takes two seconds to go from individual to model.
Alexander, however, does something none of our models has ever done: he undresses slowly in front of me, his eyes locked on mine.
Fuck.
He slowly unbuttons his shirt, revealing his firm, masculine chest. His well-defined muscles and abs make me want to run my hand over them.
The way I’m looking at him is anything but professional.
Then he leans down and lowers his jeans, revealing firm, muscled thighs.
I don’t miss a thing.
When he straightens up, my attention stops despite myself on the bulge straining his underwear.
I swallow. I remember perfectly what it feels like to have him inside me. I press my thighs together to maintain my composure.
His hands slide along either side of his boxer’s waistband before freezing.
I look up. He’s staring at me with a mocking smile before lowering his underwear. His erection, its tip glistening with desire, bounces against his lower abdomen.
I’m burning up.
Despite myself, my eyes drift to where they shouldn’t. His cock twitches slightly under my gaze and, mortified, I look away as Alexander bursts out laughing.
“Sorry,” he says without seeming sorry at all. “Hard to stay indifferent when you’re devouring me with your eyes.”
“I… this is purely professional,” I stammer, my cheeks on fire.
“Of course,” he says with a smirk.
I take a deep breath, trying to regain my calm and focus.
“Sit there,” I say, pointing to the space I’ve prepared. “Arms around your knees, like this.”
I guide him into the pose I have in mind, ignoring the shivers that run through me where my skin meets his. Sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around his bent knees, chin slightly lowered.
“Perfect. Don’t move.”
For the next half hour, I get to work. The charcoal glides across the paper, capturing the lines of his body, the shadows and lights. I lose myself in the process, focusing on the shapes, the proportions, the way the light caresses his skin.
But it’s impossible to forget that this is Alexander, the man I love.
When I finish my sketch, an idea comes to me. A scandalous idea.
“Don’t move.”
I rummage through my painting supplies and find a large squirrel-hair brush. When I return, Alexander looks at me with curiosity.
I kneel behind him and lean toward his ear.
“I need to review my anatomy lessons,” I murmur.
I feel his body stiffen slightly. Then he exhales slowly.
“Okay,” he says in a slightly husky voice.
Taking the brush, I begin to draw the muscles of his back on his skin, naming them one by one.
“Trapezius,” I murmur as I draw. “Latissimus dorsi…”
My movements are slow, deliberately sensual. His breathing deepens.
“Do you often review your anatomy this way?” he asks, his voice altered by desire.
“No,” I say, blowing softly against his ear. “You inspire me.”
He tries to turn around, to grab me, but I gently pull away.
“Tsk tsk. I’m not done.”
I move around his body and straddle his thighs, ignoring his erection standing between us. Our eyes meet. His are dark, intense.
Brush in hand, I trace the contours of his face. The outline of his lips. Then I gradually descend to his neck, his collarbone.
“Deltoid,” I murmur as I move down to his shoulder. “Pectoralis major. Serratus anterior.”
My hand slowly descends on his chest, the brush grazing his skin.
“Rectus abdominis.”
I feel his muscles contract under my fingers. His breathing is now irregular. His hands settle on my hips, holding me in place.
“Sam,” he says in a husky voice. “You’re playing with fire.”
“I know,” I murmur, leaning toward him until our lips almost touch. “It’s for art.”
“You’re going to drive me crazy,” he breathes before flipping me onto the cushions.
His lips land on mine, hungry, devouring me. One hand grabs my breast through the fabric, while the other seizes my ass, pressing me against him. I feel his erection against my stomach, his hot breath on my skin, as he undoes my wrap top and his mouth captures my hardened nipple.
“You’re a work of art too,” he murmurs as he feasts on my breasts.
I think I could come just from the sensation of his mouth on my chest. My moans fill the room, my body tenses with desire. When he moves lower to remove my pants, I’m more than ready to welcome him.
“Come,” I tell him, “don’t make me wait.”
“You played with me,” he says in a husky voice. “Now it’s my turn.”
And with a perfectly controlled movement, he grabs my thighs and pulls me against his mouth. His tongue finds my clit, and my entire body arches with pleasure. A wave of heat overwhelms me, my muscles contract with desire.
“Tell me what you like,” he breathes against my pussy. “I want to know everything, to better make you die of pleasure.”
His tongue takes possession of my intimacy, alternating caresses, suctions, and pressure. I’m completely incoherent, my thoughts blur, my hands grip around his head.
“My God!” I moan, unable to control my cry.
“You like that, I see,” he says with a smile, before penetrating me again with his tongue.
My body is shaken by violent spasms when I finally come. Waves of pleasure overwhelm me, my body relaxes, exhausted.
I’ve barely come down from my orgasm when he moves up and positions himself between my legs. He kisses me tenderly, his eyes dive into mine, as he penetrates me gently. His shaft stretching me is almost too much for my body still trembling from the aftershocks of my orgasm.
The movements of his hips, at first controlled, become frantic. His thrusts gain intensity, my body tenses again, ready to succumb to new pleasure.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he tells me before accelerating the pace.
I comply, watching him as pleasure rises on his face and he lets out a moan. His thrusts are so powerful, so intense, that my muscles contract, my nerves stretch to their maximum.
He’s so beautiful right now, eyes locked on mine, mouth half-open, muscles taut, his body vibrating with pleasure.
His hips move faster and faster, harder and harder, and I feel my pleasure rising, rising, until… everything explodes. A cry escapes me, as my body is shaken by violent spasms, as my orgasm crashes over me like a wave that submerges me.
I feel his body contract, his muscles tense, and his pleasure mingle with mine, creating a resonance effect that amplifies our climax. Pleasure seizes us, carries us away, without restraint, without shame.
The world around us disappears, and there’s only us left, lost in ecstasy, in pleasure, in love. And in this moment, I know I’m his and he’s mine, forever.