“How do you do that?” he asked, feeling genuine awe and wonder. “How do you turn a two-dimensional canvas into something that looks so realistic?”
She shrugged. “It takes time, but I’d done the painstaking work earlier – it was the background I realised wasn’t working.” She rubbed her hands together as she surveyed her canvas once more. “You made me realise what was missing.”
“Me?”
She turned back to him and damned if there wasn’t something wicked in her smile. “To be more precise, it was the smell of your underarms and the curl of your chest hair around my fingers that made me see it.”
He looked down at his chest, took a mock sniff under one arm. “What?”
She shook her head, still smiling, “Don’t ask,” she said, as she curled herself catlike down on the old leather chesterfield, her legs tucked beneath her, the shirt rising at the sides to expose the glorious curve of her naked hip. God, could she do nothing that didn’t make him think of silk and sex? “Just pour me that coffee.”
He did just that, saying, “I swear I will never understand women.”
“You’re not supposed to. That would take all the fun out of it.”
He handed her the cup of the steaming brew and she put it to her nose and inhaled deeply, taking the tiniest of sips before resting it down on the table alongside to cool.
“How long have you been working?” he asked, as he poured himself a mug and went back to study the painting, one hand on his hip, the other nursing his mug.
“Since you fell asleep,” she said from the sofa behind him.
“You’ve been at this all night?”
“I had to, once I figured it out. I’ll sleep later. I’m too happy to sleep now.”
“You should be. It’s brilliant.” He tilted his head to the side and brought his coffee to his mouth.
“Hang on,” she said suddenly. “Don’t move.”
He half turned, hearing her scrabbling around behind him. “What?”
“No. Go back the way you were. Hand on hip, looking at the picture. That’s it.”
“Ava?”
“This won’t take a moment. Just stay like that, okay?”
He heard soft noises behind him, the swipe of pencil and the rub of her thumb against the page and he stiffened, feeling a little like he was under a microscope. “What are you doing?” Ava had never used him as one of her models and it was strangely unsettling.
“Doing what I do. Capturing something of beauty.”
He snorted at that. “Yeah, right.” But still his skin tingled all over with every skating stroke of her pencil. He knew he was in good shape physically. Keeping fit was part and parcel of the job and it was never a hassle to get on one of his bikes and ride or work out at home or in the station gym. It was something else entirely to be told he was a “thing of beauty.”
“So is this how it feels to be objectified?” he asked, half joking.
“You tell me. But speaking of objects...’
He heard the slap of her sketchbook against the leather of the lounge, heard the roll of her pencil across the page and the soft plop as it landed on the sofa.
“Are we done?” he asked, wondering if he was ever going to get to drink this damn cup of coffee.
“Not quite. Stay there. Just a minute longer.”
He took a breath and waited. “Now what are you doing?”
The brush of her bare nipples against his back and her slim fingers circling low on his waist told him all he needed to know, even if he did nearly drop the mug in the process. “Oh.”
She pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade and he felt the smile on her lips and the smooth curve of her belly against his butt. “Can I move yet?”
“No rush,” she said, her nimble fingers working at his zipper, sliding it all the way down while her nipples kept making lazy circles on his back that set his flesh on fire. “I like you like this.”
He swallowed, feeling the kick in his pants before her hands even found him. “Someone’s in a good mood today.” His voice had suddenly gone down an octave, but then, why should his blood be the only thing headed in that direction?
“I am,” she purred, raining kisses over his skin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise how frustrated I was yesterday.”
“You’re not feeling frustrated now?”
“No, not at all.”
At least that made one of them. She released his hardening dick from his pants and squeezed her hands around it and he groaned. “Ava,” he warned.
But she was already on the move, liquid silk weaving around his body. She slid one hand around his, leading his mug to her mouth and taking a sip of his coffee, before kissing him on his lips bringing coffee and heat and the warm, sensual taste of Ava swirling in his mouth.
He reached for her then, and she brushed his hand away.
“No.” She took the mug, placing it on the bench alongside, and looked up at him, her cognac eyes flickering with wicked intent. before dropping to her knees before him, her seeking hands already encircling their target and introducing it to her mouth.
Oh. My. God!
“I want to thank you,” she said, as she watched his face while her lips danced like satin against his straining tip, the slick heat of her mouth and her warm breath combining into a delicious tease, “for helping me work it out.”
“My pleasure,” he croaked through a throat two sizes too small, although he really didn’t have a clue what he’d done to deserve it.
And it was. His pleasure. Every bit of it. Every hot flick of her tongue, every sizzling wrap of her lips around his cock. Every deep suck of her hot mouth. And he had every good intention of being a considerate lover
