Page 4 of Claiming His Muse

“I’ll have to do a few more layers before I’m done,” I say when she doesn’t comment on what she’s seeing immediately. “I know it doesn’t look like much right now, but–”

“I can see where you’re going with this,” she assures me, her gaze shifting from the painting to my face. “The details come later, right?”

“Exactly,” I reply, giving her a soft smile and feeling my insides warm up when she returns it. “I want to give it a day or two to dry before I go back in with more paint. Do you have time to come by the studio this weekend?”

“I’m free Saturday morning,” she says. “Actually, I’m free all day.”

“This shouldn’t eat up your entire Saturday,” I say, even though I secretly hope I’m able to have her to myself for the whole day. “You’ll need to wear that again, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind one bit,” Jenny promises, slowly getting to her feet. She raises her hands above her head as she stretches her stiff muscles. “I actually don’t get to wear this outfit super often, so I’m more than happy to have a reason to.”

“Well, I’m happy to give you a reason,” I reply as I stand up, rolling my wrists.

“I should probably get going,” she says after a beat, glancing up at the clock. “I have a workshop to get to.”

“A workshop?” I ask. “I thought you said you didn’t have anything going on today.”

“I figured we’d be done with plenty of time to spare, so it wasn’t worth mentioning,” she replies with a shrug.

“If you’d said something, I could have kept an eye on the time so you didn’t have to rush out of here.”

“It’s fine,” she insists as she shoulders her bag. “I was enjoying hanging out with you. Besides, we’re not workshopping any of my poems today, so if I missed class, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Okay,” I say, pride settling in my chest at the realization that she would have missed class to spend time with me. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

“Yeah,” she says as she takes a few steps backward out of the room. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

With one final smile and a wave of her hand, she turns around and leaves the studio. As she walks away, I stare at her ass and the way her dress swishes with the sway of her hips. When she disappears from sight, I get to work packing up my supplies and putting my half-done painting on the drying rack. Then, on my way home, I brainstorm ways to sweep her off her feet when we meet again.

Chapter 4

Jenny

Paying attention in my workshop is difficult. I can’t stop thinking about the session I just left. Blake’s interested in me; I’m almost positive of it. His shortness when I mentioned the guy had to have been jealousy. Little did he know that he was actually jealous of himself.

When our professor finally dismisses us, I hurry back home. I have so much work to get done, but I need to do something so I can focus. The entire time I sat for Blake and had his eyes on me, heat was growing under my skin. Then, when he was so obviously jealous, it morphed into desire. While he worked in the silence that followed his questioning, my mind supplied me with all kinds of dirty fantasies.

As soon as I lock the front door behind me, I throw myself onto the couch. I hike my dress up and slide my panties down my legs. Miranda isn’t going to be home for a few hours, so I’m not worried about being walked in on.

The entire time Blake was painting, I couldn’t stop thinking about him putting down his brush and pallet and walking over to put his perfect hands on me. Maybe he would have if we were the only people in the studio. I saw something fierce in gaze before he went quiet, something possessive.

As I run my hands up the inside of my thighs, I imagine that they’re Blake’s hands. I imagine that he’s giving me that same look while he’s touching me. It sends an involuntary shiver up my spine. I can only guess how I’d react if he were actually here touching me.

I think I’d beg for more, not caring what “more” looks like. Miranda has shared some of her experiences with her boyfriend, and I’m eager to get that kind of attention. Before she lost her virginity, I wasn’t all that interested in sex, but after hearing someone’s experiences firsthand, I’m filled with desire and curiosity.

I think about Blake’s strong, yet delicate hands. He held the paintbrush so gently, and the movements of his wrist were incredibly precise. I bet those skills translate to the bedroom. Everything he does probably looks and feels like a work of art.

When I just can’t take it anymore, I let my touch trail up to just before my folds. I’m aching for more, but I like to think Blake would want to drag this out. He’d know it was my first time. He’d be so gentle, so teasing, that I’d have to beg him for the friction I want so badly.

“Please,” I whisper, the word coming out without my permission. I know he isn’t here, that he can’t hear me, but just the thought of him lavishing me with attention and praise makes me feel drunk.

Slowly, I give myself what I want. I slide a singular finger over my opening up to my clit. I groan, louder than I ever have during a solo session. If I weren’t so gone on thoughts of Blake, I might be embarrassed. Right now, I feel too good to care.

I continue teasing myself, picturing Blake above me, touching me with reverence. His dark eyes search my face, checking to make sure I’m enjoying myself. He watches for signs that what he’s doing is what I like. I pretend it’s his hand circling the little bundle of nerves, and when I gasp, I imagine it’s him repeating the movement.

Fantasy-Blake smirks at me before moving in to kiss me. I wonder what his lips would feel like. They’re a little chapped, but I don’t think they’d feel rough against mine. They’d be soft but insistent. He’d paint me a picture with just his mouth, and it would be more beautiful than anything hanging in any gallery.

I buck my hips up, my pubic bone hitting my palm. The Blake I’ve conjured for the purposes of this session pulls away and chuckles under his breath. He asks me, “Do you like that?” before leaning in to kiss me again.

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