Page 31 of The Muse
“So, what does your expert eye tell you?”
“Well, there’s clearly the general theme to the pieces about sin in everyday behaviour.” He puts his arm around me and pulls me in closer to him as he elaborates, and my heart leaps. That's much better than hand-holding. “I know my definition of sin will be wildly different to yours, for example.” The words feel erotic—personal—as we continue to wander through the darkened exhibit, and it makes my heart pulse with anticipation. “Maybe it’s something we should discuss in greater depth—at mine. Immediately."
“But we just got here,” I nearly pant.
My senses are now being bombarded by him. And his low, seductive voice, his possessive touch, and the surrounding pieces on the wall aren’t helping calm me either. It’s like he flicked a switch as we entered this room, and all the paintings of flesh and cherubs are firing me up tenfold.
“Lust is a deadly sin, Ms Castlewood. As are you.” His hand moves lower to graze my thigh, one finger labouring the light material of my dress. “And I've got things to show you about that. Things you haven't even dreamed about yet.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
He pulls me in closer to him, and I realise that the cantankerous and grumpy act is part of him, but that’s just the armour—his defence setting. Beneath that, he’s much more.
It’s easy to get wrapped up in his flirtatious behaviour, almost enough to make me forget what I'm doing and just be, but the bigger sin here is my own betrayal. First to my family, and then to Scott because, as we continue to look around the room, it’s becoming glaringly obvious that I really like this guy. It’s more than just sleeping with him, more than being whimsical or wanting to break the rules, too, and I'm finding it a slow kind of torture to keep all my secrets from him.
I wanted to see more of Scott’s world by coming here, but it’s just backfired on me and reminded me of what I’m doing—the dangerous game I’m playing. It’s a game where it will be more than just my heart that could get hurt.
Chapter Thirteen
SCOTT
The last rays of late evening sun sift aimlessly through the space, the gentle wind outside managing to cast shadows across her skin that flutter and move sensually. It’s creating more colours to dapple the silhouette of her and bathing her in iridescent hues.
A week has gone by. A week consisting of a few more dates, some drinks and food, and lots of fucking. I still don't know what I'm doing with her, but I can't stop it. Don't want to, either. She's like a muse to me, a sin I can't deny myself. Soft skin, that smile. Happiness. Light. Spirited. Youthful. Perhaps she just reminds me of possibilities I've long since left behind.
Having used this bed enough to nearly exhaust both of us tonight, I'm now finding myself drawn to the movement of the cascading light and desperate to get it drawn down. Christ knows why. Sensible people would stay, sleep, relax. Not me, it seems. I'm buzzing again. It’s eventually enough for me to let go of her, stand, and move rather than just lay still.
“Scott?”
“Stay. Don’t move an inch.”
Quick steps lead me through to the lounge, fingers reaching for the charcoal and pad that still rests by the sofa. I grab some wine glasses and a bottle of red, snatching my glasses, too, as I head back into the bedroom. She’s still exactly where I left her, naked body fully exposed, hands tucked under her chin as she looks at the window.
Pouring some wine, I sit in the dark corner of the room under a slither of lowering light and flip open the pages. Eighteen go by before I reach a clean one, all the former filled with varying parts of her body that I’ve imagined.
“What are you doing over there?” she asks, still unmoving.
“Drawing you.” Her legs curl up, body starting to change position. “Stay still. Unless you’d like to see just how grumpy and intense I can be.”
I look at her over my glasses, part interested in what she might do next. All this delicacy for innocence’s sake, while charming in its own right, is becoming harder to control by the minute. And it's not as if she doesn't understand pressure and force, as proved by the look of her raw, reddened feet.
The thought has me looking along her body to them, quite enamoured by their distinct structure because of her art, even if she isn't. They're one of the finest things about her. Sexy. Broken and yet hardened. They show her strength, her fortitude. Even her guile and passion somehow.
Unfortunately for me, or fortunately for her, she eventually uncurls until she’s back where I want her. “Good girl.”
A giggle softly encases the room, her eyes on me, as I sip some wine and then start to scrawl lines.
“I can’t believe you’re naked while you’re doing that,” she says. “Rather hard for me to stay still when I’ve got to look at your ...” She nods between my legs. Pointing.
My eyes dip down to it, a smile creeping up my lips at its half-mast appreciation of my view, and then I carry on drawing.
“You should learn to use that mouth of yours a little more naturally,” I quip, tilting the paper. “Cock, dick, penis. Try cunt and pussy while you're at it. It'll sound good from you.” She blushes, again, which is becoming both ridiculous and extremely cute.
Chuckling quietly, I refocus on the reason I'm over here rather than there. Weeks, I’ve wanted to do this. Draw her face to face. No more imagining. No more pretence either. She’s here, and for now, I have all the time in the world to do the things I want to do.
Scattered lines pull down the page replicating the raw intimacy of her muscles, the toned length of her legs. Another sip of wine and I put contrast through the rough sketch, running my thumb over the lines to create the shadows and shade.
“Can I see?”
