Still Life (2 page)

She became very conscious of the tiny landing strip she’d let the bikini waxer talk her into last week, leaving the rest of the flesh bare. She’d scheduled the waxing only to look neat and trim for the modeling job, and hadn’t planned to go Brazilian.

“You like. Trust me,” said the aesthetician at the strip mall spa she could barely afford. The woman had winked at her, a gesture Sara had ignored. She’d been too concerned about where all that hot wax was going to be friendly. But now, that part of her swollen and slick against the box, she understood the woman’s comment. She liked, all right. What if someone were to turn her over and see how wet she was?

An ache ran through her, and she bit her lip.

She heard a creaking noise as someone got up from a stool. Squeaks on the hard cement floor told her that one of the students was walking around the room. She remembered taking drawing class years ago and that some students liked to meander through the class, checking out everyone’s work. Those kinds of students had always annoyed her. Never content to sit still or mind their own business.

The squeaks grew closer, which meant the mystery student was making his way to her. Nervously, she waited. The squeaks stopped. She heard a few comments exchanged, too soft for her to interpret.
Probably criticizing someone else’s drawing
. Then the squeaks resumed and beneath the breeze of the fan, a sweaty thrill ran through her.

Squeak.

Now he was standing right next to her. She was anxious to know who was checking her out, but she refused to open her eyes. That would only provoke conversation, and she did not want to have a chat with anyone while she was naked. She clenched her eyes tighter.

A teasing voice asked, “Enjoying your nap?”

Before Sara could answer, the voice murmured, “I know how wet you are.”

A wave of heat and humiliation spread across Sara’s face, but still she refused to concede anything by opening her eyes. But then the voice whispered inches from her ear, “I can almost taste it.”

Sara’s eyes popped open and her chin jerked. The man in the blue shirt shook a finger at her. “Don’t break the pose.” And he sauntered back to his stool, leaving her even hotter and wetter than she had been before.

“Grant,” Professor Roberts called out from his perch on the wide window sill, overlooking the students, “be nice.”

Grant shrugged, a guilty grin spreading across his tan face. “Sorry.” Sara glared at him with an icy expression she hoped would shut him down. “I promise to be nice from now on,
Sara
.”

She tried not to wriggle at that comment, even as his silky voice made her nipples twinge as if he’d just pinched them.
Act like it doesn’t bother you
.

But it did. In a good way. And she spent the rest of the class hovering on the edge of orgasm, wishing for three minutes of pitch black and Grant’s nasty mouth on her breasts, his hands and cock inside her.

Finally, Professor Roberts dismissed class, and Blondie once again offered her the bathrobe, barely looking at her as their hands brushed across the thick terry cloth. She caught a quick whiff of patchouli and was instantly transported back to her own college days, when everything smelled like incense and cigarettes and she thought the world was just waiting for her to grab it.

“Bye,” he mumbled then quickly shoved his supplies into a large messenger bag and left.

“See you next time,” the dark-haired man in the black shirt said to her, his voice lilting with a slight accent.

Next time?
How could she possibly do this again with that awful man whispering to her?

But when Professor Roberts rubbed her shoulder, offered her a Diet Coke, and asked, “Can you make the same time tomorrow, Sara?” she opened her mouth to turn him down. Instead what came out was, “Sure.”

The next morning, Sara woke up early and took extra time in the shower, rubbing lavender shower gel onto her legs. She smoothed thick, coconut-smelling lotion all over her skin until she smelled like the summers she’d spent at the pool as a teenager, before SPF and the threat of skin cancer ruined her tan.

On the drive over to the college, she felt as though she’d had three cups of coffee instead of just one—her body was buzzing from anticipation or nervousness; she couldn’t decide which. Again she clutched the duffel bag as she walked into the classroom, but Professor Roberts was waiting for her with another warm smile, looking handsome in a white button-down shirt, the cuffs rolled up to show his long, tan forearms, one of them faintly flecked with paint.

“Oh, thank God, Sara. I was afraid we’d scared you off.” His dark eyed gaze roamed up and down her body, the thin sweater and tight jeans she wore feeling too revealing for some reason.

“Not yet,” Sara tried to joke.

Professor Roberts ran his hand lightly down her arm. “Good. Now, if you want to go ahead and get ready, I’ll get your pose all figured out.”

She slipped into her bathrobe in the ladies’ room once again and reentered the classroom, which was curiously empty, “What happened to all your students?” Sara asked.

Professor Roberts smiled. “Yesterday was our regular Monday drawing class and we’re usually pretty full. But…” he paused, “…Tuesdays are special.”

“Oh?”

“I think some of the raw, stripped-down emotions that drawing can evoke get lost in a big class. Art can be such an intimate experience, don’t you think, Sara?”

Remembering Grant, his wicked words and their potent effect, Sara gulped. “Sure.”

Professor Roberts winked at her as the door swung open. “That’s why Tuesdays are by invitation only.”

Now, why does that make me nervous
? A shiver shot through Sara as Blondie loped in, wearing heavy boots and cutoff cargo pants with a loose T-shirt that failed to camouflage his broad chest and well-defined biceps. His curly blonde hair was once again pulled back in a careless ponytail. He looked up and gave her a brief nod, which she returned, panicking as she wondered who else had been invited and why.

“Here we go, Sara.” Professor Roberts helped her into a seated position on the blocks. “Now, let’s just open these a bit,” he said as he gently pressed her legs until they splayed out in a shallow V. She tried not to blush as she realized just how exposed she was. The outer lips pulled apart a little, the warm pink interior of her sex open for anyone to see. Blondie had a perfect view, and he stared right at that part of her for a full minute before looking down, quickly up to Sara’s face, and then down again. He busied himself selecting just the right piece of charcoal.

The dark-haired man, wearing black again, entered the classroom. He quickly scooted his easel closer to Blondie for a better angle. Grant sauntered into the studio, took one look at Sara and raised an eyebrow at Professor Roberts. Then, grinning, he took the stool on the other side of Blondie.

Professor Roberts walked over to the door and closed it, turning the knob with a sharp metal
click
. “Now,” he announced, “we can begin.”

“Take a close look at this pose.” He gestured toward Sara as he returned to the center of the room. “See how her skin is shadowed here…” He touched her knee. “…and pay attention to the angles of her legs.” He let his hand trail a few inches up her thigh before removing it.

Whoa there, Professor
, she wanted to shout.
Buy a girl a drink first
. She was probably overreacting; he was merely pointing out shadows and angles and…her thigh. She definitely shouldn’t feel a tingle where his hand had touched her. Yet she did. She tried to stare impassively into space, as she imagined a good model might. Like a statue of cool, perfect porcelain. Except that statues didn’t keep thinking about fingers on body parts where they didn’t belong.

Grant licked his lips and stared into Sara’s eyes. She turned her head slightly, and Professor Roberts was back at her side. “Sara, let’s keep your head facing this direction.” He gently turned her chin so she faced Grant head-on.

“Professor?” The dark-haired man in black raised his hand.

“Yes, Thanos. You have a question?”

“I can’t see the shadows on her knee.” He pointed with his charcoal to Sara. “Would it be possible for her to open her legs a little more?”

“Is that okay with you, Sara?” Professor Roberts asked, and she nodded.
Why not? How about a pelvic exam while we’re at it?

Sara started to open her legs wider. “Here, let me do that,” Professor Robert said as he adjusted her thigh and then to her shock, his hand brushed between her legs, sending jolts through her groin. “There. Is that better, Thanos?”

Thanos nodded as Sara’s cheeks flushed. She watched Blondie, biting his lip in concentration as he lightly touched the charcoal to his paper in between darting glances at her sex. With every look he gave her, she got wetter, and she wondered if he noticed.

Grant was staring, too, and Sara returned his looks without trying to look away.
Go ahead—watch me get wet
,
asshole
. His chest moved up and down with a quickened pace as he scribbled on the paper.

She tried not to wriggle on the seat, feeling the dampness on her outer lips, swollen and pulsing. She ached to touch herself, or better yet have someone else touch her, fuck her. She needed some kind of release, and she wondered if she could run quickly to the ladies’ room at break and make herself come in the bathroom stall.

Finally the timer went off, and Professor Roberts announced break. As Sara tried to slip away, Grant intercepted her. “I wonder if you could show me a different pose?” he asked in a smooth, suspiciously innocent voice. “I had trouble capturing the shadows correctly, and I just want to see a different view for a moment.”

Sara hesitated, looking around for Professor Roberts, but he had disappeared. Probably left for a smoke, Sara thought, irritated. She didn’t know why she thought that, except she remembered everyone smoking from her student days, even the teachers.

“Please? It will only take a minute.” Grant smiled, his pale blue eyes twinkling.

“All right.” Sara shrugged.

“Come here,” Grant commanded and showed Sara a position near the blocks. She started to sit on one of them, but he shook his head. “No. On the floor. Kneeling.” He helped her to her knees, squinting as if trying to get just the right angle for a photograph. “That’s it. Arch your back, turn your head like this and stick your bottom out just like that. Ah.”

Sara was on her knees, her hands resting on the block in front her. She looked back at Grant, the curve of her back pushing out her round bottom.

“You look like a naughty bar wench,” Grant purred, “who’s just been caught fucking the village farm boy and is about to get a spanking.”

Sara wanted to stand, to act offended at his insanely inappropriate comment, but she was so wet she was afraid to move. She
did
want a nice hard fuck right now. For someone to take her on the cement classroom floor until she collapsed. What Grant said was outrageous, but she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to slap him or fuck him.

Blondie saved her from the trouble of replying, glaring at Grant as he said, “Don’t be an asshole.”

Grant sighed. “Oh, lighten up, Casey. I was just playing around.”

“Fuck off.” Casey glared at Grant and extended an arm to help Sara up from the floor.

“Gentlemen?” Professor Roberts had reentered the room and shook a warning finger at Grant. He took Sara by the hand and led her to a long platform he’d built with the boxes, covered by a fluffy white comforter folded in half to make an impromptu mattress.

“Now, this pose should be more relaxing for Sara. And it will force the rest of us to participate more actively in the class, and
get along
.” He raised an eyebrow at Grant. “Here you go, Sara.” Professor Roberts indicated she should lie down.

Thinking it would be like the pose from the day before, she swung her knees onto the platform as if to lie down on her stomach, but the professor shook his head.

“No, this time I want you to lie on your back. You can close your eyes. You don’t have to think about anything. Just relax.”

Sara did. She lay back on the soft comforter as Professor Roberts lifted her hair away from her neck and arranged her arms loosely by her sides. She let her eyes fall shut, not wanting any more distracting stares from anyone in the class.

“Now, gentlemen,” Professor Roberts said, “scoot your stools closer. Much closer, but leave your easels where they are. You can use your sketchbooks for this one.” The scrape of stools against the concrete floor echoed through the room and the rustling of papers and clothing filled the air around her. It was as if she could feel them closing in on her, close enough to touch her skin, to feel the heat from their bodies. She could hear their breathing, smell Casey’s patchouli, the spicy cologne from Grant’s shirt, and the scent of cloves on Thanos.

Her skin prickled.

“Now,” Professor Roberts said, “art isn’t only about the sense of sight. In this exercise, I’d like us to engage all five senses, so you really understand her body as you draw it. With her permission, I’d like you to very lightly touch whichever part of her is nearest to you. Is that okay, Sara?”

Sara shivered, a jolt of anticipation shooting straight between her legs. “Yes,” she barely murmured, but it was enough for Professor Roberts to say, “Go ahead.”

A hand reached out to stroke the skin just above her breast. Cologne mixed with sweat perfumed the air as one finger traced a line downward. Her nipples instantly hardened.

Sara heard the sharp breath of someone else, not the man touching her breast, and she wondered who was watching without touching.

Someone else touched her foot with one finger. The touch was tentative, barely brushing her heel, and then his fingers slipped over her ankle.

Sara took a deep breath. Her ex-husband had never paid the slightest attention to her feet. She’d never thought someone’s hand on her ankle could feel so intimate.

“Is that okay?” Casey asked in a voice quiet and low, as if they were the only ones in the room.