I follow Pippa through the shelves after she disappears from sight. When I find her in the next row over, she’s stripped out of the sweater she was wearing.
She wears a wide smile as I give her a questioning look. “Isn’t it cold in here?”
“It’s incredibly cold,” she answers, pulling at a tie at her waist. When she gets the knot undone, the sides of her dress come all the way open, exposing her perfect body.
I swallow slowly, appreciating the view in front of me. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you my body. Maybe you’ll get inspired to carve mine into clay if I show you every inch of me.”
She playfully bites her lip, walking backward as she reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra.
“I’d first need to get a rough sketch of you so I can create a base for the piece.”
Pippa’s eyes travel to the corner of my studio space. There’s a table with supplies lined up along the top, with one chair placed next to it in case I want to sit. “It looks to me like you have a sketch pad. I bet you can find a pencil somewhere.”
She maintains eye contact as she bends over, pulling her thong down her legs until she’s completely naked in my workspace.
I’m so fucking turned on. My cock strains in my jeans, aching to be touched by her. I hadn’t shown her this part of the gallery thinking to fuck her back here, but goddamn I’d love to fuck her on top of my drafting table.
“Pippa…” Her name comes out as a warning.
“Draw me, Camden,” she suggests, knowing exactly what she’s doing by running a hand along her naked skin. Her fingers pinch her nipples as she palms her full breasts.
“I don’t enjoy drawing.”
“You just said you have to before doing anything with clay.”
“I do,” I answer, letting my eyes rake along her body. Her legs cross at her ankles, not giving me a view of her pussy. I don’t have to see her to know she’s already wet for me. It’s something I love about her, how reactive she is to me.
Pippa looks around, her eyes lighting up when she focuses on the table. Her hips swing in a sexy rhythm as she makes her way to the large wood table. I want to ask her what she’s doing, but I follow her lead, watching her with hungry eyes as she climbs up onto the table.
Fuck the sketch. I want to skip to the part when I spread her legs wide open and taste her sweet, perfect cunt.
Pippa adjusts her body on the table, keeping her eyes pinned on me the entire time.
“Sit,” she instructs, her eyes motioning to my chair. She picks up a sketch pad and a pencil from one of my utensil cups, sliding them across the table for me.
“We’ve talked about this before,” I growl, making my way to her. “You don’t tell me what to do.”
“Take charge, then,” she suggests, shifting to her knees. She runs her hands along her body, tracing the curves my fingers itch to bring to life on paper and then in clay.
“It takes time to get a sketch developed.” I take a seat, the chair groaning underneath my weight.
She pushes her thighs open, her knees gliding along the wood as she flips her hair over her shoulder. “I can be patient.”
I grab the sketch pad, placing it in my lap before I reach for the pencil she laid out. “Since when have you ever been patient, shortcake?”
Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she fights a smile. “I can learn.” Her fingers brush along her clit. She’s showing restraint by not playing with herself in an effort to continue to taunt me.
Sighing, I open to a blank page of the book. I always hate this process of development. The moment I hold a pencil in my hand, I’m transported to the times my mother would crash my tutoring sessions. She’d hover over my assignments, watching every single pencil stroke of mine to see if I amounted to anything.
I’d mess up on purpose, not wanting to give my parents the satisfaction of knowing I was exactly who they wanted me to be.
Even in adulthood, this part is always my least favorite. I know I have talent, and I hate it. But with Pippa’s hooded eyes watching me begin, I wonder if she can make me appreciate this step of the process.
“Get to work,” she demands, letting her thighs open a little wider.
I can see all of her.
Her clit, pink and swollen with pleasure. Her arousal, already making her pussy glisten. I can even see bite marks on her inner thighs from last night.
“You’re not the one making demands,” I snap, getting comfortable in my chair.
“I kind of think I am.”