personal tour of my studio.”
Ryder abandoned pursuit of her lips and sucked the pulse throbbing at the base of her neck, then licked upward. “I’d like to get to know the artist first.”
Her hips jerked when Ryder’s teeth nipped at her sensitive earlobe. She tore Ryder’s shirt from her jeans and raked her fingernails across her abdomen.
Ryder growled. She threw her cane to the floor, shoved the door closed, and whirled them around to pin her against it. The heavy oak was hard against her back. Ryder’s mouth was demanding, her tongue searching. She tasted of the woody bouquet from the wine they’d had with dinner. She skated her hand up to Ryder’s small breast and twisted the nipple hard. Ryder’s hips bucked against hers, her thigh rolling against Bridgette’s crotch. Sweet Jesus.
Bridgette felt like she was on a runaway horse, galloping toward a thousand-foot drop. No woman had ever gotten her this hot, this fast. Slow down. She needed to slow down. She shoved Ryder away and they stood panting, staring at each other.
“About that proposal.”
Confusion flashed across Ryder’s face, and then she narrowed her eyes and a slow smile dimpled one cheek. “I’m up for anything you are as long as it’s not too kinky.”
“I want you to pose for my art class.”
Confusion flickered again.
“Now?”
“Next week.”
“Fine. I said I’d do it.” Ryder reached for her.
“Nude.”
Ryder froze, then dropped her hands and laughed. “You thought you’d get me all worked up so I’d agree to anything you wanted?”
She stepped close again and traced her finger along Ryder’s cheek. “You’ve already said yes. Remember?”
“So?”
She trailed her finger down Ryder’s neck to tug at the collar of her shirt. “So, I want a,” she moved her finger lower to circle hard nipples straining against the cotton fabric, “preview of my model.”
Ryder stepped close to whisper in her ear. “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”
She shivered but again pushed Ryder gently away. “We’ll get to me later.”
Ryder’s grin was cocky. She jerked her shirt over her head in one quick motion. The tight material had done little to hide the well-defined shoulders and arms, but her breath hitched at the sight of Ryder’s small, soft breasts and carved abdomen. Her fingers itched to touch, but she drew in a deep breath and forced herself to focus with her artist’s eye instead of the throbbing between her legs.
She pointed to the knee brace wrapped over Ryder’s jeans. “Can you take that off?”
Ryder didn’t answer but snatched the Velcro straps open and tossed the brace to the floor. While her hands had worked quickly on the brace, they moved slowly over the buttons of her fly. The loose jeans dropped to the floor, revealing skin-hugging, low-cut black boy shorts and thick, firm thighs. Bridgette barely had time to register the roadwork of red scars along her left leg before Ryder turned away.
Sinewy lines moved smoothly under the flawless skin of her back as she hooked her thumbs under the Lycra material and slowly drew it down to reveal a tight, compact butt. Deep clefts on the sides of the rounded cheeks flexed as she shifted her weight.
Bridgette circled, evaluating the boi-god, warrior-goddess physique. Well-defined and nicely muscled, but not too bulky. From the back, a careless eye would see a man. A careful eye would notice the faint flair of the hip, the lack of masculine hair, and the softer grain of the skin.
“Perfect,” she murmured to herself.
“Thank you.”
Lost in her observations, she jerked her gaze back to Ryder’s face after the husky voice startled her. Her expression had gone from smug to curious.
She should explain. “I want my students to recognize the subtle indicators of gender when they paint and sculpt.” She continued to circle, taking careful note, while Ryder stood as still as chiseled stone and let her look. “Our perceptions in general
Ryder abandoned pursuit of her lips and sucked the pulse throbbing at the base of her neck, then licked upward. “I’d like to get to know the artist first.”
Her hips jerked when Ryder’s teeth nipped at her sensitive earlobe. She tore Ryder’s shirt from her jeans and raked her fingernails across her abdomen.
Ryder growled. She threw her cane to the floor, shoved the door closed, and whirled them around to pin her against it. The heavy oak was hard against her back. Ryder’s mouth was demanding, her tongue searching. She tasted of the woody bouquet from the wine they’d had with dinner. She skated her hand up to Ryder’s small breast and twisted the nipple hard. Ryder’s hips bucked against hers, her thigh rolling against Bridgette’s crotch. Sweet Jesus.
Bridgette felt like she was on a runaway horse, galloping toward a thousand-foot drop. No woman had ever gotten her this hot, this fast. Slow down. She needed to slow down. She shoved Ryder away and they stood panting, staring at each other.
“About that proposal.”
Confusion flashed across Ryder’s face, and then she narrowed her eyes and a slow smile dimpled one cheek. “I’m up for anything you are as long as it’s not too kinky.”
“I want you to pose for my art class.”
Confusion flickered again.
“Now?”
“Next week.”
“Fine. I said I’d do it.” Ryder reached for her.
“Nude.”
Ryder froze, then dropped her hands and laughed. “You thought you’d get me all worked up so I’d agree to anything you wanted?”
She stepped close again and traced her finger along Ryder’s cheek. “You’ve already said yes. Remember?”
“So?”
She trailed her finger down Ryder’s neck to tug at the collar of her shirt. “So, I want a,” she moved her finger lower to circle hard nipples straining against the cotton fabric, “preview of my model.”
Ryder stepped close to whisper in her ear. “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”
She shivered but again pushed Ryder gently away. “We’ll get to me later.”
Ryder’s grin was cocky. She jerked her shirt over her head in one quick motion. The tight material had done little to hide the well-defined shoulders and arms, but her breath hitched at the sight of Ryder’s small, soft breasts and carved abdomen. Her fingers itched to touch, but she drew in a deep breath and forced herself to focus with her artist’s eye instead of the throbbing between her legs.
She pointed to the knee brace wrapped over Ryder’s jeans. “Can you take that off?”
Ryder didn’t answer but snatched the Velcro straps open and tossed the brace to the floor. While her hands had worked quickly on the brace, they moved slowly over the buttons of her fly. The loose jeans dropped to the floor, revealing skin-hugging, low-cut black boy shorts and thick, firm thighs. Bridgette barely had time to register the roadwork of red scars along her left leg before Ryder turned away.
Sinewy lines moved smoothly under the flawless skin of her back as she hooked her thumbs under the Lycra material and slowly drew it down to reveal a tight, compact butt. Deep clefts on the sides of the rounded cheeks flexed as she shifted her weight.
Bridgette circled, evaluating the boi-god, warrior-goddess physique. Well-defined and nicely muscled, but not too bulky. From the back, a careless eye would see a man. A careful eye would notice the faint flair of the hip, the lack of masculine hair, and the softer grain of the skin.
“Perfect,” she murmured to herself.
“Thank you.”
Lost in her observations, she jerked her gaze back to Ryder’s face after the husky voice startled her. Her expression had gone from smug to curious.
She should explain. “I want my students to recognize the subtle indicators of gender when they paint and sculpt.” She continued to circle, taking careful note, while Ryder stood as still as chiseled stone and let her look. “Our perceptions in general
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