are shaped mostly by the dominant sex, by men. Conventional attitudes are that women are poorly muscled and have an hourglass shape.”
“I’m often mistaken for a man.”
“That’s why I approached you in the gallery.”
“I’m crushed. I thought maybe you were hot for me.”
She ignored the implied question for now. “From this view, you might be mistaken for a male. But an artist should be able to see the female.”
Ryder crossed her arms over her chest, flexing her back into a wide V -shape. Bridgette smoothed her fingers along the overly developed trapezius and latissimus dorsi above and below the shoulder blade. “These might be mistaken for masculine but,” she ran her hand down the trenched center of Ryder’s back, pleased at the faint shudder she felt, “the lumbar curve of your spine is definitely female. Women are more sway-backed than men, tilting their pelvis backward.”
In front of Ryder again, she moved her hands along the collarbone and over the firm deltoids of the shoulders. “Your shoulders are actually probably no wider than mine, even though the larger muscles make them seem broader.” She squeezed the hard biceps, then scooped Ryder’s hands into hers. “Interesting.”
“Something wrong with my hands?”
She moved them up and matched them with hers, palm to palm. Ryder’s hands were wider, hers longer. “On the majority of women, the index finger and the ring finger are usually the same length…like mine. Men generally have a shorter index finger…like yours.”
She entwined their fingers and squeezed briefly before dropping her hands to Ryder’s hips. “Even though you have very narrow hips for a woman, the hipbone still flairs slightly.” She crouched and squeezed Ryder’s thick quads. “Because a woman has a wider pelvis, her femurs are angled inward, shaping their legs into a slight X -shape.”
Ryder widened her stance a little. Eye-level with the short, dark curls, she breathed in the musky scent of Ryder’s arousal and looked up. Her eyes dark as chocolate and hungry, Ryder held out her hand and she took it as she stood.
“My turn,” Ryder said. “You left a few things out.”
Ryder held her gaze and worked her silk blouse open, button by button, then dropped it to the hardwood floor.
“A woman’s skin is like satin.” Ryder touched her cheek with the backs of her fingers.
Ryder released the front clasp of her bra and laid her cheek against Bridgette’s chest. “Her breasts like the finest silk pillows.”
Sliding behind her, Ryder reached around to pop the button on her leg-hugging jeans and lowered the zipper. She could feel the hard points of Ryder’s nipples against her shoulders and the calluses of her hands as they slid under the material to push it down.
“A woman’s body has curves like a mountain road, rather than sharp turns.”
Ryder appeared to have no trouble bearing weight on her healing leg, but difficulty bending it, so she helped by toeing off her ankle-high boots and bending to wiggle out of her jeans. She had barely straightened when Ryder molded to her back and held her firmly.
“But I don’t need to see to know male from female.”
Her flesh tingled as Ryder nuzzled her neck and inhaled deeply. “A woman smells of lilacs,” she gasped when Ryder cupped her sex, then lifted her glistening fingers to her nose, “and musk.”
Ryder’s mouth was on her neck now. “A woman tastes both sweet—”
She held her breath and watched out of the corner of her eye as Ryder sucked on the fingers she’d just sniffed.
Ryder groaned and she rubbed her hips against Bridgette’s ass. “—and salty.”
The last words, a hoarse rasp, flooded her crotch and dripped down her thighs. Her legs shook with her need to come. She wheeled to grasp Ryder behind her neck and, when their mouths met in a frantic devouring feast, she realized Ryder’s need burned as hot and bright as hers.
Ryder’s hands were on her buttocks, massaging
“I’m often mistaken for a man.”
“That’s why I approached you in the gallery.”
“I’m crushed. I thought maybe you were hot for me.”
She ignored the implied question for now. “From this view, you might be mistaken for a male. But an artist should be able to see the female.”
Ryder crossed her arms over her chest, flexing her back into a wide V -shape. Bridgette smoothed her fingers along the overly developed trapezius and latissimus dorsi above and below the shoulder blade. “These might be mistaken for masculine but,” she ran her hand down the trenched center of Ryder’s back, pleased at the faint shudder she felt, “the lumbar curve of your spine is definitely female. Women are more sway-backed than men, tilting their pelvis backward.”
In front of Ryder again, she moved her hands along the collarbone and over the firm deltoids of the shoulders. “Your shoulders are actually probably no wider than mine, even though the larger muscles make them seem broader.” She squeezed the hard biceps, then scooped Ryder’s hands into hers. “Interesting.”
“Something wrong with my hands?”
She moved them up and matched them with hers, palm to palm. Ryder’s hands were wider, hers longer. “On the majority of women, the index finger and the ring finger are usually the same length…like mine. Men generally have a shorter index finger…like yours.”
She entwined their fingers and squeezed briefly before dropping her hands to Ryder’s hips. “Even though you have very narrow hips for a woman, the hipbone still flairs slightly.” She crouched and squeezed Ryder’s thick quads. “Because a woman has a wider pelvis, her femurs are angled inward, shaping their legs into a slight X -shape.”
Ryder widened her stance a little. Eye-level with the short, dark curls, she breathed in the musky scent of Ryder’s arousal and looked up. Her eyes dark as chocolate and hungry, Ryder held out her hand and she took it as she stood.
“My turn,” Ryder said. “You left a few things out.”
Ryder held her gaze and worked her silk blouse open, button by button, then dropped it to the hardwood floor.
“A woman’s skin is like satin.” Ryder touched her cheek with the backs of her fingers.
Ryder released the front clasp of her bra and laid her cheek against Bridgette’s chest. “Her breasts like the finest silk pillows.”
Sliding behind her, Ryder reached around to pop the button on her leg-hugging jeans and lowered the zipper. She could feel the hard points of Ryder’s nipples against her shoulders and the calluses of her hands as they slid under the material to push it down.
“A woman’s body has curves like a mountain road, rather than sharp turns.”
Ryder appeared to have no trouble bearing weight on her healing leg, but difficulty bending it, so she helped by toeing off her ankle-high boots and bending to wiggle out of her jeans. She had barely straightened when Ryder molded to her back and held her firmly.
“But I don’t need to see to know male from female.”
Her flesh tingled as Ryder nuzzled her neck and inhaled deeply. “A woman smells of lilacs,” she gasped when Ryder cupped her sex, then lifted her glistening fingers to her nose, “and musk.”
Ryder’s mouth was on her neck now. “A woman tastes both sweet—”
She held her breath and watched out of the corner of her eye as Ryder sucked on the fingers she’d just sniffed.
Ryder groaned and she rubbed her hips against Bridgette’s ass. “—and salty.”
The last words, a hoarse rasp, flooded her crotch and dripped down her thighs. Her legs shook with her need to come. She wheeled to grasp Ryder behind her neck and, when their mouths met in a frantic devouring feast, she realized Ryder’s need burned as hot and bright as hers.
Ryder’s hands were on her buttocks, massaging
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