Unbroken by Lynne Connolly

and that one day it would come out in his art. He didn’t know how yet, and he wouldn’t work on it. In the old days, his days of abstract, it would have come out as a dynamic, a line of pure action, divorced from the inspiration, but now it might appear as a more literal interpretation.
    Fuck, he didn’t care. The pause had given him a minute to regain some of his control, but he was going to lose it soon, and do it spectacularly.
    He moved the dildo, let it slide down until it touched her opening, at the very heart of her pussy. Her moan had an edge this time, but she didn’t say stop.
    So he didn’t. He pushed, easing his cock out of her until it was barely inside, and inserted the dildo. The smooth glass slid in, and he didn’t stop until he’d pushed all ten inches inside her. She winced, gasped when he stroked past her G-spot, but he waited, and thrust home with his cock, so she had two phalluses pushed inside her wet, gorgeous body.
    The water still rained down on them, and he leant forward, managed to reach the controls to get a barely-there spray. It misted down as he worked her, eased out and in, concentrated. Cock, then dildo, working out a rhythm that pushed first one into her, then the other. He got into the pattern, let her relax into it, accept it, then he changed, thrusting the dildo in and out twice, before pulling it out and concentrating on his cock. He had just enough sanity left to press the tip of the dildo against her clit, so that every thrust nudged it, drove her up higher.
    When she screamed, he let go, unable to hold back any longer, unable to resist the allure of her beautiful, sleek body. When he came, he felt as if he’d given her every bit of what made him Zoltan , all the creativity, all his most precious essence, deep inside her. It couldn’t have a better home.
     
    Vashti shuddered as Zoltan turned her in his arms and switched the shower to pour over them. He rinsed her, soaping them both with shower gel, and when she lifted her face, he dropped a gentle kiss on her lips. His mouth trembled and she knew this had affected him as deeply as it had her. She wanted to stop thinking, to let him care for her. Her mouth twisted. Strange, to go from one protective presence to another, but Zoltan would never control her as her mother had done, from an age when she was too young to know any better. Her mother had divorced her father as soon as she had what she’d wanted from him, and had devoted her life to her daughter in a parody of the stage mother.
    Zoltan wouldn’t do that. Would he? He switched off the shower and doubts crowded her mind. He’d asked her if she had enough money not to go back to modelling, and she’d said yes. She’d heard of artists who had muses, women they used to inspire them, then dumped them when they’d had enough. Some of the models had killed themselves, others had lived a half-life. That wouldn’t happen to her. It couldn’t. She’d fight it every inch of the way.
    But now she let herself relax as he patted her dry, lifted her and carried her into the bedroom, before tucking her between the crisp, clean sheets with an instruction to, “Sleep now.”
    She opened her eyes. “Aren’t you joining me?”
    “No, I have work to do.” He crossed the room and grabbed a clean pair of jeans from a drawer. “I’m flying to
New York
next week, to plan the Guggenheim exhibition. They’re going to have to change their plans now.” He glanced at her and grinned. “They’ll probably hate me.”
    He continued to the door and, as if on an afterthought, said, “I won’t need you to model for much longer. Maybe we should decide when you’re leaving? You can stay here as long as you want to, of course, but I’m visiting the foundry for the next stage in the sculpture, and
New York
, and probably the London venue, too. Don’t expect to see much of me from now on.”
    Dismissed, just like that. Vashti lay completely still, stunned by the callousness of his