Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
With my throat suddenly dry, I manage to say, “Let me know when you need a break.”
As I shove my lust aside and get to work, she watches.
Usually, I get lost in my work pretty quickly, but my body won’t stop nudging me with reminders that there are things that bring more immediate gratification than making art.
“How long have you been sculpting?” she asks as I start to shape the wet clay.
“Since I was in school. I took a class and liked it. It’s a good contrast to working with ink on skin all day.”
Ember nods, her eyes following my every movement. “You’re so creative.”
“And you’re so smart.” I push my thumbs into the slab and force up a section of clay that will become Ember’s legs. Her nose crinkles as she frowns, and I add, “We all have our strengths.”
Maybe it’s because she’s still young, but I don’t think Ember has any idea how special she is. She works hard for what she wants, sure, and that’s a great quality, but she’s also clever and brilliant and so fucking capable.
She’s destined for so much more than three ink slingers like us.
Her eyes are closed now, and I pause to take mental pictures, bittersweet almost an actual flavor I can taste on my lips.
EMBER
I had no idea posing would get me so hot. And I don’t mean the temperature outside.
It takes an effort to hold still with Frank’s eyes on me. Even though he’s intent on his creation, his gaze sears me every time he looks up. It makes me want to press my thighs together, stretch sensually … touch myself.
Who is this person I’ve become? I never would have imagined that I could respond this way. I try to distract myself by thinking about something else, but my mind refuses to cooperate. I can’t look at him for more than a moment at a time, because it makes me feel things I should absolutely not be feeling.
More than lust. So much more.
I hear the sliding door move, and then Griffin and Zeb are there. My nipples get hard at being on display for all three of them like this, and my pussy tingles. Biting my lip, I try to seem outwardly cool and hope they don’t say anything.
“Beautiful,” Zeb murmurs, and I blush.
“Look at all that virgin skin,” Griffin says. I know he means the fact that I don’t have any tattoos, but being Griffin, his voice sounds flirty and suggestive.
“You ever thought about getting inked, Ember?” Zeb asks.
It comes to me then—the perfect way to remember these men once we’ve moved on. Of course, I’ll never forget my time with them, but a physical memento would be nice. “I never did before … but I’d like it if each of you could give me a small tattoo.”
One of them sucks in a breath; I’m not sure which one, but it’s not the response I was expecting, and it sends my emotions teetering into dangerous territory.
Sleeping with them is risky enough; getting my feelings involved would be disastrous. But there are moments, when one of them is kind or funny or generous or tender, that I’m aware how easily I could let this become more than it is.
We have an arrangement of convenience, that’s all. I’ll ruin things for all of us if I forget it, so I do my best to keep my feelings in my lockbox where they belong.
“Sure,” Frank says, and his voice is rough. “We could do that. You know the drill; we’ll get some ideas from you about what you want, and where, and sketch out some possibilities.”
“Right,” Zeb says, and his voice sounds different too. “What he said.”
I wait for Griffin to say something ridiculous about his tattoo covering my entire body or something, but he doesn’t.
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I say, “but I’d love your ideas, too. After all, you’re the artists.”
All three men are silent then, but their eyes feast on my body like I’m an all-you-can-eat buffet at one of the casinos.
Finally, Griffin clears his throat. “I’ve got a gig with the band. I’ll be back later.”
There’s an undertone there, but I don’t get a chance to figure out what he’s thinking, because he turns and leaves without another word.
Zeb looks back and forth between me and Frank’s clay, which has been transformed into a body with limbs, torso, and a head with flowing hair. Somehow he’s managed to capture different textures with broad strokes of his powerful hands.
“Looking good,” Zeb says, though his eyes are on me instead of Frank’s creation. Then he goes back inside, leaving me alone with Frank again.
“It does look good, really good,” I tell him.
“It’s rough. I’d like to refine it, but I’m sure you’re tired of holding the same position.”
He steps away from the sculpture, and I take that as my cue to stretch my arms and legs. “I am getting a little stiff.” I slip my robe back on, not bothering to tie it, and go over to view his work from a different angle. It looks even better up close. “Frank, this is incredible. You’re so talented.”