“Different because it’s sexist.”
“I’m not sexist.” I never judged a woman for taking off her clothes. I never thought less of a woman for having several partners. I didn’t think they were less intelligent just because they used their bodies to make their rent. As the son of a strong woman and a respectful man, I was raised in accordance with their values.
“Seems that way.”
I gripped the edge of the wood as I stared at her across the table. “I understand we’re trying to have an equal relationship, but let’s not forget the foundation of this arrangement. I own you—end of story.”
“It’s not the end of the story, Conway.”
“I kiss my models because it’s part of my image. They look to me for guidance. They look to me for protection. I take care of my girls. If a man disrespects them in my presence, one of my men breaks their spine. Since I don’t sleep with them, there’s nothing for you to be upset about.”
“But they all want to sleep with you.”
They made moves on me all the time, but I wouldn’t get into that. “Doesn’t matter what they want.” I turned back to my sketches. “Now, let’s get to work.”
She still didn’t move.
My eyes flicked back up to her. “I’ve asked you politely twice now. I won’t do it again, Muse.”
She finally dropped her arms to her sides and removed her clothing. She stripped down to her thong and bra, standing in the room like she was ready for the runway. She used to be so uncomfortable standing in there with me. But now, it was like being at home.
I stood in front of her and examined her, thinking of the distance between different parts of her body. My hands started at her shoulders, and I pressed into her, touching her frame intimately. I knew her body so well because I’d tasted it, worshiped it. But I wanted to feel it more, feel her perfect measurements before I began. “Your complexion…is so stunning.” My thumb rubbed against her shoulder. “The color is beautiful. There’s no color fabric that won’t complement it. It’s not too dark or too light.”
She stared at me, her features slack. “Thanks…I guess.”
I grabbed her chin and directed her to look up, straining the muscles in her neck. “I have an idea. Stay there.” I grabbed a few pieces of black fabric and held them against her skin. I switched them out, looking for the perfect color and texture to showcase exactly what I wanted. When it came to the perfect model, I needed the perfect design. Anything less than flawless simply wasn’t good enough.
Once I found the exact dark fabric that would complement her skin the best, I rolled the fabric to the table and started to work.
She continued to stand there. “Can I put my clothes back on?”
“There’s a robe on the hanger over there,” I said without looking up from what I was doing.
She didn’t put it on, and I knew exactly why.
“I designed that robe for you. No one else has worn it.”
Her footsteps echoed on the floor as she retrieved it. She wrapped it around her body and tied the sash across her stomach. She came over to me next, the smell of her shampoo entering my nose once she was close enough. “Can I help?”
“No.” I did everything alone. The only person who helped me was Nicole. She did all the bookkeeping and the ordering. Everything else was my responsibility.
She sighed beside me. “You paid a lot for me. May as well get the most use out of me…”
“I bought you so I could fuck you.” I looked up and stared into her eyes. “Do you want me to fuck you, Muse?” I was immersed in my work, but I’d always make an exception for this woman.
She held my gaze, no longer intimidated by my stare. “Maybe later.” She grabbed my sketchbook and pulled the drawing closer to her. She examined it, turning it slightly sideways to take it in at a different angle. She examined the lines of fabric over the shoulders and the stomach. It was a one-piece design, but it was composed of thin straps everywhere, making it a complicated piece, but very beautiful. “Wow…I really like this. How did you come up with it?”
“You.”
“But how?” she asked. “Was it something I wore? Something I did? I don’t wear anything like this in the stables.”
“No.” I turned the page back toward me. “But the lines represent ropes. I’ve seen you down there a few times, pulling the horses or organizing the reins. And seeing you hold the ropes made me think about what I would do to you with the ropes.” I pictured her wrists bound together behind her back as she rode me. Powerless to do anything, she would be mine to enjoy. I’d be the cowboy, and she’d be the bronco. I turned my eyes to hers, unashamed by what I said. “It’ll be in black and brown, resembling the color and texture of rope. Every man wants to tie up a woman. Now the woman can tie herself up…” I turned back to my work and organized the fabric before I cut it.