“No need.” I stretch onto my back, letting my knees fall half-open. “I am certain you are quite tired of seeing women in that particular pose.”
“I do not ever draw that one from life. It would...” He clears his throat. “As the artist, I must maintain some degree of professionalism.”
I laugh softly. “I wondered about that. Having women in all states of undress, striking all sorts of poses, while you must sit there and wield a pencil instead of...”
I make a gesture with my hand, one that nearly has him toppling over with gasps of laughter.
“Oh, chérie, I do truly think I love you. Yes, I must admit there are times when it is quite...”
“Hard?”
Another snorted laugh. “Very hard, crécerelle, and I will stop there at the risk of saying anything I should not in front of a lady I am wooing.”
“You are wooing me?”
“Most ardently.”
My gaze drops to the front of his trousers. “I see that. I will not press for details, but you need not worry about offending me with tales of past exploits. It is all fodder for my insatiable curiosity.”
He grins. “A most refreshing stance on the matter. I shall remember that.”
“If you have not tired of seeing women in that pose, then perhaps I can attempt it? For the sake of satisfying my curiosity?”
I walk to the wall, face it and rest my hands on a jutting piece of rock. “Like this?”
“There is more bending.”
“Ah.” I lean to rest my forearms on the rock. “This?”
“That is very”—he swallows—“evocative.”
“However still not quite right, as I believe my knees are, once again, in too close proximity to one another.”
“Oui, if I might offer that slight criticism.”
“A constructive one. So I should be more like...”
I spread my legs, bend further, and raise my rear, feeling the chill of the night air on those most private of parts.
“Like this?”
He answers with a string of French, his voice husky enough that I do not chide him for it. Then he says, “May I come closer?”
“That depends. Is it for closer inspection or... the ultimate purpose of this particular pose?”
“Non, chérie, not for that. I have nothing for protection, and even if I did, I do not think you would wish me to move quite so quickly.”
“I would not.”
“You would like me to take my time?”
I twist to meet his eyes. “Please.”
“Good, because that is exactly what I intend to do. However, I believe I made some promises earlier on how I should like to make you swoon, and I am suddenly very eager to do so, if I may.”
Do I sound like an innocent if I admit I am not quite certain what he means? Oh, I know the carnal arts, having read extensively of them, but I am not quite certain which of them he intends, as the majority of what I have read—and all of what I have experienced—centers around the pleasure of the man. That does not seem to be what he’s suggesting, and so I nod.
I stay where I am as he walks over. He bends behind me and kisses the back of my calf, the thrill of such an unexpected touch darting through me. I try to relax and lean into the wall and simply experience without trying to guess what he has in mind.