“Lizzy! Could you for pity’s sake stay still?” he roared, face flushed with frustration and anger. He flung the brush to the floor and paced, running paint splattered fingers through his thick auburn curls, breathing hard.
“I’m sorry, I’m really trying but it’s freezing in here. I know artists don’t make much money, but can’t you put on some heating?” she pouted, huddling into a tight curl, wrapped her arms around herself, covering her breasts.
He felt his blood pressure soar and fought the urge to march over and show her the back of his hand, “Stay calm, never strike in anger,” he thought.
“Take five,” he tossed a blanket towards her and left the studio to go for a cigarette.
Sucking the smoke deep into his lungs, his mind reeled. She was breathtakingly beautiful: her skin, like alabaster; perfect soft, generous curves; round, full breasts with small pale nipples and… that face! God, her face; it had haunted him in his dreams since the first day he saw her. Heart-shaped, with a tiny pointed chin, an upturned, elfin nose covered in a smattering of brown freckles, framed by a short, close-cropped boyish hairstyle, that only served to accentuate her femininity. He knew at once he needed to paint her.
She was quiet in class, rarely offering her opinion, preferring to sit and listen, take notes. Although, when he challenged her directly one day, she spoke articulately, and surprisingly passionately, about the piece under review, skillfully and convincingly defending her interpretation. He enjoyed watching the rose tint that bloomed in her cheeks as she argued her case.
She was proving to be a challenging subject, not only because of her shivering and twitching, but he was struggling to capture her essence, her energy; the indefinable quality she carried… her aura.
Stubbing out the cigarette with the toe of his boot, he turned to re-enter the studio.
She was gone.
“Lizzy!!!” he roared, growing more impatient by the second.
“I’m here! I just needed the loo,” blanket still wrapped around her, she walked over to her position and faced him, “I’m ready,” her chin lifted defiantly, as she discarded the wooly throw and stood before him, self assured and with a complete absence of inhibition.
He was aware of an ache at his groin; felt himself harden and strain against his jeans.
She lowered herself to the floor and began to arrange herself. Casting his eyes over the canvas beside him, he instantly knew what was wrong. He needed to portray her core self, reveal that incredible power she wielded quite unconsciously.
“No, not like that. Lie back. Open your legs for me,” he instructed, watching her hesitate for just a second before she acquiesced and parted her thighs, revealing a small dark V of hair and rosy pink lips.
His cock swelled.
He grabbed the canvas, threw it across the room and mounted a fresh one on the tripod, “Fresh start! Now, for god’s sake Lizzy, stay still!”
I was quite liberal with Leonora’s prompt… forgive me?
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