resolution

It’s comfortable for both of them. Because her breasts and pubis are covered, she doesn’t feel naked, even though she is. Meanwhile, her modest pose reminds Edward of the erotic photos of his youth. Watching her as he does while his hand produces a flurry of furious movements across the paper, he is almost able to forget that he wants to eat her…but not quite.

“If you don’t draw anymore, why do you keep art supplies in your car?”

He laughs. “You think I planned this as a means to get you out of your clothing. May I remind you that you were in your current state of undress long before I brought up the subject of posing for me?”

“You have to admit, it’s suspect.”

“Kind of like answering the door with your commodity hanging out.”

“My commodity?” she repeats, giggling. “That’s a new one.”

“Perhaps to you. I assure you, the expression itself is quite old. Anyway, I do still sketch. I also paint. Neither are my preferred medium.”

“And you’re able to make a living taking pictures of o faces?”

“It perpetuates my survival, yes. Money isn’t something I think about.”

“Must be nice.”

Her words are heavy with emotion, but not the ones he expects. There’s no bitterness to her voice, no envy, just a bit of pride and determination.

He shakes his head, simultaneously impressed and dumbfounded.

“What?” she asks.

“You intrigue me. I’ve never encountered anyone like you. Why has no man claimed you?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“They’ve tried, but I prefer women.”

She laughs. “Good to know, though I’d assumed as much. I’m talking about your relationship status. Given your age and your…well…appeal, I’d think at the very least you’d have a girlfriend, possibly even a wife.”

“Ah. Well, I had one of those once.”

“You’ve only had one girlfriend?”

“No. I’ve never had anything like that, but I was married at one point.”

“You must have been young.”

“I suppose I was, by today’s standards. It felt right at the time, and it was expected of me.”

She suddenly understands. “Oh, so you had to get married.”

“There would have been a scandal if I hadn’t.”

She nods expressionlessly, just taking it in.

“Does this surprise you?”

“Nothing surprises me. What happened?”

He shifts in his chair, and she regrets asking.

“You don’t have to answer. It’s not really any of my business…well…unless…”

“What?”

“You aren’t still married, are you?”

“No,” he answers. “I haven’t been for quite some time.”

She wants to ask about the baby, but she doesn’t want to pry. Noticing he’s stopped sketching, she changes the subject.

“Are you finished?” She angles her head toward his sketchpad.

“This drawing is complete, but I’m far from finished.”

His smile makes her tingle between her legs, and she’s grateful to be lying on her stomach.

“May I reposition you?”

“Sure.”

He moves toward her and kneels beside the bed. Though he’s close enough to touch her, he doesn’t. Then she rolls onto her side, exposing the front of her body to his gaze. So he looks—at her rose-colored nipples, at the curve of her hips, at the triangle of dark curls at the meeting of her thighs. Though she’s lovely in the nude, he thinks he’d prefer her in a corset and stockings, maybe with a chemise pushed off her shoulders. He wonders if she’d dress that way for him if he asked. Then she props up her head and smiles at him. He doesn’t understand why she trusts him, but he is grateful that she does even if she shouldn’t. So despite the fact he is reaping the benefits of her naïvetè, he fears for her safety in his absence.

“Why are you here with me?” he asks. “I can’t imagine you’re in the habit of taking off your clothing for strangers.”

“Not anymore,” she admits, sighing. “I tried to be a stripper. I lasted all of a day. I had no problem dancing on a pole— that was easy. I dance at home at all the time, so I pretended that’s what I was doing. But when I had to give my first lapdance, I knew I wouldn’t be able to make a go of it. He was hard, and though I know that’s the point, it made me feel like a hooker. I mean, I’d dry humped my high-school boyfriend, so rubbing against a clothed peen wasn’t a new experience. Accepting money for it though…I’m not that desperate. That was when I decided to rent my house out during the summer. It’s the least of all possible evils and enables me to hang onto at least some dignity. And I make decent enough money at the casino. My uniform may make me feel like a whore, but I don’t feel as if I’m trading my body for money. No one touches me, so I can deal with feeling mildly objectified.”

“Do you feel that way now?”

She shakes her head. “That’s the strange thing—I don’t. I mean, there are times when you look at me as if I’m your next meal, and that makes me nervous, but only because it’s so intense and I’m not used to it.”

“I do want to eat you, and that should make you nervous.”

There’s a flutter in her pelvis, and she clenches her thighs together tightly, trying to conceal the extent to which his admission arouses her. She can imagine no greater feeling than his tongue stroking her clit, and can only hope it’s something she’ll experience.

“Anyway, you’re the only guy I’ve ever met who actually sees me, so I want you to look.” Her cheeks color, and she averts her eyes. “And touch and taste.”

He wants those things, too, but not without her knowing who he is.

“I never touch my models,” he explains. “And I don’t permit them to touch me.”

“Oh,” she says. Though part of her is relieved to discover he’s not the manwhore she believed him to be, she fears that in an agreeing to pose for him, she’s eliminated any possibility of being anything more.

“I don’t talk to them much, either. I don’t like to relate to them. As far as I’m concerned, they’re just objects.”

“Still life with orgasm and dripping vag?”

“Something like that,” he admits with a laugh.

“So if you don’t touch them, how do they…”

“They touch themselves.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding.

“It’s less personal that way.”

“Call me old-fashioned, but I’m of the opinion that masturbation is very personal. I mean, I’ve never done it with an audience.”

“That you know of.”

It’s a strange response, and she feels compelled to call him on it.

“Is this where you admit that you’ve followed me home from work, snuck around the outside of my trailer to my bedroom window and watched me jerk off?”

“Yes,” he says, not wanting to lie to her.

She looks at him disbelievingly for a moment, then decides he must be kidding. She throws back her head and laughs.

“I wasn’t expecting you to find that amusing.”

“Most girls wouldn’t, but I have a dark sense of humor.”

“I do, too.”

Absolved by her laughter, he finds himself able to relax. He sits back on his heels and rests his hand on the bed beside her. Though he’s told her she’s different, that she isn’t like the others who lie before him naked, she sees his hand on her chenille bedspread and recognizes the opportunity it presents her. Ever so slowly, she covers it with her own.

He focuses on her fingers as they gently brush his skin. They’re soft and warm, and he wonders how they would feel wrapped around his cock.

“Is this okay?” she asks. “I know you don’t permit your models to touch you.”

“You’re nothing like them.” He proves this to her the only way he can. Cupping her face with his free hand, he brushes his thumb across her cheek.

She closes her eyes and angles her head into his palm; she wants nothing more than to be close to him. His lips are unyielding as they press against hers—she’d describe them as hard if his skin weren’t so soft. The combination seems almost impossible, but so does everything else about him, so she doesn’t dwell on it. Then his tongue is tracing the underside of her top lip, and she no longer cares.

Her hands grip his shirt and pulls him toward her. At least, he raises himself onto his knees to give her that illusion. His mouth is still moving with hers as she starts to work on his buttons. When his shirt is open, she presses her palms against his pectoral muscles and grazes her thumbs across his nipples. They seem impossibly hard, but then again, she doesn’t doubt hers are as well.

His hands find her hair as he climbs onto the bed beside her, letting out a low growl as she pushes his shirt over his shoulders. Before he can think better of it, he’s between her legs, his bare chest pressed against her, flattening her breasts. She’s soft and impossibly fleshy, and though he loves her initiative in a way hadn’t thought possible, he fears he’ll break her if he loses control.

“You’re making a liar out of me,” he says after moving his lips away from hers.

“How so?”

“I told you if you permitted me to sketch you, I’d a gentleman. Though admittedly, my manners are not what they used to be, I’m certain that precludes any activity that places me between your legs. This being established, I think I should return to my seat and recommence drawing you.”

“I like you where you are. Besides, I thought you said you wanted to eat me.”

“This isn’t a joke, Bella. I don’t think you realize how close you are to losing your virtue…among other things.”

“Or I do, and the thought appeals to me.”

He studies her face and thinks about what she’s saying. Doing her bidding only seems immoral because she doesn’t know what she’s asking. The answer is clear to him.

“I want to take you home with me.”

“To your rental?” she asks.

“No, to my house in New York. I want you to see it, to know who I am and what I come from. If your feelings about giving yourself to me don’t change, I’ll give myself to you in capacity you’d like.”

She doesn’t have to consider his offer.

“When can we leave?”