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LENGTH: Short Story Cover art (c) Amber Moon 2003 (s&h not included in price)
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Shy, reserved Nichole has had a crush on her friend Greg for years, so when Greg asks her to model for his latest sculpture, she can't resist. She doesn't dare to hope that Greg might return her feelings, but as she watches him recreate her body in clay, her hunger for him only grows ... and she realizes that in order to claim what she desires, she must first overcome her own fears. Rating: Contains explicit sex, strong language. |
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By Amanda Steiger
"Are you nervous?" asked Greg. Nichole felt his warm fingers through the cotton robe as he touched her shoulder. "A little," she said. "Just try to relax. It won’t seem so strange once we get started." Nichole took a deep breath and let her robe slip to the floor. She was completely naked beneath. Her cheeks grew hot as her nipples tightened in the cool air. Instinctively, she reached down to cover the triangle of dark brown curls nestled between her thighs--then pulled her hand back. Considering what she was here for, her modesty was more than a little silly. How would she get through the rest of the evening if she couldn’t even keep her robe off without blushing? "I’m kind of embarrassed, I guess," she admitted. "Embarrassed?" His chuckle was warm and deep. "Why on earth would you be embarrassed?" "I don’t know. I’m just not used to this, I guess. I feel so..." He smiled with one corner of his mouth. "Naked?" "That about sums it up, I guess." "Trust me, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. But if you’re having second thoughts.…" She shook her head. "I promised you, didn’t I?" "You did." Greg’s eyes moved in little flickers, studying different places on her body. They lingered on her lips, the delicate hollow between her collarbones, and her breasts, small and firm as peaches. Nichole’s heart was beating quickly. The only other time she’d been naked with a man, it had been completely dark. Now, she stood in a brightly lit room, everything exposed to his eyes. Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. "Ready when you are," she said. Greg sat on a rickety chair and picked up his sketch pad and pencil. "I’m all set." Nichole looked around the cluttered art studio. "Where should I stand?" "Over there, on the wooden block by that table. That’s it. Now tilt your head back and look up. Stand with your legs apart, one foot with the heel off the ground, and your arm over your head, with the palm cupped, like you’re holding something." "Like this?" "Good." He began to sketch, his eyes darting from the page to her body, then back to the page. "Am I the first person you’ve modeled for?" She laughed. "Is it that obvious?" "No, actually. You take instructions very well, and you’re holding that pose like a pro. I’d almost think you had experience." "You know me better than that. I don’t think I could do this with a stranger. I’d probably faint with embarrassment." "It’s not that big a deal, once you get used to it." His features softened in a smile that transformed his whole face and filled his gray eyes with light. Many people never got to see that smile. It was a special expression he reserved for his closest friends. Nichole felt honored to be one of the privileged few. "It can be kind of a pain, though, standing in one place for so long," said Greg. "Like I said, I’m willing to pay you." "Stop, Greg. We’ve been friends too long to even think about payment." He shrugged. "Work is work. And I’m taking a lot of time out of your schedule." "I don’t mind. I’m just afraid Kathy will be jealous," she asked, only half-kidding. She knew how possessive Greg’s girlfriend could be. They made jokes about it, but sometimes, it made Nichole genuinely nervous. "Don’t tell her, okay?" Greg’s smile withered. "I won’t," he said, and resumed drawing. "Greg? What’s wrong?" "Kathy and I are through," he said, without looking up from his sketchpad. Nichole’s eyes widened. "What?" "We broke up." He tore a page off the sketchpad. "But ... why?" Silence. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not my business." "It’s all right." His voice was flat, the way it always got when he was trying to hide his emotions. For a moment, he stared silently down at the sketchbook, the pencil dangling between two long, graceful fingers. "It came out of the blue. She just came home from work one day and said she couldn’t go on living like this, that she wants a real man with a real job, not some naïve kid who wants to make a career out of playing with clay." Nichole’s eyes widened. "She said that?" "Well, not those exact words. I think she actually said ‘Play-doh’ instead of ‘clay.’ She gave me a choice. Give up my art and get a better-paying job, or say good-bye. I made my choice." He finished off his sketch with a few quick, sharp lines, and then tore off another page. "I always thought she cared enough about me that the money wasn’t an issue. That she respected how serious I am about sculpting." He was making an effort to keep his voice level, but his jaw was clenched, showing the tension in his body. His hand moved in quick, violent jerks as he sketched. "When I told her it was too much a part of me to give up, she said I was being immature and selfish. Selfish. God, I must have been fooling myself, to believe she really loved me." The pencil tore through the page, and he muttered a soft, "Damn." "I’m sorry," Nichole said quietly. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe himself clean. "No ... I’m sorry. You didn’t come here to listen to me rant. I wasn’t planning to bring it up at all. I was going to wait until I’d calmed down a little before I told anyone. I feel like my insides are in a knot. My mom’s going to love this. She’s gotten it into her head that I’m going to marry Kathy. She even asked me once how many kids we were planning to have." "My mom’s the same way. I’m not even twenty-five, and she’s already so desperate for grandkids that I think she’s planning to steal someone else’s," Nichole joked weakly. Then her smile faded. "Greg ... I really am sorry." "I’m not," he said. "She did me a favor. She showed her true colors before I had the chance to fall deeper in love with her. I’m just angry at myself for not seeing it sooner." He rubbed his eyelids with his fingertips, and then picked up his pencil. "Lift your head a little more, please." Nichole tilted her chin upward, watching Greg out of the corner of her eye. Her heart ached for him. He made a few more quick sketches, then lay them all in a pile on a rickety stool. "Need a break yet?" he asked. "You’ve been holding that pose for awhile. I’ll make some coffee, if you like." "Sure," she said, and glanced at the clock on the paint-spattered wall. "Make it decaf, though. It’s getting late." He nodded. "You should probably get home soon." "But you haven’t even started the sculpture yet." "We can start tomorrow." He picked up the stack of papers and shuffled through them. "I have some preliminary sketches now, at least. I can use them for reference when I make the armature, so I can start slapping the clay on next time you’re here." He headed into the kitchen while Nichole slipped back into her jeans and T-shirt. Greg returned, carrying two large coffee mugs, and handed one to her. "You take it with half-and-half, right?" She nodded and sipped, watching as he traced the rim of his cup with one finger. He had beautiful hands. The fingers, now smudged with pencil, were long and dexterous, and he had thick calluses on his palms with dirt engrained into them. He took a lot of odd jobs when he wasn’t working on commissions. He’d been a part-time construction worker for the past few months, and the job had added definition to his muscles. He looked almost like one of his own sculptures. She imagined one of those big, calloused hands slipping beneath her shirt to cup her breast ... then shoved the image away. Greg was her friend; that was all. They’d known each other since college, and although Nichole had always been a little infatuated with him, she’d known from the beginning he was out of her league. He was handsome, smart, sensitive, talented and affectionate, everything a woman could want. And though he never boasted, he was certainly aware that he could have just about any woman he chose. Nichole knew she’d never had a chance, especially with confident, red-haired, green-eyed Kathy in the picture.
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