Thrill Seeker (Sinful in Seattle)

She shifted on the uncomfortable wooden horse that wore her butt print more often than not. The latecomers to class got their pick of the crappy stations, and they included these hobby horse deals that required her to press her knees into the sides to stay balanced. Since she never closed the Fairdale Bird Sanctuary gift shop until the last souvenir shopper went away happy, she usually skated in right before Randall shut the door. Only two more classes were left after tonight. Then she’d take up naked origami or something.

She blinked as the door opened and sex personified glided across the classroom to speak with Randall. Hoo boy, who was that? His scuffed sneakers barely seemed to make contact with the floor.

“Class, tonight’s model is Michael Montgomery.” Randall leaned against his desk and gestured at the sulky-faced man at his side wearing a hoodie and faded jeans. “Michael’s a frequent model of mine, and I have a feeling you’ll enjoy sketching him. For tonight’s class, he won’t be fully nude. Tomorrow, however, you will draw him during the point of full arousal. Thursday night we’ll go over final techniques and you’ll submit your final project for my approval.”

Kim’s attention shorted out at the word arousal. Did Randall actually mean they’d be able to sketch Michael’s erection? Could she get a job being his fluffer? She’d work cheap, especially since it had been a while since she’d fluffed anything that didn’t reside in her own panties.

“If the muse cooperates,” Michael put in, offering a grin that seemed at odds with the male model pout he’d worn only a moment before.

“Headphones.” Randall winked and took the seat nearest to the model, as he always did. He sketched right along with the class, in the hopes of fostering a collaborative environment. “You know the drill.”

“I do.” Perching on his stool, Michael let his smile drift around the room. The class ratio was heavily weighted toward women, and most of them seemed intent on gazing wide-eyed at tonight’s specimen. His gaze touched everyone briefly, until he reached Kim’s row. She sat in the last seat and waited for him to stare at her while orchestra music swelled in her mind and her crumbled heart magically reknitted at the prospect of rough, sweaty sex. But Michael didn’t even look at her.

Just as well, since he had to be in his twenties. Been there, done that doggy-style.

After breaking up with Gary, a cook in the cafeteria at the bird sanctuary, she’d learned her lesson about dating younger guys. Eagerness to please between the sheets and a shared interest in comic books did not a match in heaven make.

Unfortunately finding single men her own age was equivalent to catching the Loch Ness monster with a fishing net. Which brought her right back around to younger men again. She should know better because knowing better was the first step to doing better. And/or being done.

Hell, why fight it? She’d gladly sign up for the support group if she got to enjoy the addiction first.

While she’d been lost in thought, Michael had unzipped his hoodie to reveal his bare chest above his faded jeans. His torso was a virtual lasagna of muscles—layer upon layer of them, all caught mid-ripple as he sat unmoving in a flex pose. The cheese on top were the whorls of light brown hair on his pecs.

No manscaping. Thank Jesus. With a grateful sigh, she started to sketch.

Michael’s dark hair wasn’t straight or curly, more a mishmash of the two, and so thick she imagined he spent a lot of time in the barber’s chair. His eyelids seemed to be weighted, giving him a perpetually sleepy look. He had a lush look about his face that didn’t match the sinewy lines of his body.

She didn’t consider herself a great artist by any means, but she spent what seemed like forever contouring the hollows and angles of his face. His eyes were deep, dark slashes, hidden by the inky fringe of his lashes. She wanted him to look up and see her, to bestow that panty-warming smile.

Then he did. And sweet dandelion wine, her lady parts sang hallelujah.

Michael broke his position and shifted lazily to his feet, shaking his limbs to get the circulation going again. He pulled his hoodie on, his gaze remaining riveted on hers all the while. He bent to gather the backpack he’d dropped at his feet then straightened to speak to one of the ladies, who was much quicker on the uptake than Kim.

When spotting a delicious man in the wild terrain of the suburban classroom, the importance of haste couldn’t be overstated. Yet all Kim could do was shade more lines around Michael’s eyes on her sketchpad and wonder if his irises were one color or every one of them, which was essentially the make-up of black. Black eyes were unique, at least to her mind.

Vaguely, she realized everyone had risen from their seats. To her right, Randall discussed the benefits of using charcoal over other media with a student. All Kim heard was that buzz in her ears that meant she was back in the game.

God help them both.

Chapter 2

The brunette currently eye-mounting him was trouble with a capital F. F for fuck him, he was screwed. Or he would be, if he didn’t watch himself.

Michael Montgomery dug his keys out of his pocket and smiled at one of the other women, expecting th

e sexy brunette to wander over anytime now. But she didn’t acknowledge him at all. She continued sketching then sailed out of the room without so much as a hello. No phone number coyly dropped on his bag, no wink and an air kiss. Absolutely nothing.

Too late he’d realized why she intrigued him—well, beyond the obvious. She wasn’t some random woman he’d tussled with over melons in the grocery store. This was her. Red glittery dress chick, whom he’d changed a flat tire for on the side of the road months ago. The one he hadn’t been able to forget for reasons he couldn’t figure out. She’d barely spoken two words to him, so occupied was she with her phone.

He hadn’t recognized her right away tonight because she’d worn little makeup and had her hair down, partially covering her face. That night she’d had it scraped back, showing off her gorgeous bone structure. And that lush mouth, painted a bold crimson.

Something about her had called to him then. The determination he’d sensed in her posture. Her fight to remain stoic. Hell, the way her eyes shone gold under the streetlights. Whatever it was, that same something was currently hammering the back of his skull—and the base of his cock.

The next night, she arrived last to class. He’d already stripped and had just returned from the bathroom where he’d primed his pump, so to speak. The pornographic soundtrack in his headphones should keep all thrusters operational.

Randall had taken his share of flak from the founders of the rec center where the class was held for this aspect of the course, but there was no denying that the session always had a waiting list two miles long. The brass couldn’t argue with money, even if they could with method. Nothing inappropriate had ever occurred between Michael and the students. It was art. A chance for them to draw a man fully aroused, rather than in his less noteworthy state of flaccidity.

The soundtrack in his ears was the audio track to his favorite porno—well, truthfully, it was the only porno he’d watched more than once. Years ago he’d been curious by all he’d been missing, but after a while, he’d realized that seeing the greener grass over the fence only made him want to roll in it even more. For the last year, he hadn’t watched or listened to anything overtly sexual other than when he was in this class. And since that was technically for work, he rationalized he had no choice.