Muse in Lingerie (Lingerie 1)

She took a seat at the table, like she didn’t plan to go anywhere.

That made me look up. “What?”

“If there’s anything I can do, I’d like to help. You were generous enough to give me that money…I’d like to earn it.”

I grabbed the tape measure and the scissors. “You’ve been here all day.”

“I’m like a mule…I can go for a long time.”

It was a poor comparison, especially when she was far more beautiful than a mule. If she was any beast, she would be a majestic white horse.

“I can even clean if you’d like.”

“No. I have a much better use for you.” I directed her to my side of the table and had her hold the edges while I cut and sewed. Having another person there made the process a lot smoother. I usually had one of my assistants or Nicole help me out with things, but since it was after hours, everyone was already home for the day.

Once she got the hang of it, she was of better use.

Then we worked in comfortable silence. I got a waft of her hair when she moved sometimes. Every once in a while, her arm would brush against mine. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder, and her eyes began to narrow in fascination for what I was doing. Then she started to ask questions.

“Where did you learn all of this?”

“I’m self-taught.”

“You taught yourself how to design clothes?” When she was being herself, she had naturally perfect posture. Her shoulders were back, her stomach was in, and she had a phenomenal arch in her lower back. It made her ass stick out even more. She had an elegance to her that wasn’t fake like it was on the runway. But that beauty only came out when she was comfortable in her surroundings—comfortable with her clothes on.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t go to school?”

“School is a waste of time. If there’s something you want to learn, you can just teach yourself.”

She watched my hands work the fabric underneath the sewing machine. “What made you want to design lingerie?”

“I already told you.” I wasn’t much of a talker as it was, and I hated stupid questions even more.

She shifted her gaze to my face, watching me concentrate.

“I’ve been obsessed with sex since I hit puberty. I love women, and I love fucking them. I know how to make a woman feel sexy, to feel more desirable than she ever has before. And I know exactly what men want to see. I’ve turned my addiction into a living.”

She turned her gaze back to my hands, having no comment on what I had just admitted. “That means you’re a sex addict?”

“No. But I love sex.” I carried the fabric to the mannequin and pinned it in place so I could add the final touches.

She crossed her arms over her chest and slowly circled the figure. “That means you don’t have a girlfriend?”

“Never have. Never will.”

She took a seat and crossed her legs, watching me. “Do you get lonely?”

“I’m surrounded by a sea of people on a daily basis. And I’m surrounded by women on a nightly basis. No, I definitely don’t get lonely.”

Her blue eyes moved to my face, watching my expression as I worked.

“You’re asking me a lot of questions. How about I ask you some questions?”

“Depends on what you want to know.”

Once the two fabrics were perfectly placed together, I worked on the bottom piece. “Leave a boyfriend behind?”

I wasn’t sure if she would answer since it was a personal question. I went straight to the heavy stuff. “No.”

I shouldn’t care that she wasn’t in love with someone, but a jolt of energy surged through my veins. I didn’t like the idea of a faceless man fucking her. My possessiveness probably stemmed from the fact that she was one of my models, but I’d never been very protective of any of them. “What about your parents?”

“Dead.” She said it without a single sign of emotion. Heartless and cold, she seemed like she didn’t feel anything at all.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” My hands halted momentarily before I started working again.

“It was a long time ago. My dad has been gone ten years. My mom has been gone for five.”

“Siblings?”

“One brother…but he’s dead too.” She breathed in a deep sigh like she was trying to steady invisible tears.

“I’m sorry.” That time, my remorse was real.

“I’m all that’s left…”

Maybe she fled to a new country because she didn’t have any reason to stay behind. Maybe she wanted to start over while she was still young. Or maybe she murdered her entire family, and now she was on the run.

I hadn’t looked into her past, but I didn’t care.

But now I started to care. “Any friends?”

“I left a few people behind…but I didn’t tell them I was leaving.”

“Did you tell anyone?”