I wander closer to the pile of sketches and start to sift through them. It’s the beginning of the fall collection. Chunky off-the-shoulder sweaters, gorgeous trousers and dresses you can wear with boots and leggings. That classic fall aesthetic crossed with his own individual flare.
Andrew appears at my shoulder with a glass of water. “Do you like them?”
“I really do, not that my opinion matters.”
He turns me to face him. “Of course it matters. I hope that you’ll be wearing them, so I want your opinion. Also,” he says, giving me a stern look, “never sell yourself short. Your opinion should always matter. If it doesn’t, you’re in the wrong place.”
I duck my head at the sudden burst of emotion that surges through me at those words. “We barely know each other; you can’t know that.”
Andrew pulls me away from the sketches and into his living room where he settles us on a short couch, close enough to touch, big enough that we’re not crowded. “It might sound strange to say, but in fashion you learn to judge people quickly. People almost always reveal themselves with their clothes, even if they’re not honest. I’ve been doing this a long time, and have learned what to look for in the people I want to know better. The people I want to spend time with.” He smiles and it seems more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. “All that to say that I saw who you were when you walked into that room, and I was blown away.”
I blush again, and he laughs. “I like it when you blush, though it’s funny that someone who has such a strong exhibitionist streak is so shy.”
“I’m not an exhibitionist,” I say, shaking my head.
He raises an eyebrow. “I’d say our experiences together show that that’s not true.”
“But it’s not them, it’s you,” I blurt out. “I was a mess in the exhibition until I saw you, felt you watching. The same at the gallery. I had no idea what I was doing, and then you were there and suddenly…you being the audience made everything make sense. I don’t care if people see me—only if you see me.” My blush deepens and I’m suddenly afraid of that admission which seems too deep and intimate despite the fact that we just had sex.
He reaches out, fingers brushing along my skin to cup the back of my neck. “And what if I had decided that I did want to fuck you in the middle of that gallery, in front of anyone. How would you have felt?”
“At that point, I honestly don’t think I would have cared.”
Andrew pulls me closer, a wicked grin on his face. “And tonight at the club? You’re going to tell me that it was only me touching you that was turning you on? Not the fact that we could be caught—could be seen—at any moment?”
I swallow, taking a breath. When I was close to coming I do remember those thoughts running through my head, that anyone could have seen his hand in my dress. I wanted them to see. “Oh my god,” I breathe.
Andrew chuckles and closes the distance between us to kiss me softly. “There’s nothing wrong with it. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a little flare for drama.” That makes me laugh. “And even though I would never let anyone touch you, I don’t mind if they watch.”
His hand slides up my thigh, under the fabric of the dress and higher. “In fact, I think you might like it.”
“I don’t know.”
His hands keep traveling upward and he lifts the dress over my head in one swift mention. “I bet I can convince you.”
My breath is shallow, heart pounding. “I have no doubt that you could.” I glance down as he runs his fingers between my breasts. “You’ve already seen almost all of me.”
“Seeing,” he says, smirk wicked, “and experiencing, are not the same thing. I believe the way I convinced you to leave the club was a certain promise involving my mouth. Another thing you should know about me—along with being honest, I always keep my promises.”
I let out a moan as his lips touch my neck, tongue exploring. He lays me back on the couch and shows me just how thoroughly he plans to keep his promise. His mouth is everywhere: in the hollow of my throat and across my collarbone. Sucking on the skin of my breasts and teasing me until my nipples are harder than they’ve ever been. His tongue follows the line of my stomach and the curves of my hips, fingers following, almost tickling but not quite. Everything is sensation and I can’t keep my eyes open as he works his way lower, past where I expect him to stop down to my thighs where he continues to explore.
I honestly never knew how sensitive thighs could be. His mouth kisses my legs open, nipping the skin and sending ripples to my already sensitive pussy. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex, let alone multiple times in one night. His hands smooth over my hips, gently opening me further, and I hold my breath as I feel him move closer. But he’s taking his time, moving around, a bite here and a soft lick there.
Finally, the barest touch of his tongue on my clit. I moan, back arching, I want more of him, all of him. He doesn’t give it to me, he goes in slow motion, almost emulating my vision at the gallery. Every inch of my pussy is touched by him, and I can’t even breathe. Sinking my hands into his hair, I pull him closer, showing him what I need. This time he obliges, moving faster, plunging his tongue deep inside me, moving across me in long strokes.
I’m so close that I’m panting his name, digging my fingers deep into his hair, lifting my hips to meet his mouth. Andrew’s hands are hard on my hips as he holds me still, plunging deeper, and I can’t hold on any longer. Pleasure explodes through me, and I cry out as I come. I’m shaking with the orgasm, unable to see or think in the cloud of sheer pleasure. There’s nothing in the universe except for Andrew’s mouth on me. It’s too good. Better than I ever imagined it would be, and as I come down from the high, I can barely catch my breath.
“Shit,” I say, and Andrew chuckles.
He crawls up my body, and I love the sight of him above me. “Did I keep my promise?”
“One of them,” I say, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “You’ve seen all of me. I think it’s my turn.”
A mischievous light dances in his eyes, “What do you want? Do you want to undress me? Or do you want me to undress for you?”
I slide my hand down his chest, feeling the muscles underneath the fabric. “Show me,” I breathe.
Andrew takes time to kiss me first, so deep that I’m lightheaded before he stands, his hands going to the buttons of his shirt. Th
e smirk on his face is sexy as he undoes them, one by one, revealing a chest that could easily be in any fashion campaign. “Like what you see?”
I return his smirk. “Show me more.”
It is impossible that this is my life. With a playful smile on his face, Andrew undoes the buttons on his pants.
“Why aren’t you the model again?” He could model for any brand he wanted. Hell, he could be a nude model for art students and half the room would faint with desire. His pants fall, revealing slim hips complete with that V I find so sexy, and virtually perfect legs. Not to mention his cock, hard and thick, making my mouth go dry with the possibility of feeling that again.
He raises an eyebrow. “People already think I’m arrogant enough. I don’t think that modeling my own clothes would help that any.”
I can’t say anything because I’m too busy memorizing him. He’s perfect and I’m so glad he crossed this line—missing this view would be a goddamn tragedy. He approaches me again, that playful smile reappearing. “Now do you like what you see?”
Reaching out to touch him, I watch the muscles in his stomach jump and the way his jaw clenches. I smirk. “It’ll do. I think I can work with this.”
“Oh really,” he says, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to my feet. “Well if you’re going to work with this, I don’t think the couch is the place to do it.”
He sweeps me off my feet, and laughter bubbles out of my chest as he carries me toward the bedroom.
10
I come awake slowly, to brightness. The walls in Andrew’s bedroom are entirely glass, electric privacy shades half drawn to allow the morning sun in. I stretch slowly, languorously, feeling the tension in my body after last night. Even the thought of that makes me smile. I’m not sure what time it is, but I’m definitely not running on much sleep. There was too much to do, too much pent up sexual tension that we worked out. Over and over. And then once more for good measure.