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She spins around. “The subject isn’t supposed to move.”
“I was curious.” My hands encircle her waist, and I pull her into my chest, inhaling her sweet cinnamon and vanilla scent.
“Sit down and I’ll show you what I’ve done afterward,” she says, her voice sharp.
“But I’m curious about what you’re not wearing under that apron.”
My hands slide down to her curvaceous ass. The fabric there is light and thin enough to let me feel the heat of her skin, but I need more.
“Behave,” Emberly murmurs. “I’ll never finish the portrait if you keep being so distracting.”
“Show me what you’re wearing underneath and I’ll sit down.”
“Promise?” she whispers.
“I swear on my life.”
“Fine,” she says with a sigh. “Let go.”
I release my hands, but I don’t step back, my gaze raking up and down her slender form.
Emberly pulls the thick strap of her apron over her head, letting one side fall loose, and all sensation rushes south. Underneath it, she wears the burgundy silk bra and thong I bought for her two days ago.
The last time I saw that perfect little ass, she was bent over while I fucked her from behind. Now, I want to repeat the experience with her covered in paint.
“There,” she says. “Now it’s your turn to keep your end of the bargain.”
“All of it,” I say.
She huffs and pulls off the apron’s other strap, and the fabric falls to the floor. My cock aches with the need to slide beneath her thong and encase itself in her wet heat.
“Turn around.”
Her shoulders stiffen, and her fingers tighten around the stick of charcoal. My breath quickens at the prospect of calming her from another meltdown, but she turns around to fix me with a glower.
I sweep my gaze down to the nipples pebbling through the silk, along her flat belly, and to her slender thighs. Those long legs are wasted keeping her standing when they could be wrapped around my waist.
“Now, will you please sit down?”
There’s an edge to her voice that’s no longer playful, so I back toward the chair with my eyes still glued on her body. How the hell did Capello sire two worthless sons and then manage to produce such a stunning daughter?
“If you want me to stay in my seat, you should stop disappearing behind the canvas. I need to watch you do your art,” I say.
With an annoyed breath, she arranges her easel to the side, so I get her full profile. As she bends to pick up her apron, I add, “Leave it.”
Emberly turns to me with her eyes narrowed. Her scowl plus the color on her cheeks tell me she’s thoroughly sick of my bullshit. Hiding my smirk, I lower myself into my seat and arrange myself into a new position.
“Roman, you were sitting angled to the right with your elbow on the arm.”
I slouch to the right and rest my cheekbone on my fist. “Like this?”
Her lips tighten. “More upright.”
Straightening, I balance my chin on my fist, my gaze never leaving her face. “Better?”
“No,” she snaps, her nostrils flaring.
“Come here and show me.”
