The nude swung her hips gracefully off the stool and turned to look at the class.
"I believe time's up, people!" She draped the bright red robe over her shoulders casually, and stepped down from the podium on which she had been seated for an hour. "At any rate, I'M taking a break," she added, and glided from the room.
In the little dressing room she had been assigned, off the classroom, she sank wearily onto the sofa and stretched out, closing her eyes. She heard the music students across the way practicing their piano and violin pieces, and the cars that passed on the highway. She sighed. This was the first long-term job she had had as a model, since Jack had died, and it was helping to pay the rent, and keep body and soul together. That, and the small change she made from her late night radio show. Now, if only she could keep James from finding out..
She heard someone enter the studio, but she did not move. It was probably David Stein, the art teacher. He never came into her space, for which she was grateful. So when she heard the door open, she dragged the robe around herself and sat up.
James walked in, locking the door behind him, and she was speechless. Her cheeks flushed with color, and her heart began a rapid fire tattoo against her chest. She had told her week-old fiance, when she had first met him, that she was a model, and he had never asked her where she worked, or demanded to see pictures. She had always found it odd, but never questioned her good luck. Now here he was...how on earth had he found her? And what was she going to tell him?
"Morning," he said conversationally, removing his jacket. "Warm enough in here for you?"
She swallowed. The room was comfortable, and she nodded.
"I thought you might like some company between classes," he said, removing his suit jacket, and his tie. "Mind if I join you?"
He removed his shirt, and she was treated to a view of his broad chest, with the chest hairs she loved to play in lying velvety on his tanned skin.
"What are you doing?" she asked, a frown marring her brow.
"Getting comfortable, like you are," he answered. "You don't mind, do you?" He unbuckled the belt in his slacks, and unzipped them, pushing them down and stepping out of them.
"James, this is crazy!" she protested.
"Why? You do it every day, don't you?" he demanded, removing his boxer briefs.
She watched him hang up his clothing or fold them neatly and then he turned and moved over to her, proudly displaying a full erection.
"James..." she said, her eyes wide.
"Donna," he replied, reaching for her robe when he reached her, and pushing it off her shoulders.
"I...I..." She stopped.
"You...you...?" he returned, pulling her in to him. "You love me? You were scared to tell me? You thought I'd be mad? You love me?" He paused, her body next to his, his mouth on her throat. "Wait," he mumbled. "I said that already, didn't I?"
Donna gave herself up to the thrill of his mouth on her throat, his hands oh her breast, in her hair...
Explanations would wait, she guessed...
James's hand wandered over his lover's body. Her small butt, round, and perfectly matching her size, her tight, muscular legs, her flat back...He was on the ragged edge of control, and had been all morning, thinking about how he would come here to where she worked, to surprise her with his knowledge, and his understanding, and his passion, and his love. The thought of her nude, being drawn by people who may or may not be turned on by what they saw, being watched by a knowing artist, both annoyed and aroused him. And the sight of her on that stool, posed impossibly still, her back half turned, a breast exposed, the mound of her belly hiding that other mound of pleasure, had made him ache for her as he watched, from the shadows in the furthest corner of the studio. When she raised a languid arm to change the pose, and her breast rose, he had had to struggle to keep his chair.
Now, here she was, exposed for him alone, the way he loved her best. His hands trembled with the urge to ravish and the need to wait.
"I have known about this job almost from the beginning, you know," he murmured as he slid his hand over her belly to that second mound, and he slipped a questing finger between its folds to sample the delights beneath. He heard her groan with a mixture of pleasure and pain. He loved the way he could pull an uninhibited response from her, and hated that he could not make her wild for him, the way he was for her, because she had to work, and he had to leave, and this was a semi-public space.
"I know so much more about you than you think, sweetheart!" he continued. "But I don't love you any less." He slid his fingers down each side of her tingling clit, not touching it, but sure she wished he would. She pushed her hips against his fingers, trying, no doubt, to make him go where she wanted, and do what she willed. He smiled, resisting her attempts to make him stray from his decided course. He was here to make her die a little death or two of pure pleasure for him, and then he'd take her, hard and fast, before the next class.
"Everyone has to make a living," he commented, bending his knees so he could push his finger into her waiting body. "As long as you keep this," he finally slid his thumb across her turgid clit, eliciting a deep groan of pleasure from her, "and this," a plunge with two fingers into her wet heat, "and this," he slanted his mouth over hers passionately, "for ME," another kiss, and a hard, circular rub of her clit, "I won't object."
He removed his hand, knowing she was on the point of orgasm, and lowered her to the couch.
"You had this job before you knew me, sweetheart!" he said, returning his hand to her waiting pussy. "I have no right to object, unless I can provide you with another immediate way to make a living." He slid his thumb over her clit again and again, and then lowered his head and bit her nipple gently.
Donna came, hard. He felt her muscles contract around his fingers, and he grew so hard himself that he had to blink to refocus his attention, and his mind, on his plan. His breathing grew ragged, and he kissed her as she came down off her high, before removing his hand and replacing it with his hard cock.
Donna remained speechless, unable, it seemed, to voice her desire, or any other statement. She merely threw her arms around his neck, as though to anchor herself on a solid rock in the turbulent sea of his passion and her own. James pumped in and out of her, slowly at first, to savor the sweet torture of her tight pussy around him, and to raise the pleasure factor immeasurably. But when she squirmed against him, and began to circle her hips, grinding herself against him, any control he had remaining dissipated like mist in sunshine.
He fucked her. Hard. Fast. Over and over again. They moaned into each other's mouths, kissing and caressing each other with fevered lips and hands, fanning the flames that had ignited between them, and that nothing could now put out, unless it were the orgasms waiting at the end of the hot, bright place where they were loving each other right then. James's hips rocked into her, and Donna's hips rocked back. They loved each other frenziedly, passionately, until the dam burst, and the waters of their lust rushed them over the edge, and they fell...long, tumbling, rolling, losing themselves to the ecstasy of free fall.
"James!" Donna's voice sifted through the fog of his repleteness, and he heard, with deep male satisfaction, the fullness of her completion. God, he loved her!!
Donna!" His answer held the wonder of the moment. He had never felt closer to her than he did right then. He never wanted to leave. He felt her hands on his back, the nails finally letting his skin go, the fingers smoothing the places she had just scared with the depth of her need.
He smiled...no need for explanations now.