The Arch

The studio lights were already hot when I watched Lena step onto the white paper backdrop. She was wearing nothing but a pair of black patent leather heels, the stiletto kind that made her calves flex with every step. I'd invited her here to paint, but all I could think about was how those heels would look hooked over my shoulders.

"You're staring, Marcus," she said, a smirk playing on her lips. She turned her back to me, looking over her shoulder, and the curve of her ass caught the light perfectly.

"I'm working," I said, but my voice came out rough. The brush in my hand was useless. I set it down.

"Sure you are." She walked toward me, the heels clicking on the concrete floor. Each step was a small performance, her hips swaying like they had their own rhythm. She stopped inches from me, close enough that I could smell her perfume, something floral mixed with the clean scent of her skin.

"You want me to pose, or you want to do something else?"

"Both," I admitted. My hand found her waist before I could think about it. Her skin was warm, smooth as silk.

She didn't pull away. Instead she leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. "Then stop being a coward and show me."

That was all I needed.

I pushed her back against the backdrop stand until the paper crinkled behind her. My mouth found hers, hungry and demanding. She tasted like coffee and something sweeter, and she kissed me back with a ferocity that surprised me. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer.

"These heels," I breathed against her neck, "they're killing me."

"Good." She laughed, a low, dirty sound. "Then fuck me in them."

I didn't need to be told twice. I dropped to my knees in front of her, running my hands up her thighs. She was already wet, and when I looked up at her, she was watching me with hooded eyes, biting her lower lip.

I buried my face between her legs, tasting her for the first time. She gasped, her hips bucking against my mouth. I licked her slowly, deliberately, savoring every drop of her. Her fingers dug into my hair as I worked my tongue over her clit, and she was already moaning, already a mess.

"Fuck, Marcus... that's good..."

I pulled back just enough to speak. "You taste like heaven." Then I went back in, faster now, harder. She was trembling against me, her thighs shaking. I could feel her getting close, could feel her tightening around nothing, and I wanted to push her over the edge.

"Please," she whimpered. "Please don't stop..."

I didn't. I sucked her clit into my mouth, flicking my tongue over it until she cried out, her body arching off the backdrop. She came hard, her juices coating my chin, her heels clicking against the floor as she lost control.

But I wasn't done with her.

I stood up, unzipping my jeans. My cock was straining, aching to be inside her. She saw it and licked her lips, a hungry look in her eyes.

"You want this?" I asked, stroking myself slowly.

"I want it," she said. "I want it so bad."

I turned her around, bending her over a wooden stool that was sitting nearby. The heels made her ass stick out perfectly, and I couldn't resist giving it a sharp slap. She yelped, but it was a happy yelp, and she pushed back against me.

"God, yes..."

I lined myself up at her entrance and pushed inside her in one smooth motion. She was so tight, so hot, and she moaned as I filled her completely. I started moving, slow and deep, watching my cock slide in and out of her slick pussy.

"Harder," she demanded. "Fuck me harder."

I grabbed her hips and did exactly what she asked. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the studio, mixing with her moans and my grunts. The heels kept her at the perfect angle, and every thrust hit deep inside her.

"Look at you," I growled. "So fucking beautiful in those heels, taking my cock like a good girl."

She whimpered, and I knew she was close again. I reached around and found her clit, rubbing it in circles as I pounded into her.

"Come for me, Lena. I want to feel you come around my cock."

She screamed my name as she came, her walls clamping down on me like a fist. That was all I needed. I buried myself deep and came inside her, hot and thick, my own groan mixing with her cries.

For a moment we just stood there, breathing hard, connected. Then I pulled out slowly, and she turned around to face me, a lazy, satisfied smile on her face.

"Not bad for a painter," she said.

"Not bad at all for a model." I pulled her close, kissing her forehead. "But I think we need a break before I can finish that canvas."

She laughed, and the sound was warm and real. "Or maybe we just make art in a different way."

The heels were still on her feet. I was definitely keeping them.