艺术家的眼睛

I caught her staring at me from across the office party, her glass of champagne frozen mid-air. Maya. The artist who'd been sketching me for three weeks now, ever since our boss decided we needed "creative synergy" at this godforsaken company mixer.

"You're doing it again," she said, appearing beside me with a smirk.

"Doing what?"

"Posing." Her fingers brushed my hip, feather-light. "Even at a party, you can't stop being my model."

"Habit." I took a sip of my drink, watching her eyes drop to my mouth. "You're the one who can't stop looking."

"I'm an artist. I notice things." She leaned closer, her breath warm against my ear. "Like how you've been wearing those tight jeans all night. The way they hug your ass when you lean over the snack table."

My skin flushed. "You've been watching me bend over?"

"Professionally."

"Bullshit."

She laughed, low and dirty. "Come with me. I want to show you something."

The storage room was small, stacked with boxes of files and old office equipment. Maya locked the door behind us, and the click echoed in the dark.

"Show me what?"

"This." She spun me around, pressing my chest against a filing cabinet, her palm flat on the small of my back. "I've been dying to touch this all night."

Her hand slid down, cupping my ass through the denim. I gasped.

"You have no idea," she whispered, squeezing, "how many times I've drawn you from memory. Every curve. Every line."

"Show me."

She dropped to her knees, unbuttoning my jeans with practiced ease. The denim slid down my thighs, and I felt her breath on my skin before her mouth found me through my panties.

"Fuck, Maya..."

"You like that?" She pulled the lace aside, her tongue flat against my slit. "You like my artist's tongue?"

I bucked against her mouth, my fingers tangling in her dark hair. She lapped at me like she was savoring something precious, slow at first, then faster, until my knees went weak.

"Turn around," she commanded, rising. "Bend over that desk."

I obeyed, my palms flat on the cold surface. She yanked my jeans down to my ankles, and I heard her sharp intake of breath.

"Jesus. That ass is a masterpiece."

Her hands spread me, thumbs tracing the curve of my cheeks before she leaned in, her tongue tracing a line from my entrance up to my clit. I moaned, pressing back against her face.

"Please," I begged. "I need you inside me."

She laughed, breath warm against my skin. "Patience, gorgeous. Art takes time."

Her fingers found my wetness, circling, teasing, before two slipped inside me. I cried out, gripping the desk edge.

"That's it," she purred, curling her fingers. "Let me hear you."

She fucked me with her hand while her thumb worked my clit, building me up until I was trembling, desperate.

"I want to feel you come on my fingers," she whispered. "Can you do that for me?"

I nodded, words escaping me. She sped up, her palm slapping against my ass with each thrust, and the sting sent me over the edge. I came with a cry, my body shuddering against the desk.

But she wasn't done. She spun me around, lifting me onto the desk, spreading my thighs wide. Her eyes were dark with hunger as she unzipped her own jeans.

"Now I'm going to fuck you properly."

She drove into me in one smooth motion, and I gasped at the fullness. Her hips found a rhythm, hard and demanding, her eyes locked on mine.

"Look at me," she breathed. "I want to see the exact moment you lose your mind."

Her hand found my throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a possessive weight. She angled her hips, hitting that spot inside me that made my vision blur.

"Maya... fuck... right there..."

"Say my name again," she commanded, pace quickening. "Scream it."

She slammed into me, over and over, the desk screeching against the floor. I was close again, climbing toward the edge, my nails digging into her shoulders.

"I'm going to come," I gasped.

"Not yet." She pulled out, and I whimpered at the loss. "Turn around. On your hands and knees."

I complied, and she entered me from behind, her fingers digging into my hips. The angle was deeper, dirtier, and I buried my face in my arms to muffle my screams.

"I've wanted this since the first sketch," she grunted, slapping my ass hard. The sting echoed through me, and I clenched around her. "Every time you posed, I imagined bending you over that stool and fucking you senseless."

"Then do it," I begged. "Don't stop."

She fucked me until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only feel. My second orgasm crashed over me like a wave, and I felt her follow, her hot release flooding me.

We collapsed together, sweaty and breathless. She kissed the back of my neck, soft now.

"Next session," she murmured, "we're painting something new."

I laughed, dizzy and satisfied. "As long as you keep that artist's eye on me."