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She leaned against him. One of his hands slipped beneath her shirt to cup a warm breast. From the moment she'd first modeled for them she had stopped wearing bras. It was as though every discovery of three years ago, every moment was so indelibly imprinted upon both of them that there was no moving forward without Samir.
He pulled the shirt up and over her head without even unbuttoning it. Such stunning, perfect, creamy skin. He tracked along her shoulder with his mouth, sucking at the nape of her neck.
She dropped her head onto his shoulder, arching her back, pushing her breast into the curve of his hand.
"Arturo," she whispered. "What are we going to do?"
He unhooked her skirt, pulling down the zipper. The material pooled at her feet. He slipped a hand inside her panties, then shoved them and the pantyhose down over her hips. She stepped out of them. His hand cupped her smooth mound. He remembered the first time he and Samir had spread her, shaved her, then fucked her. Almost everything about their relationship had been rooted in sensual ritual. It had been so very good. So right.
Clara's whole body was smooth as silk, the perfect tapestry, the perfect woman.
He pushed her onto the wrinkled drop cloth. Then he spread her, gazing at the perfectly parted petals of her labia, the glistening core pink, a shade he'd spent hours trying to match perfectly with a blend of oils. He leaned forward to trace his tongue over her inner moist lips.
He sucked her hardened clitoris into his mouth, circling his tongue over the pretty bud. He remembered the challenge of translating that perfect nub of passion onto canvas. How he and Samir had argued over the colors,the image, the need to draw the essence of Clara's impeccable flesh onto the canvas, making it live and shimmer brighter than life, beyond human, beyond worldly.
Arturo tasted her, flicked his tongue over the bud, feeling her shudder, hearing her moan. He remembered the splashes of paint decorating her flesh as he and Samir brought her to climax after climax with just the touch of their sable brushes.
Clara screamed as a climax shattered her. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh. Arturo welcomed the bite of pain. Needed it to remember he was alive. There had been so many moments when he'd felt numb to the world around him.