Damien kept painting, his face controlled, but his body gave him away. His erection strained against the fabric, pulsing with every stolen glance at her skin.
Heat flooded Lena’s body. Her toes curled against the cool studio floor. She wanted to speak, to tease, but the weight of the moment was too heavy.
Damien’s brush slowed. He set it down for a second, covering his mouth with his hand, dragging it down his jaw as if trying to steady himself.
When he spoke, his voice was husky.
“Don’t move. Don’t… say anything.”
Lena obeyed, her chest rising and falling in sync with his as her breasts cupped up.
He picked the brush back up and forced himself to continue. Stroke by stroke, he captured her...her neck, her shoulders, the dip of her waist. But inside, he was burning. He was losing air
