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“Before you walked into my studio that day, I’d been struggling. I’d lost my vision, lost sight of what had made me love photography in the first place.” I struggled to find the words. “But then I saw you, and I remembered.”
“You’re giving me too much credit,” she protested.
I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe I would have tried to do a bondage series with another model and people would have bought the photos.” I gave her a partial smile. “But they wouldn’t have been a part of me. Not the way these are. You wouldn’t want to deprive an artist of their muse, now would you?”
The look of exasperation on her face must have been something her brothers had all seen at one time or another. But then she smiled, and I dared to hope.
“Does that mean I can tell Jean that she doesn’t need to look for another assistant?” I asked, my stomach in knots as I awaited her answer.
“I suppose not.” She filled her hand with shampoo. “Now, if you want me to return the favor, I’m either going to need to grow, or...”
I didn’t even hesitate to lower myself onto my knees. This wasn’t about a show of submission or dominance. This was an act of intimacy between two people that I’d never allowed myself to feel before. I’d always given so much of myself over to my art, that I never felt like I had any left over to give to someone else. But with her, it was different, as if whatever I gave to her came back to me.
So, I knelt in front of her and closed my eyes as she washed my hair. When we were finished, I’d take her to bed. Feast on her until her body was ripe and ready for me. And then I would make her scream my name.
Again.
