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Another laugh escapes me. I close the sketchbook and look at her. “You know, if you’d asked, I would’ve posed for you. I would’ve given you a much better expression than this.”

I look at the sketchbook one last time before handing it back to her.

I loosen my tie. “Since you’re determined to sketch me,” I say, pulling the knot free, “I should at least give you something worth drawing.”

She watches me with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing?”

I slip off my suit jacket and drape it over the back of the sofa. “Improving the composition.”

I begin undoing the buttons of my dress shirt. Her eyes widen. “Roman…”

“What? I thought artists appreciated interesting subjects.”

The last button comes undone, and I shrug the shirt off, tossing it beside my jacket before settling casually against the sofa.

“How about this?” I ask, spreading my arms slightly. “Better?”

A slow blush begins creeping up her neck until it reaches her cheeks. “You can’t just…”

“I can’t just what?”

She sputters, unable to finish the sentence. I lean back comfortably. “Is this too much for you?”

“No.” Her answer comes a little too quickly.

I reach for the button of my trousers. “Perhaps I should give you something more challenging.”

Her mouth falls open. “Please don't.”

She shakes her head so fast a few loose strands of hair escape around her face. “You’re not taking anything else off.”

I stand and slowly close the distance between us. She instinctively leans back into the sofa. She looks up at me, still clutching her sketchbook against her chest like a shield.

“Still think I should’ve kept the shirt on?” I ask quietly. “But you haven’t looked away.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. I gently hook a finger beneath the edge of the sketchbook and lower it until it rests in her lap. Our faces are only inches apart now. Close enough for me to feel the warmth of her breath.

She swallows. “I think…” Her voice comes out softer than before. “…you’re a distracting model.”

A faint smile creeps onto the corners of my lips. “Is that so?”

Neither of us moves. There’s this quiet pull that’s become impossible to ignore whenever we’re this close.

Her eyes drift to my mouth, then back to my eyes. My hand comes up slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“If I kiss you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “are you going to tell me I’m ruining your sketch?”

A shy smile appears. “I suppose…”

I close the last inch between us and capture her lips in a slow, gentle kiss.

The kiss deepens fast. Her hands press against my bare chest, fingers spreading over my skin as I pull her to her feet. I tug at the zipper of her dress, then help her out of it.

She’s left in a matching set of lace. I unhook her bra and toss it aside, then tear her panties down her legs. She lets out a soft yelp against my mouth.

I ease her back onto the couch and follow her down. My mouth moves from her lips to her throat, then lower, closing around one nipple, sucking hard before switching to the other. She arches under me, fingers sliding into my hair.

“Yeah,” I murmur against her skin. “Pull harder.”