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I watch as she begins to work the clay, nervously at first, before she starts making more confident movements with her fingers. She’s so engrossed that I find myself lost in looking at her face, the way she pouts her lush lips or furrows her perfect brows as she works.
Suddenly, she glances up, and catches me staring. She looks more like a deer caught in the headlights than a little bird fluttering around like she usually does.
I lick my lips, feeling how dry my throat has gone, and stand. I step behind her, lacing my arms around her until my hands rest over her. She feels so delicate against my chest, and I’m overwhelmed with the scent of her as I start to help her move her fingers. This is a bad idea, but I could see what she was trying to do with the clay, and wanted to help.
Even so, I find myself stealing deep inhales of the skin at her neck. Clay and lavender, like wildflowers and earth, good enough to touch, to hold close. I find myself pressing closer, and as I press closer, I realize I’ve gone hard as a rock. All of the blood in my body has gone straight to my cock and she can probably feel it, but I can’t get myself to care. She seems to want me to think of her as a woman, so let her feel what she does to me, a man.
“If you pinch like this, you can improve the petal joins. There’s a big chance these wouldn’t survive the kiln otherwise,” I say, still moving her fingers over the wet clay.
“Okay.” It’s barely above a whisper. She glances up at me as I try to focus on showing her how to manipulate the medium.
Suddenly, I feel her pressing back into me, her warmth searing me through my thin t-shirt. My fingers pause, still wrapped around hers, as I take in the way her body fits against mine. When her ass presses into my cock, however, I can’t focus any longer, and instead pull her into my chest. I pull her flush against me as she wiggles against me, her breaths coming out in quick pants. My erection throbs in my jeans, against her body.
“What are you asking for, Wren?” I grit out, even as my body throbs.
She tips her head back against my chest and says softly, “I want you to teach me.”
Fucking hell, this little bird is going to kill me.
“And what is it you want to learn, little girl?” I keep my tone dark and warning so that she knows what she’s getting into, but she seems emboldened, because she bucks back into me again.
“Whatever you want to teach me,” she gasps as she presses into me, making me throb. And then she moans. Her hands tighten into little fists underneath mine as she lines up my cock with the cleft of her backside underneath her jeans. “Please,” she whispers, quiet enough that I almost wonder if I’ve heard it.
For a moment, I consider it. But as I cast a glance over my shoulder to check that the studio door is closed, I see my work in progress, still covered in the tarp. My blood runs cold. I’ve allowed myself to get distracted. I’ve allowed this young woman to distract me.
I step away instantly. She stumbles forward, and gives me a heartbreaking look that I don’t return. I’m a master at schooling my features, so I know all she sees is my trademark scowl. The moment is dead before it even really got started.
“Get out,” I growl.
For a moment, she does nothing but stare at me. Those soft eyes of hers unnerve me, and I make myself stalk away before I can even think of taking her into my arms again. I can’t do this to myself, and I can’t do this to her.
As I’m washing my hands at the sink in the back corner of the studio, I hear the door slam and the crunch of gravel under feet. When I finally turn around, Wren is no where to be seen.
***
I lock up the studio and head up to my lonely house, still stewing about what happened with Wren. It’s funny that I suddenly think the house is lonely, but that’s what happens when you feel a ray of sunshine after a long, cold winter. And then then tell that sunshine to get out before running away like a child.
Should I have taken what Wren was so clearly offering? I thought those desires were long dried up, but Wren has awakened something in me.
Damn it. I can’t get her out of my mind. Her curiosity is utterly disarming, and even my cold, dead heart couldn’t resist the warmth of her eyes. After little more than a week, everything in my studio reminds me of her. Everywhere I looked after she left, all I could see was evidence that she’d been there just hours ago. I swear, I could even smell traces of her scent through the smell of clay and the musty heat of the kiln.
I let out a roar of frustration, and for once, it has nothing to do with the incomplete sculpture. While banging around my studio earlier, trying to do something with all of the frustration I felt, I’d slipped the tarp from the sculpture, intending to break it down. Just as I went to do it, I looked past it and saw the little sculpture Wren had made sitting on my workbench. A little flower, rough, but delicate, shaped by both of our hands. I tossed the tarp back over it and tried not to think about Wren’s ass writhing against my cock.
Just as I’m hanging my keys up, my phone dings, dragging me out of my millionth replay of the moment spent feeling Wren in my arms. It’s a message from Freddy, asking what I did to the intern. My eyes drop from my phone screen to look down at my stiff bulge guiltily.
Ex-intern. I fired her, I reply.
No, you didn’t. She’ll be back tomorrow, so be nicer to her.
Be nicer to her? If she so much as smiles at me the way she did today again, I’ll have her bent over my work table, ripping her pants in half so that I can sink my famished cock deep inside her. Even now, my erection is throbbing at the thought.
No, I can’t be nicer to her. If she wants to keep working for me, she’ll have to put up with the silent treatment. I can’t afford to let her distract me from finishing this piece, or anything else for that matter. I don’t care if she’s my intern, I’m knocking this shit off.
After making myself dinner and stewing in silence at my kitchen table, I finally give up on having a regular evening for once. Even in the quiet, I can still hear the way she moaned against me. Since I can’t escape my thoughts of her in my big, empty house, and there’s no way I’ll be sleeping with the heat of Wren’s skin still on my hands, I may as well get some more work done after dinner.
That the studio has been getting regularly cleaned is a relief, and I’m glad to make use of the kiln again. Wren might be a distraction, but I have to admit she’s really good at keeping the space organized. I start loading the small pieces I finished today into the kiln, and scan my workbench for anything I might have missed. That’s when I notice the small flower Wren made, still resting there where she’d sat earlier.
I hold it in my palm, studying the delicately shaped petals. She has raw talent and a lot of promise. The thought makes my stomach churn uneasily. The memory of guiding her fingers over the wet clay comes rushing back, and I can’t help but imagine guiding those skilled hands around my cock. Seconds later, I’m picturing her straddled across my lap, riding me hard, with her tits bouncing free in my face.
