Bare Art Read Free Page A

was perfectly round and jutted out slightly. It would be the perfect place to grip during—
    “My hands aren’t too cold?”
    “Your hands are perfectly warm,” she assured him. “I can feel your calluses.”
    Pete moved his fingertips back and forth slightly, brushing the badges of a dedicated string musician against this intimate part of her body. The reality of her hip wasn’t dirty. It was intimate because it was a spot for a lover to touch, to brush, to grip and kiss and know the smell of.
    Peter wanted to smell her hair again.
    “Do you have tattoos?” he said, trying to fill the silence.
    “Not yet.”
    “What do you plan to get?”
    “I’m not sure .” When she moved the tips of her long hair brushed his forearm where it crossed her back. “But when I think of the design I’ll want on my body for the rest of my life, I think I’ll know.”
    “Same goes for body piercings?”
    Claire set her brush down and took his hand off her hip. She guided if around her waist, across the flat plane of her stomach, to rest on top of the stud in her navel.
    Pete traced the ball at the top with his fingertips. The lower part of the stud had a dangling ornament, warm from being close to her skin.
    “Piercings come out,” she said . “Less of a commitment.”
    Pete left his hand on her belly. He almost had her in a proper hold, the way his arm curled around her from behind. Tentatively, he brought his other hand up to rest on her right hip.
    Her brush was making sharper movements against the canvas, and with them, firmer sounds.
    “Am I bothering you?” Pete asked.
    “No.” Claire touched the hand on her belly and gently guided it upwards, leaving it at the bottom of her ribs. “I want you to really look.”
    It was the most blatant invitation she’d given him so far, and Pete was tempted to take it. He leaned in once more, first, to smell her hair a second time. That, he thought, was how a woman should smell. His hand on her front crept higher, under her left arm and into the valley between her breasts.
    It was more of a groove, he realized, than a valley. Claire’s breasts were small. He could have placed a teacup over each one and they would have fit perfectly inside the porcelain.
    Pete refrained from touching her breasts right away. He rested the edge of his thumb against her right breast. The bottom of her left rested on his wrist.
    “This is just looking,” he murmured. Claire didn’t answer. If he’d been paying attention he would have noticed that her brushstrokes had stopped, but his attention was solely focused on the weight of her right breast in his hand. It had the perfect shape; nipple already peaked before his thumb could greet it .
    Claire took a step back. The entire length of her naked body came up against his clothed one. The curve of her backside pressed against his thigh, and the arch of her back nestled against his lap like they were interlocking puzzle pieces. Claire tilted her head back, resting it on Pete’s shoulder.
    Pete pulled in a great breath. This had gone beyond looking. It was sexualized; not least because of the way his arousal was fitted against her smooth back.
    Pete took a step backwards and his foot collided with a paint can. “Oops, sorry.” He stepped to the side to correct himself and his foot landed in a pile of laundry.
    Claire caught Pete by the arm, forcing him to be still for a moment. “You all right?”
    “Yeah, yeah. Um. Good luck with the painting.” He turned away from her and left, hand outstretched so that he wouldn’t embarrass himself by walking into the doorframe on his way out.
    Claire stood there for a moment, watching him go. Pete went all the way to the end of the hall, to his bedroom, and shut the door. It would have flattered her if he’d turned on some music to drown out his need to release the tension, or decided to take a shower in the middle of the day. It disappointed her when she heard him pick up his cello instead.
    Claire set