“Oh, yeah. Your work talks. Like a bullhorn in a library reading room.” A knot appeared between his eyebrows and his lips creased downwards. “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I’ll play whatever games you want. So relax. And tell me why you’re here.”
“My last painting sucked. My inability to work requires me to get naked.”
His words—especially get naked— had her all jazzed again.
Don’t faint. Don’t faint. Don’t faint.
She put a hand to her spinning head to collect herself. “You’re looking for a muse?”
“I’m a succubus. I need sex to live.”
“I supply it.” He swept his hand toward the opposite wall indicating his largest painting—subdued in the dimmer light but still throbbing with carnal vitality.
She squirmed, the stimulating effect of the piece enhanced by the illumination below. Perhaps further animated by the presence of the artist himself. She wanted to be pleasured by Maxwell Raines so badly, the pulsing between her legs turned to pain.