By Lauryn Poynor
|Author's Note: Takes
place during the fourth season after "Steele in the Running."
Continued from Lost Art of Steele. Rated: NC-17
|For Laura Holt
the weeks following their first time together were ripe with discovery.
On a virgin canvas, the contours and boundaries of their relationship were
being drawn, the once vague outlines filled in. Both she and Steele, she
knew, were still refining the art -seeking the balance, sexual and emotional,
between rough and smooth, light and shade, distance and closeness.
Thus far, the whole of it was beyond her. After their consummation, and sharing of past secrets, Steele had pulled back, as if wary of revealing more of himself to her. As open as he was to Laura sexually, she wondered if she would ever entirely know him, but with the process of knowing came exhilaration and pleasure and for now, that was enough.
Just a stray glance or casual
contact could inspire their passions whatever the setting or circumstance.
However, the sight of Steele, brush or pencil in hand, at easel or drawing
pad, would often make Laura's pulse rush in expectation. Memory quickened
and inflamed her want for him, until she dragged him onto the bed or down
to the carpet
Steele brought the first principles of the artist to lovemaking - an explorer's eye and hand, precision and variance of touch, a trust of sensation. Sometimes their coupling was brief, grasping, and almost desperate, but more often desire and heat was built layer upon layer, with foreplay as the underpainting, the steady laying-in of cooler tones heightening the flash and intensity of warm ones.
He was reclining naked on the bed, sketching her when she asked, "Why don't you draw the two of us together?"
"Haven't I?" He seemed genuinely surprised.
"Not that I've noticed."
"Um, just how much togetherness did you have in mind, Miss Holt?" Interest piqued, he stared curiously at her over the top edge of the drawing pad.
"This much," she said, lowering herself over him and sliding her palms around to the small of his back. Pad and pencils were flung carelessly aside as the lovers fell back against the sheets. Laura shivered as his hands freely wandered across her body. Then he pressed her in to him, his long fingers kneading her buttocks, and trailing smudges of charcoal down the backs of her thighs.
Steele moaned into the pillow as she caressed his growing erection, stroking it to full hardness with warm and skillful fingers. His left hand moved between her legs, teasing her. Laura gasped as his thumb grazed her clitoris. He slipped a finger inside her, then another and knew she was ready. Hot, wet, and open for him.
She straddled him, her hand reaching under her, fingers gliding across the inside of his thigh, lightly touching his balls, then finding the root of his hardness to guide him in. He drew back, firmly pulling her hand away. Laura sucked in an angry breath.
"Steady, Laura. Let's try getting there a little slower. I promise you won't be disappointed." He wanted to prolong her pleasure, to drive her slowly and completely over the edge. She tried to slow her breathing as his lips warmed the hollow of her throat and traveled steadily downwards, stopping to tease her nipples and the underside of each breast.
Laura could feel the steady exhalation of his breath across her belly as he lightly kissed her skin. His fingers skimmed across her ribcage and sides as his lips continued their leisurely descent. She tangled her fingers in his dark hair, pulling his head between her legs, unwilling to wait any longer for his lips and tongue to reach their destination.
Finally, she felt him poised at her entrance. She twitched with relief and anticipation as his tongue flicked across her swollen lips, lightly and slowly at first, then finding a gradually building rhythm. Reaching the sensitive bud of her clitoris, his knowing tongue teased indirectly, then with more pressure until Laura was trembling with sensation and the need for release.
Suddenly reaching her peak, she cried out and thrust forward against him, one hand buried in his hair, the other pressed deep into his shoulder. Eyes shut tight, spent and gasping, she released him and felt him pulling his body upwards alongside her own.
She opened her eyes and stared dizzily up at the ceiling, waiting for her breathing to calm and her overworked senses to dampen. Barely recovered, she still jumped at his touch on her skin. Expectant, he shifted to partially cover her body. She could feel his hardness pressing eagerly against her thigh. He positioned himself above her, drawing her close, his fingers twining around her waist. She pulled out of his grasp and rolled away from him as he moaned her name aloud.
"Don't lose the mood, Mr. Steele. I have something in mind." She knelt on the bed looking across at the mirrored doors of the closet with an observant eye. "What we need is a clear line of sight. No impediments to the artist at work."
Steele gave her a curious stare. "Are we talking about my skills in the boudoir or the atelier, Miss Holt?" he quipped.
"A combination of both, I think. Get behind me."
"Why Laura, whatever you wish. What artist could resist such an invitation? The perfect medium. The rhythmic layering of brushstrokes, expertly applied." Steele entered her slowly as Laura watched their reflection in the mirror. As he gradually quickened his pace, he could feel the heat of her encircling and tightening. He drove himself deeper, staring at the glass image of his reflected member disappearing inside her and re-emerging. Laura watched, too, and the strange intimacy of it spurred them both to an unexpectedly urgent and shuddering climax.
He fell against her, knees weak and breath rasping. They both collapsed, replete and quivering, to the mattress. Laura stroked his damp hair and kissed a trickle of sweat sliding down his cheek. He kissed her warm lips and breathed in the scent of her hair.
After a rest, Steele propped himself up on his elbows, studying her thoughtfully. "You're really serious about this aren't you? Capturing the moment on canvas as it were."
"You don't approve? I thought artists were champions of the sensual."
"Well, I am." Steele looked slightly uncomfortable. "But you realize this may be a rather embarrassing footnote in your golden years. What if the grandchildren go exploring in the attic? Are you sure you don't want to capture something less explicit?"
"I'm sure the grandchildren will be green with envy, Mr. Steele. Look on the bright side. The Kama Sutra has been around for centuries," she teased. "As a matter of fact, I think that position is called the Svanaka."
"Really. You never fail to surprise, Miss Holt. Any other positions you'd like to try. In the interest of art?"
Laura grinned. "That was just the beginning. Speaking of art, I think you owe me a sketch. Or are you up to the challenge?"
Steele sighed and gave a Gallic shrug. "I'll bet Cezanne's wife never nagged him about this sort of thing."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~
Steele stood back from the easel and squinted at the canvas before him.
"Why do artists squint like that?" Laura asked mystified.
"Allows you to see everything at once. And still retain the clear detail of line and shape. Hmm.. lovely shapes. I do believe I was inspired."
Laura sprang up and walked behind the canvas, studying it from several angles with a critical air.
"Well, what's the verdict of the John Ruskin of the boudoir?"
"Oh my," she replied smiling behind her hand. "The artist is certainly well endowed."
"Drawn from life. With the deadly accuracy of the artist's eye."
"Then why aren't my breasts larger?"
"As I said, the deadly accuracy of the artist's eye..."
That response got him a sharp poke in the chest with a charcoal pencil.
"Speaking of the explicit," Steele replied playfully, "did I ever tell you about the time I stole a priceless piece of erotica from the British Museum?"
Laura's eyes widened. "Sounds fascinating. I didn't know you had such a professional interest."
"Well, you know my knack for uncovering antiquities. The museum has a Private Case collection which at one time held 20,000 volumes. Bequests of prurient items from eminent patrons. The slender but potent volume I was after was once bedside reading for Cardinal Wolsey. It was the heart's desire of a very wealthy Japanese collector."
"Bedside reading? How convenient."
"Quite. If you're very, very good Miss Holt, I'll give you the rest of the story." He raised his pencil with a flourish. "Fully illustrated of course."
[ Steele A State Of Mind ]