Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Was that a hint of attraction?
Silent, she curved her lips at the edges and returned her view to the sculpture in front of her.
It had been the first piece that I’d completed.
The moment I knew that this collection could happen.
What is going on in her mind when she looks at my art?
I studied the piece.
Bright bronze and steel formed the woman’s body, giving her a sense of strength and durability. Her curves and flowing hair were depicted with a delicate, almost fragile quality.
The use of glass and translucent colors in the sculpture added a delicate, ethereal quality to it, making it seem as though the woman was emerging from a dreamlike world of fire.
In the background, the smoke machine hummed around us. Smoke swirled along the sculpture. The scent of burning wood rose with it.
I’d wanted to push the sensory experience of the art as much as I could.
I turned my view back to the gorgeous woman next to me. “Have you touched it yet?”
She didn’t look my way. A sweet voice left her lips. “I saw the signs that said we could, but. . .”
“You’re scared to get burned?”
She grinned. “No. I’m terrified to accidentally break something so breathtaking.”
She likes it.
I licked my lips. “Touch it.”
She widened her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“If you break it, I’ll take full responsibility.”
She turned my way and chuckled. “You’ll tell the artist that you did it?”
I raised my eyebrows.
She doesn’t know I am the artist?
A wicked smirk appeared on my face.
Interesting.
“Yes.” I nodded. “I’ll tell the artist it was me.”
She raised her hand in front of me. “Pinky promise?”
It had been a few decades since I’d heard words like that. Not since my childhood days at Serenity House group home.
Still, I brought my hand close to hers. “Pinky promise.”
She curled her delicate finger along mine, and an electric charge traveled through my body.
What?
A deep shudder rumbled through me.
Heat seared my flesh.
I did everything I could to stifle the groan of pleasure trying to escape my lips.
When she moved her hand, I couldn’t help but frown.
And I doubted she even noticed.
“Okay.” She turned, slowly extended her hand, and touched the top of my sculpture.
“What do you think?”
“Wow.” She slipped her fingers along the woman’s twirling hair.
I grunted, feeling like she was caressing me.
She slid her fingers across the woman’s cheek and then lip.
I want her tonight. No. You can’t. Remember all of the tests.
Her voice was a soft whisper. “This is surprising.”
Intrigued, I muttered, “What is?”
“The sculpture is cool to the touch, despite the almost real flames surrounding it.”
“Almost as if that was intentional on the artist’s part?”
“I think it was.” She slipped her hands along the curve of the sculpture’s neck.
I could feel the heat radiating off her body like a flame beckoning me to get closer.
A shiver ran through me. “What do you think about the artist’s choices?”
“Perhaps. . .this contrast between the heat and the coolness is a metaphor for the tension between passion and restraint.” She slowly pulled her hand away. “Desire and control.”
I widened my eyes. “Really? Tell me more.”
“If I had to guess, I think the artist is talking about. . .” She looked at the hand that had touched the sculpture as if in a daze. “The intensity between restraint and release when it comes to sex. . .”
I parted my lips.
“And. . .”
I quirked my brows. “And?”
“The delicate balance between heat and coolness that is at the heart of sensual emotions.”
I blinked. “Some see the message of showing desire as destructive.”
“I think it’s more complex than that.” She moved her gaze away from her hand and back to the sculpture. “Sure, our desires can be destructive, but they can also be creative and transformative.”
Yes.
She lowered her hand. “Fire is a symbol of both destruction and rebirth, and that duality is present in these sculptures.”
My body ached for her.
My cock hardened.
I placed my hands in front of my groin, not wanting to scare her with the bulge. “But. . .does this artist not push too far out of the box?”
“I think it’s important for artists to push boundaries and challenge our assumptions about desire and humanity. These sculptures are doing that, whether we like it or not.” She gestured to the piece. “At first look, one would say that these women are being burned alive. Yet, a deeper look would see that. . .they are phoenixes rising out of the flames?”
Yes. She’ll be mine. Tonight. No. Stop it. Not yet.
She turned to me and shrugged. “But, I’m no art critic. What do I really know about something so amazing?”
“Everything.” I leaned my head to the side. “However, what do you think you know?”
“The human mind.”
I blinked. “Explain?”
“I’m a psych graduate student going after my PhD.”
“Very interesting.” I nodded. “And how did you end up here this evening?”
“My advising professor for my dissertation found me in the library a few hours ago and demanded I leave.”