What could I do?"A sudden silence hung between us. I could so easily sense hisdisappointment, and his sadness at her loss."She was my muse. She insp...red me."I nodded my agreement. Her inspiration for him was obvious in his work."I've had other models before, of course," he continued, once againspeaking only to me, in an almost conspiratorial fashion, "to varyingdegrees of success. But Helena," he almost chuckled, "she made me abetter painter, a better artist, and a better man."I nodded. For her this is the end of a battle. A war with him.And she wins.Even more so when his hand slides across her shoulder to cup her breast. Her nipples have been aching and his palm rubbing across it makes her moan lightly. He squeezes lightly. Treating her with a reverence. Still expecting her to hit him or scream.Instead she pushes his hand between her legs. The soft cotton panties warm. He gasps a little but his fingers stroke. Up and down feeling moisture. She clings to his upper arm. Curling. More

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