The artist looks at his canvas, runs his fingers over it. The model murmurs softly: she likes being touched, and this inspires him further. He selects a brush and begins to paint her: he watches her nipple stiffen when the brush touches down, circling slowly the way she likes, arching her back and pursing her lips, then parting them in a low moan.

He lifts the brush. “Please,” she says. “Don’t stop….” He wets the brush again, and touches down on the other side: this time, just below the breast so he can stroke its tender underside, gently at first and then more firmly. Despite himself, he lowers his head and closes his own lips on her left areola, swirling his tongue and then biting gently when the nipple rises to meet his teeth. He straightens up and reassumes the formal task, selecting a different brush and painting a wide path down her belly, stopping just above her sex. A third brush, narrower, draws connecting lines that start at each thigh and rise to meet the highway, swerving gently at just the right moment, inflaming her desire.

He ducks his head again and tastes quickly, the salty-sweetness rising with the thrust of her hips. He drops the brush and breathes deeply, then pulls her firmly to him and tastes again, this time more fully, lips and tongue in combinations that she only imagined, until now, and she cries out, repeatedly. Sated, she collapses and tries to pull him up, but her arms are weakened. None of her muscles will do her exact bidding, but it’s clear what she wants. He crawls the length of her body, kissing here and there to sample the heat of her desire, her passion, rising off her skin like a mist.

When she kisses him, she wraps herself around him hoping to become one. He senses her readiness and effortlessly dips his own stiff brush, melting into her.