Serenity

9| New Techniques

His hands were gentle, his movements slow and deliberate. He guided my hand across the canvas, our bodies close, our breath mingling. I could feel the warmth of his skin, the strength of his presence, the heat of his body radiating through me like a wildfire.

"Just like this," he murmured, his voice low and soft, a caress against my senses.

"Right," I whispered, my voice barely audible, my throat dry with anticipation.

"Just like that," he repeated, his voice sending shivers down my spine. His voice was low and deep, a velvet caress that wrapped around me, enveloping me in its warmth. The way his body was pressed against mine made me weak at the knees, my heart pounding in my chest.

This was such a bad idea. I shouldn't have agreed to this. But now it was too late. I was already here, and there was no turning back.

The smell of paint filled the air, a pungent aroma that mingled with the scent of his cologne, creating a heady mix that intoxicated my senses. I tried to focus on the painting, but my mind kept wandering, lost in the intoxicating haze of his presence.

I could feel his fingers entwined with mine, his body pressed against me, his breath on my cheek. All of which was very, very distracting. I couldn't focus on the painting in front of me for the life of me. I had no idea how he was managing to be so calm, so in control, but I had to focus, had to ignore the way my body was reacting, had to pretend that this was all perfectly normal.

But it wasn't.

We had actually started up pretty normally. He'd said he wanted to show me some new things, things that would help me with my own paintings. Things that would push my limits. So, I'd followed his commands and set up another canvas where he could show me a few new techniques.

It had been fine. Professional. But then the sky had darkened, casting the room in a soft, ethereal glow. The air had grown still, the only sound was the soft swish of a paintbrush on canvas. His movements had become more sensual as he took my hand in his and guided it across the canvas.

I'd felt his breath on my skin, the warmth of his body pressed against mine, the heat of his hand wrapped around mine. And my mind went right back to the first time we basically kissed and all the time we'd spent together over the past couple of months.

It was like my brain was short-circuiting, unable to process the conflicting signals it was receiving. On one hand, my rational side was screaming at me to stop—that this was a dangerous path to go down, that it could jeopardize everything I had worked for. But on the other hand, my body was responding to his touch, his closeness, his scent. It was a struggle, a battle between reason and instinct.

Not to mention how gentle he was being with me this time. The last time he was helping me with this, he had been impatient and rude. This time he was... not so rude and pretty patient. He wasn't exactly being a gentleman, but he wasn't being rude either.

The silence was almost deafening; the only sounds were the steady rhythm of our breathing and the occasional swish of a paintbrush on canvas. It was a strange kind of intimacy—a shared moment that went beyond words, a connection that defied explanation. And the fact that he was doing this in his studio, a place where no one would see or hear us, made it all the more intimate. There was something about the privacy, the secrecy, the thrill of being alone with him, knowing that no one would ever know what was happening, that made the whole thing even more tantalizing.

I almost wished that Leo would come back soon, but I knew he most probably wouldn't be. He had been very busy with his rehearsals lately, especially with the role he'd gotten. We both were so busy with our own shit that we barely had time to hang out together in the past two weeks. But spring break was just a week away, so we both would get free enough soon.