"The look…" she said softly. My Painter turned and smiled. "The look. Yes. You understand, don't you." Sheturned and looked at me. "And that is why...I love my Hunter so much. He findsmodels for me. Bellas who are willing to experience somethingof what my painting is about. To cross that threshold where pleasure and painand longing and desire cross and become something great." Annette shook her head. "But how?" My Painter smiled. "Hunter takes them there of course, while I paint. Itis. But they shy away from Neal Court, sensing in some inexplicable way that there is a deep, black grief which is eating with a brooding, sharp agony at the man, that his uninterrupted silence hides a secret which they wouldn't want to hear even if the chance were to be given. There is a malignancy about Neal Court, they say, one which festers, and that no amount of alcohol dissipates. They always leave a stool empty on either side of the man, these jaded pragmatists of upper Broadway, and they. She uses that as an excuse to turn over, facing him now. Her body pressing into his. She’s smaller than Ashley, bonier. Her face is against his chest and his arms around her. They lay arm-in-arm, as he kisses her forehead, knowing this is the exact opposite of what he should be doing.She tilts her head up, lips close, and she kisses his lips. Once, then again. And again, now he returns her kiss, intoxicated by her soft desires.Suddenly, she stops. She stays cuddled to him but closes her eyes as. Gwen spread her legs and I washed between them. She bent forward, and moaned. My soapy hand moved quickly between her legs until her body shook with another orgasm. “I want you in my bed.”We dried each other off, then she climbed into her bed. I asked her to get on her back and moved her close to the bottom edge. I went down on my knees at the foot of the bed. Putting my hands under her ass, I brought her close to my mouth and tongue. Gwen was moaning as soon as my mouth touched her pussy. My.