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It was still a little strange to think of making love to Kate in this bed without either Melody or Lissa there with us. But it was also okay. Lissa and Melody were making love to each other in Minneapolis right now and this was my special time with Kate. I wanted to make it as special as I could.We undressed each other, one piece of clothing at a time. I took off her top—she removed my polo shirt. I slid her cami up over her head and off—she unfastened my belt and let my pants drop around my ankles. I stepped out of them before kneeling and slowly pulling her leggings down and off her feet. I kissed each of her pretty, purple-polished toes. We stood in front of each other and just let our eyes rove—she across the bulge in my briefs and me to the sheer mesh of her black bikini panties. We moved together for a kiss and each hooked our hands in the waist of the other’s undergarment to pull it down as far as we could reach, leaving my cock free to press against her tummy and mons. We. You must tell me. Which of the Old Masters inspired this? Titian? Correggio? Rubens, peut-être?”“Alle und keinen, Monsieur,” she smirked, pushing a sable thread of hair from her temple, “I was thinking of Auden’s Musee des Beaux Arts.”“Ah, je vois, je vois,” Boucher nodded wisely.Oh wow. It’s her... I stared at the girl, swelling with equal parts envy and adulation. I wanted to hear her speak again. Her voice had a tragic little lilt to it. Is she Irish? I wondered. She must be. No one else sounds so plain and so pretty. And her painting, my Christ—it was graceful, and terrible, and shocking all at once—and as I had with only a handful of others in my life, I could feel myself falling in love with it.Evelyn X. I watched her for as long as I dared, only half-aware of how awkward it would be if she caught me staring. I couldn’t help it. She just looked so demure; so pretty and poised. And so talented. She was everything I wished I could be. I glanced again to her painting, and then.
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