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one of Will’s tank tops and a loose pair of sweats. I was
determined to be comfortable while I worked, and I was. I held up the tank top
to my nose; Will’s cologne. It was just the right blend of aquatic and fresh;
sweet and summery, but not too saccharine. Whenever I smelled it, I was taken
back to that moment in Mademoiselle’s art gallery, when he first leaned over
behind me to steal a peak at my sketchbook. It felt like ages ago, but truly it
had only been a few weeks since that day. Yet so much had changed.
    The last time I saw Mademoiselle I
informed her that I’d be taking a short leave of absence to fully commit to the
piece I was painting for Will Garrett (or Mr. Garrett as he was sometimes
called).
    “Yes, of course dear,” she had said, her
voice brimming with fake sugar. “That sounds just wonderful for you.”
    Mademoiselle was not the type to be upstaged
by one of her underlings. I was one of the only full-time employees she had, so
she would have to work extra hard in my absence or hire someone new to fill the
void. I tried to picture Mademoiselle sitting at my seat at the reception desk
in the front of the gallery, her heels clicking impatiently under the wooden
panel as she greeted clients. I smiled a bit. Good karma had come my way for
suffering for so long.
    Yet I didn’t hate her, not truly. She had
worked hard all of her life, and was a successful business woman and an
important player in the local art scene. But she had never quite made it; not
the way I was making it. She resented me for that. She was never a kind woman,
but she was nothing if not a hard worker and ambitious.
    I ran my hands down my sides as if to
wash them of my problems. I felt the slim contours of my body, and remembered I
wasn’t wearing a bra. It hadn’t been a big deal with the apron on, but now that
I was wearing only Will’s tank, I could clearly see the outline of my nipples.
I glanced at the cabinet at the side of the room.
    When I had first been shown the studio, I
assumed the cabinet would be full of art supplies. I was wrong; and although
Will had since filled the room with everything I needed, the cabinet was full
of Will’s sex toys. A ton of fun things we’d use to play. I looked longingly at
the locked drawers; only Will held the key. “It’s playtime when I saw it’s
playtime,” I could almost hear him saying. He was always the boss. I smirked,
looking out the fully glass wall, thinking about my billionaire - always the
dominant alpha male.
    Outside, the sun had begun to set,
casting an orange glare upon the estate. I watched the reflection of the sun
falling in the lake; I had almost wanted to set my landscape painting during
the nighttime or at sunset. The sprawl of forestry and open fields of the
Garrett estate looked majestic in the glow of the moonlight or the setting sun.
I decided that my next painting might take place in the darker hours here. I
wondered if I could do a whole series of paintings set in the estate; gosh, I
would never run out of things to paint in a place like this. The place was
already a damn work of art, from the marble columns to the black steeple roof
of the mansion; even the ultra-modernist glass-infused interior was a
spectacle. Everywhere you looked was white sandstone with black accent pieces,
and items made purely of glass.
    I realized in that moment that I had
never seen the full house; a full tour would take a long time. Maybe there was
a room somewhere that was fully made of glass. From the walls, to the
decorations, to the furniture, to the light fixtures, and the door. Maybe we
could fuck in that room. I loved the house so much; I’d planned to be fucked in
every room. Although we rarely made it past the studio and the bedroom, as
things would be so intense. I thought about Will’s massive cock, and let my
hands explore my body. Was this my life now? Was I to live in an endless volley
of desire and pleasure? It seemed as if I could spend all day painting,