He was a painter, she was a businesswoman.

He lived in the country, she thrived in the city.

He relied on passion to create art, she was only interested in passion if she was getting an orgasm out of it. Which was why it was so unfortunate that the new painting he'd created since she'd been gone made her falter. No man had ever made her doubt her own mind before.

She'd opened her mouth too soon, hadn't been able to stop the words "Where'd this come from?" He'd shrugged, but his gaze had been steady on hers in his silence, and she'd been glad that he hadn't felt the need to make up some poetic crap about her being the inspiration for his creative genius. She would have puked. And not only because she hated guys who tried to get in her pants with smooth words. Mostly, she would have been sick because she would have been afraid it was true.

She'd always been in control. Always. Her mother had spent hours, days, months weeping for her cheating husband. But to Vanessa it had seemed that her mother had been weeping not over a man but over her own helplessness. And so Vanessa had vowed never to be helpless. Never to give the reins of control to a man. Vanessa's life was hers alone. She made herself happy and no one, except her girlfriends, maybe, relied on her for their happiness.

Sam was getting to her. Hard. First with his impressive cock.

And now, with his breathtaking paintings. A seedling of resentment bloomed to life inside her. How dare he have such power over her. How dare he take it without her permission.

Not bothering with nice, she forced herself to look away from his magnificent work. "I've got to eat or I'll pass out. You still need me this afternoon, or are you all set here?"

Part of her wanted him to say No, go ahead and leave, to take care of the dirty work for her. But the other, much bigger part, couldn't hold back the pleasure at his "We made a deal. You pose, I paint, you get the girl in the front window."

She forked a bite of chicken curry into her mouth and couldn't hold back her pleasure at the sweet and tangy flavor. Sam uncorked the wine and poured it into small blue tumblers. She picked up the glass closest to her and drank it in one gulp.

"Good?" he asked, seemingly amused by her sudden bad temper.

"Fine," she snapped, even though she never snapped. It wasn't in her repertoire. She charmed, she schemed, she slipped in back doors wearing her signature little white dress, but she didn't snap. Sam sat down on a plastic lawn chair next to her, against the barn wall. She wanted to smack his conceited smirk off his mouth. He thought he had her right where he wanted her, which proved that he didn't know anything about her at all.

Ten silent minutes later of a silence punctuated only by chewing and swallowing, the food was gone and Vanessa was ready to get back to work. Only this time, they were going to do things her way. "I think it's time to mix things up." She walked over to Sam and pulled his shirt up his magnificent chest and over his head. He didn't stop her, but he didn't help her either. Damn, if she didn't like him even when he was being a know-it-all jerk.

"You're the model. I'm the painter' She unbuttoned the top of his jeans, and as she unzipped them, his hard penis sprang up against her fingers. "Although I don't know if I'm going to be able to find a big enough bunch of grapes to cover you."

His mouth curved up as he grew another inch before her. Using every ounce of will, Vanessa stopped herself from dropping to her knees to throat him, even though sucking him would have given her as much pleasure as it would have given him.

Later.

"You know anything about oils?" he asked as she pushed him over to the tarp.

"Lie down" she said. And then, "Not a thing. But it really doesn't matter."

He lounged on his back, his head in his hands, his ankles crossed, staring up at the sky as if lying naked in his vineyard with a raging hard-on was something he did every day.

"Is this how you want me?"

Again, it was an enormous strain to force herself to walk away from him when every cell in her body was screaming to slide down on his thick shaft. She picked through his can of horsehair brushes, picking up three that looked to be clean and fairly new.

"You can close your eyes or keep them open. I don't care. But don't move. And don't get in my way." His c**k twitched in anticipation, and a small drop of fluid rose to the top. She wanted to touch his wetness more than she wanted to breathe, but she had a plan and she was sticking to it.

"I don't need to know anything about colors or oils or technique, because I'm not painting a picture' She paused just long enough for him to figure things out. "I'm painting you."

SAM NEARLY SHOT UP. He'd had his fair share of women in art school, and they'd messed around with body paints a time or two, but none of them had been Vanessa.

He watched her move toward him, lithe and tanned, and he couldn't help thinking that Marissa would never have done something like this. His previous muse had been content to lie still while he'd heaped adoration over her lush curves, whereas he got the sense that Vanessa could barely sit still on his c**k long enough to come.

He smiled as she stood over him, one leg on each side of his hips. He'd seen her naked repeatedly since Friday night, but it still got him off to look up her short skirt like this. To see her white panties barely covering her smooth, hairless mound.

She smacked the heads of the paintbrushes into her left palm as if they were riding crops. By the look on her face-a cross between lust and power-he knew she was getting a kick out of dominating him. He'd never been the submissive type, but what the heck, he'd try anything once.

He couldn't resist messing with her, though, even if it was a slightly dangerous proposition. "You gonna get started soon, or should I take a quick nap first?"

Her nostrils flared. Bull's-eye. Nothing like pissing off a woman holding instruments of sensual torture. "You're lucky I don't gag you right now to shut you up:'

He barely fought the battle of holding back a grin. When was the last time a woman had made him laugh? Particularly one he wanted to do this badly.

"I was going to use these on your cock;' she said as she stepped over him, turning toward his feet. "I was going to make you feel so good, just like you did to me. But now I've changed my mind. You're going to have to earn it." She dropped the medium and large brushes to the tarp, keeping only the thinnest, softest one. She brushed it lightly over the arch of one foot, and his toes twitched. "I'm not sure I'll ever get all the way up there;' she added. "Unless .. :'

She let her words fall away as she bent her knees so the curve of her ass faced him. She moved the brush to his other foot, lightly running the fine hairs over the arch, then around to his ankles.