The robe was tied tightly, but her breasts thrust out, pushing the silk toward him. "What did you write your poem about?" she asked, as she began walk...ng toward the studio."The woman." he said.She stopped and turned around. "The woman who ... you think about when we paint?" She was looking at him through lowered lashes."Yes." he answered."I think I'd like to hear that poem. Would you read it to me?" She sounded uncertain, her voice husky."Yes." His voice was firm."Well then ... bring it with. She felt her nipples grow hard as they pushed and strained against the rough fabric of her bra.The workday seemed to drag on forever. She couldn't wait to get home and check her e-mail. Every day was the same. She would promise herself that she wasn't going to let herself be distracted during work, that she would set aside her personal life until the end of the day. She would start out pretty well, busy and focused, but within an hour she would start dreaming about HIM and the things he would. More

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