Graphite scratched along the sketch pad as Jean traced out your figure. It wasn’t like it was difficult, he knew every dip and curve like the back of his hand.

You felt a shiver as the cold air from the cracked window kissed your skin. Jean’s jaw clenched as he stared at your naked body before him. He had been persistent in convincing you to allow him to draw you like this: exposed, posed on his bed only for him to see. You have been his muse since the day he met you, but this was intimate, almost more than nights together full of soft whispered words and desperate kisses.

He swallowed, trying to keep cool as though he had done this a million times before. “Gorgeous, ma chérie,” he muttered to himself, “So beautiful.”