WHISPERS OF LOVE

9. Max

🎧 Listen to 🎵So Into You by D-Nice🎶

***

As Emma's lips meet mine, a wave of emotions crash over me. It's unexpected yet undeniably... captivating. Her kiss is a revelation, pulling me into a realm where time seems to stand still. The faint taste of her lips lingers, leaving an imprint that defies easy explanation.

I'm caught off guard by her boldness, and for a moment, words escape me. Emma's admission about something feeling "right" echoes in my mind, and a flicker of surprise dances in my eyes. She pulls away, leaving me both stunned and intrigued.

"You kissed... me," I murmur, the realization settling in. It's a revelation that adds a layer of complexity to our dynamic. Emma's words linger in the air, and I find myself grappling with a surge of emotions I hadn't anticipated.

There's a magnetic pull between us, a connection that defies logic. As Emma smiles, I'm left grappling with the unexpected turn of events. The air crackles with unspoken tension, and I'm compelled to unravel the mystery that seems to have woven itself between us.

"You're not the only one feeling that way," I confess, my gaze meeting hers. It's a moment of revelation, a bridge we've crossed, and I can't help but wonder where this newfound intimacy will lead us.

***

Two weeks after that transformative kiss, a subtle tension lingers between Emma and me. The relationship between Emma and I isn't that solid but at least we're headed there.

She hasn't talked about leaving which on my view, that's a good thing. She seems calm an relaxed and I'm happy for her. She has taken her painting much more seriously, and even showed interest in drawing, and that's what brought us her.

In the softly lit art room, where I take on the role of a patient mentor, ready to guide Emma through the intricacies of drawing. With a sketchpad and a set of pencils in hand, I sit beside her, my presence offering both support and encouragement.

She's dressed in grey sweatpants and a black brallete. Her auburn hair is in a messy bun.

She looks cute and hot all mixed into one.

Her scent ?

Today she smells like strawberries. Not her everyday scent but I love it.

"Alright, Emma," I begin, my tone gentle yet determined. "Let's start with something simple. Look at the vase of flowers on the table. Focus on the shapes, the lines, and don't worry about perfection. It's about capturing the essence."

She obediently glances at the vase. My hand hovers over the sketchpad, waiting for her to make the first mark.

"Take your time," I reassure, my eyes fixed on the subject. "Feel the lines in your mind before your pencil touches the paper."

As she tentatively begins to sketch, I offer guidance, pointing out the play of light and shadow, the curve of the petals, and the negative spaces between the flowers. My words become a steady stream of encouragement, fostering an environment where mistakes are not obstacles but stepping stones in the learning process.

With each stroke, My guidance becomes a silent dance between teacher and student. My patience is unwavering, allowing her to explore the contours of creativity without fear of judgment. The art room transforms into a haven of shared exploration, where the language of lines and shapes becomes a bridge connecting our worlds.

As the drawing takes form, her eyes light up with genuine pride.

"You're capturing it, Emma," I commend. "Art is about expression, not perfection. And you're expressing something uniquely yours."

In the quiet sanctuary of the art room, I find myself captivated by the delicate strokes of Emma's hand against the canvas. As the teacher, my role is to guide her, but the atmosphere in the room takes an unexpected turn.

"Feel the pencil as an extension of your touch, Emma," I whisper, my breath warm against her ear. The closeness between us creates a subtle tension, an unspoken connection that goes beyond the strokes of the drawing.

With each instruction, our hands brush against each other, creating a magnetic pull that defies the boundaries of art and emotion. The air becomes charged with a palpable energy, drawing us closer with every shared stroke.

As Emma focuses on the sketch, I can't help but be aware of the intensity in the room. My gaze locks onto hers, filled with a mixture of passion and restraint. In a moment of boldness, I lean in, capturing her lips with mine.

She doesn't pull away.

The kiss becomes a fusion of creativity and desire, a dance that mirrors the strokes on the canvas.

My hands cradle her face, the touch both tender and purposeful. The art room transforms into a haven where passion and artistic exploration intertwine, creating a masterpiece of shared vulnerability and unspoken longing.

Breaking the kiss, I meet Emma's eyes, finding a depth of emotion that words cannot capture. The air hangs heavy with the unspoken acknowledgment of a connection that transcends the boundaries of teacher and student, a connection that binds us in a silent pact of artistic exploration and shared desire.

"Max" Emma calls out while pulling away.
"You're the most unserious teacher ever." She says while chuckling.

I smile at her then shift my attention back to her drawing. It looks good for a beginner and I know she can perfect it if she gets a professional art teacher.

Therefore, in an attempt to nurture her newfound passion for art, I decide to bring in an art teacher. As I share the news with Emma, her eyes light up with anticipation

"Emma," I begin, my voice carrying a mixture of excitement and reassurance, "I've arranged for an art teacher to help you explore your talents. He's an old friend of mine, and I believe he'll be the perfect guide for you."

"You'll do that ? For me ?" She asks.

I nod and she lets out an excited squeal. I pray to God that she's genuinely excited about this and not happy that I'm finally letting her get into contact with someone else after almost a month of seeing only me.

Even though I have a cleaning crew always coming here on Wednesdays, Emma has never met them cause they're always in by five in the morning and out by nine.

Emma is not an early riser therefore has never known of their existence.

My house keeper comes in on Mondays and Thursdays to do weekly meal preps and restocks. She too has never been seen by Emma.

"I can't wait." Emma says as she leans in places a kiss on my cheeks. I smile at her in response and watch as she continues with her drawing.

***

A few days later, Harrison Sinclair, one of the art critics at Goldstein & Co and also one of my friends arrives at the estate. I'm glad he agreed to be Emma's teacher twice a week. As I guide him through the estate, he fills me in on what has been going on at work.

I hardly go there, I prefer working from home, but ever since I came home and found Emma passed out, I've never stepped foot outside the estate.

Walking into the art room, Emma's leaning into a canvas twice her size, adding highlights to a dreamscape painting.

"Emma"

I call out and she turns around, smiling at me. "Your art teacher is here." I say and watch as her expression shift from curiosity to disbelief, her eyes widening in recognition.

"Harrison ?" she stammers, her voice catching in her throat. The air thickens with an unexpected tension as Harrison smirks beside me, revealing a history that none of us saw coming.

"Emma" He calls out, sounding impressed.