All Chapters of One Night Stand series : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Story 4Title: Artist’s MuseBlurb: Lena, an art student, agrees to model for enigmatic painter DamienCross, known for his sensual, provocative work. As she disrobes, Damien instructs her in how to pose, breathe, and expose hervulnerabilities, not just her body. Each session becomes more intense,as their connection deepens into obsession. The canvas isn’t the only place Damien explores her, soon, their bodies and emotions become intertwined in a passionate, reckless affair.———When Lena agreed to model for Damien Cross, she didn’t realize “model” meant “bare absolutely everything you’ve ever known about shame and dignity.”And possibly your clothes.At least, that’s what it felt like when she stood in front of his studio door on a rainy Thursday morning, gripping her tote bag like a life preserver and questioning all her life choices including that extra espresso that made her heart beat like a trapped bird.“This is fine,” she muttered to herself, staring at the brass nameplate that

By Tuesday afternoon, Lena had convinced herself that she was fine.Fine meaning: she’d stopped replaying every glance, every brushstroke, every breath that Damien Cross had taken near her.Except she hadn’t.Her class’s mid-semester exhibit was buzzing with chatter and the smell of cheap wine. Sketches lined the walls, half-finished sculptures stood on pedestals, and everyone was pretending to be very serious about art while secretly wondering who’d brought the best snacks. Lena had tried to look composed, but every time someone mentioned the word model, her neck flushed like she was guilty of a crime.Her own work a charcoal series about light and body form hung near the window. She was proud of it. Sort of. Until she sensed it.That quiet shift in the air.Like a change in gravity.She didn’t have to turn around to know who had just walked in.Damien’s presence slid through the room without announcement. She could feel him before she saw him an energy that prickled against her skin

Morning crept into the studio in streaks of gold and gray. The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the windows beaded with soft light. For a moment, Lena didn’t know where she was. Then the smell of paint and turpentine returned, the familiar hush of the room, the faint thrum of the city beyond.Her body remembered before her mind did: the warmth of the night, the way everything had changed in the space of a heartbeat.Damien was already awake, sitting by the easel. He looked different in daylight less the mysterious painter, more a man who hadn’t quite decided how to breathe again. The brush in his hand wasn’t moving. He was just holding it, staring at the half-finished canvas.Lena pushed herself up, wrapping the robe around her shoulders. “You’re painting already?”He glanced back, faint smile. “Trying to.”“How’s that going?”He turned the brush over in his fingers. “Let’s call it… uncertain.”She padded across the wooden floor, bare feet silent. The painting looked not

Damien Cross told himself he was doing a public service.A guest lecture. A brief critique. A harmless bit of mentorship for bright young minds.That was what he told himself.What he didn’t say what he absolutely refused to admit was that he had checked the faculty calendar three times before agreeing. He knew exactly which day Lena’s studio class met.He called it professional courtesy.A lie, but an elegant one.By the time he arrived, the city had begun to drizzle, as though even the sky was trying to wash away its guilt. His coat was damp, his shoes left a trail of artistic regret on the linoleum. A student volunteer greeted him with the barely contained hysteria of someone meeting a celebrity who might also be an urban legend.“You’re Damien Cross! We studied your painting—‘Reclining Form IV’ in Professor Grant’s seminar!”“Ah,” Damien said dryly. “The scandal one.”The student blushed furiously and began walking so fast that Damien had to lengthen his stride to keep up.The stu

When the dean announced that Damien Cross would be taking over Advanced Figurative Studies for the remainder of the semester, the entire art department lost collective composure. Basically everyone screamed yesterday. Someone else fainted dramatically into a palette of ultramarine.Lena, sitting in the back the class today, she already knows what will be happening today.Tara jabbed her with an elbow. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost well, a very hot ghost with a tragic backstory and paint under his fingernails.”“I’m fine,” Lena lied, gripping her sketchbook as if it might save her soul.The door opened.He walked in wearing the kind of black shirt that made fabric look like a sin. The chatter dimmed to reverent silence. Damien scanned the room too casually until his gaze snagged on her. A flicker of recognition, quickly masked.“Good morning,” he said, voice smooth and dangerous. “I’m told you’re the most promising group of painters this department’s seen in years. I’ll