With none of his earlier energy, he stood up and pulled his breeches back in place. He caught her hands and sat her up on the crate. His voice was weak and flat. "I want to sketch you. Sit on your feet. Present yourself as you have no doubt been taught." He turned away, assuming she would comply. He fetched a chair, a pad of parchment and a stick of charcoal then stood at the crate again.

Sarah watched him as he silently 'arranged' her, with no more care than arranging a bowl of fruit. She sat on her feet and rested her hands on her thighs as she had been instructed. Gireau pushed her knees further apart. He drew her hands back behind her and posed them as if in short shackles. He even curled her fingers into fists. Each movement he made of her, she held. She had experienced the futility of defying him.

Gireau stood back to look at his carefully arranged model. He stepped in again to tilt her head and fluff her long sunset blonde hair as he wanted it to appear. With one hand holding her wrists at the small of her back, his other hand opened onto her stomach. He pressed smoothly upward, arching her. He removed his hands then and looked her over again. With a nod to himself, he sat with his charcoal and pad and began the sketches. "Bronze, I think." He mused idly, as the charcoal stick in his hand worked over the parchment. "Yes, perhaps a bronze statue, from a wax model."

After flipping the page on a few quick sketches, he looked up at Sarah, actually looking at her and not the object of his drawing, she thought. "Of course, that means you shall visit with me throughout the project, as my reference source." His expression was still quite business-like as he returned his gaze to the parchment. It was only then that he grinned. "And on these occasions, sarah, perhaps we can further your education." She was certain he did not mean art.

Sarah kept her pose but closed her eyes at what his statement said to her. Gireau noticed it and with the fury of his previous arousal spent, her situation touched him. He rose from his chair, setting aside his drawing. He picked up a rag and wiped the charcoal from his fingers before reaching to brush her cheek. She didn't move. She barely breathed.

The sculptor's hands caressed over the contours of her jaw, her neck, her shoulders. His fingers lightly touched her breasts, tracing each, circling her nipples, touching without disturbing so he could begin to commit each curve to memory. His voice was hushed. "For the finest detail, we make the model of wax. It is easily formed and shaped and smoothed when worked beneath the warmth of your hands." His head lowered to kiss one nipple. He let his tongue linger there as his hands lowered to her stomach.

Sarah could no longer keep her balance as his face pressed more firmly into her breast. Her hands went around his shoulders to hold to him as he tipped her backward onto the crate. He supported her neck with one hand while the other stretched her legs out from beneath her.

He drew the rest of his body onto the crate along side her. Sarah looked up at his face. His eyes were taking in every inch of her, following his hand as it gently propped her knee up then slid back down her thigh to softly cross her stomach. His eyes rose to meet hers when she gasped at his hand descending between her thighs and cresting her mound. He let his fingers rest there.

"Though the wax figure itself may be a masterpiece," he continued with his lesson, "It is unsubstantial. To make the work more lasting, the wax becomes only a mold." Sarah was listening as best she could to his art lesson but for the hard swallow and heart stopping moment that his fingers slipped between her soft lips, still wet from him.

"When the hot metal is poured into the wax mold, the wax is burned away..." Gireau's finger slid inside her warmth, palm pressing firmly against her. Sarah jerked slightly and turned her face into his shoulder. Gireau rested his cheek against her soft hair and whispered. "...but when the metal cools and the figure is polished, the masterpiece is now forever, for all to see and enjoy... no longer the frail carving in wax."

Sarah's arms tightened around Gireau's shoulders as his finger worked within her. His palm artfully rubbed across her sensitivity as well, warming her, molding her to his body and his touch. She shifted with him as he parted her legs further with his knees. His hand left her and she looked up to see him kneeling between her open thighs, smiling softly down at her. None of the adversary was left on his face, or was it only that she no longer saw him as such?

Her eyes drifted downward with his hands as he pushed at his breeches. She could not look away from him as his member was released, standing proudly from his body. She watched his fingers stroke over it. Gireau observed her new fascination. She had been forced to take him before, but with his softer attention, it seemed she had warmed to the idea.

When he crawled over her, letting his stiffness brush between her legs, Sarah looked into warm eyes. His smile drifted closer into a soft kiss as his body lowered. She moaned into the kiss when he entered and proceeded slowly. She let herself feel the pressure of him this time. She let the sensation of his sliding within her begin to satisfy the aching his fingers started. Her knees drew up and her arms went around his neck.

Gireau's hips worked steadily against hers. He freed one hand to glide up her ribs and cup her breast, thumb twitching across her nipple. Sarah gasped out of the kiss. Gireau curled further to kiss her neck and caress it with his tongue. His strokes inside her deepened. She felt more urgency but followed his slow rhythm, being lulled by his warmth wrapped over her. His breathing against her ear echoed across his shoulder, as she found herself panting. This was closeness she had never known, the tandem dance of bodies, working her into a need, an urge she'd never felt.

Sarah's leg wrapped over his hip pulling at him. His chest vibrated against hers with his moan. She wanted to be closer but already their bodies were pressed tightly together. Suddenly sarah felt a twinge from deep within her. The lulling rhythm had touched the ache and she gasped over his shoulder. She pushed her hips with him, wanting that tap again. Gireau began to mutter against her neck, something she had no mind to decipher, but it was urging her. Her own dry whisper began to beg him for release from the building ache, a mix of pleas and moaning at his body's response. His thrusts quickened and with it, her sharp need for them.

She was frightened again as something within her stirred the aching need into frenzy. She tensed and shuddered against his strokes then the something exploded into a hoarse loud cry. She pushed her upper body against him as he jerked and held fast within her. The force of her own pleasure left only the fringes of thought that he was again filling her with his own satisfaction. His low moan joined hers and their voices drifted out through the sunlit vaulted room.

Her body finally collapsed onto the crate and his over her. Her arms wrapped his shoulders as her chest heaved for air. Slowly Gireau withdrew and sat back on his feet between her spent legs. One hand gently rubbed along her thigh as he enjoyed watching the daze of her recovery.

Sarah licked her lips and swallowed in search of moisture for her mouth. Her eyes lazily drifted open to see his soft smile. She smiled weakly too, without energy to move otherwise.

His husky voice floated into her fogged mind. "You see. The lost wax is of no consequence at all."