And she did get into a sexy pose. She put one hand behind her head and one on her hip, ran the other two down her sides, and pushed her chest out.
Josh started drawing. It was uncomfortable at first. Then he got used to it and started seeing the drawing instead of the girl: where the weight went, what a second pair of shoulders did to the ribs.
And it came out right, first time. It had been a long while since a page had done that for him.
Then he got to the clothes.
He looked up to check how the shirt was sitting over the new shoulders, and the shirt had four armholes.
He looked at it for a while.
They weren't torn. The two new holes were hemmed. It looked like somebody had made a custom shirt for a four-armed girl.
"Hey," Josh said. "Where'd you get that shirt?"
"Oh, this?" Luna glanced down without breaking the pose. "Don't worry. It's just skin. I don't need clothes."
Josh didn't say anything for a moment.
She'd been naked the whole time. At his door, in the car, at the Embassy, all the days he was sick, at the store, in the hallway in front of Rodey. All week.
Her clothes were skin, made to look like clothes, and they were good enough that he'd been sitting here drawing the folds.
That made him fully hard.
He pulled his chair in under the desk to hide it.
This time, Luna saw it.
"Oh...." She let the pose go and grinned. "So you like me naked?"
"That's not—"
"Is this naked enough for you?"
She didn't take anything off. She walked up to him, slow and sultry, swinging her hips, and ran all four hands down her body on the way.
"No need to hide," she said. "In fact, hiding makes it obvious."
"I'm not hiding!" Josh said. "It's just making it hard to draw."
Luna stopped.
(Luna:This was no good. If he couldn't draw while looking at her, he couldn't earn more. That's a bummer.
So she thought about how to fix it, and came up with the best option she could find. Exposure therapy.
It was, when she thought it through, extremely generous of her.)
"You need some exposure therapy," Luna said.
"I need what?"
"Being a virgin is now problematic." She reached down and took a handful of his collar. "Let me fix that."
She yanked him up out of the chair with one hand and walked him to the bed.
And on the way, the clothes went.
Not off. In. It started at the cuffs and the hem, and then the whole surface of what he'd spent a week believing was fabric began to move at once: all of it flowing back and up, gathering along the line of her spine, and going in. The color drained out of it as it traveled, the pattern going pale and then going nowhere at all. Underneath, she was naked, the way she'd been all week. The collar was the last piece. It thinned at the front and drew back around her throat and went into her nape, and then there was nothing left, and there had never been anything there.
She threw him down on the bed and jumped on top of him.
✦ ✦ ✦
Her hair came down before she did.
The whole length of it dropped past her shoulders and hung around his head, closing him in on both sides, the ends of it landing on the pillow either side of his face. It kept moving for a second after she'd stopped.
Josh recoiled all the way into the mattress.
A full retreat. Both shoulders back, chin down, the entire body going for distance that was not available anywhere in the room.
He was also, at that precise moment, harder than he had been at any point in his life. Both of those were true and neither of them was going anywhere.
He got his hands up over his eyes.
And then, because he is who he is, he opened his fingers about a quarter of an inch and looked through the gap.
The two arms at her ribs came down and took his wrists.
They closed and lifted without any roughness in it, and his hands came off his face with no input from him at all, and he was looking straight up at her with nothing in front of it.
Then they put his hands on her.
His palm went flat on her waist and got held there, pressed down, so he'd feel the whole width of it and not just where his fingers landed, and then it moved. Slowly. Up over the ribs, around to her back, down and out across the hip, in along the top of her thigh. His own hand traveling over her with somebody else steering.
He wasn't touching her. He was being used to touch her.
It went everywhere. The dip at the base of her spine. The crease where the thigh joins. The underside of her breast, the soft place inside her elbow, the back of her knee, the flat of her stomach, and then places he had drawn four hundred times and had never had under his fingers. It took its time at all of it. Where a curve changed direction the arms slowed down so his hand would get the whole turn of it.
And the entire time, she was still up on her other two arms, holding her own weight clear of him. A girl suspended six inches above his body, not touching him anywhere, while two spare hands walked his around her.
Josh moaned. He cut it off halfway.
"Sorry," he said.
The arms didn't stop.
"For what?" Luna said.
"I don't know."
Then she came up off her front arms and sat down on him, and all of her weight arrived at once.
He got a noise out for that too.
Her front hands went to his shirt. She didn't take it off so much as remove it as an obstacle, hem, collar, up, gone, and then his belt, which she solved faster than he could have.
"Hang on—"
"Hands are limited," Luna said. "It's time to feel with the body."
And she came down.
Not onto him. Around him. She leaned in until there was nothing between them anywhere, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, the whole front of her laid flat down the whole front of him. Two arms took his hands and put them on her back and left them there. The other two went around him and pulled, closing what was already closed.
And she started changing.
Slowly. Extremely slowly. It began at her waist, and it began so gradually that for the first several seconds he thought he was imagining it: the waist under his hands drawing in by fractions, the ribs staying exactly where they were while everything else moved, so that his fingers went from lying flat to following a curve without his fingers having moved.
Then her hips and her ass, out under his forearms, widening and filling out at the same crawl, the flesh arriving from somewhere and being distributed. He could feel the redistribution. He could feel where it came from.
Then her back, narrowing where his palms were, so that his hands ended up further around her than he'd put them.
Every change was small. They were all happening at once, at the speed of a minute hand, and he was feeling every bit of it.
The biggest change was her breasts.
She was six foot three lying on a five foot six guy. That put her breasts at his face. They had been at his face the whole time, against his cheek, against his mouth, warm, close, present, a fact he had been managing with what he considered heroic discipline.
Now they were growing.
At the same rate as everything else. Slowly, patiently, in increments, spreading across his face: first covering more of his cheek, then his mouth, then his nose, then the whole of it, closing over him until there was no part of his face that was not against her and no direction he could turn his head that changed that. The warmth went total. The light went. His breath came back off her skin onto his own face.
He was enveloped, gradually, by degrees, over about forty seconds.
That did it. He came.
Nothing had touched him. Nothing had gone anywhere near him, and it happened anyway, hard enough to fold him up under her.
He moaned into her breasts. It didn't get out.
Luna was pressed against him from her throat to her knees. There was no way she didn't feel it.
She stopped changing.
"...Oh."
She lifted up off his face. He got his face back and used it entirely for breathing.
While he breathed, one of her hands went down over the side of the bed to the floor. On its own. It patted along the boards in a small arc, twice, like a hand that knew exactly where something was kept and expected to find it there.
There was nothing on the floor.
(Luna:She stopped it.
It was reaching for the drugs. Old habit: when it's over, the guy gets the drugs. They weren't even here. They were in her car.
Even if they had been here, she couldn't use them this time. The whole point was that he remembers it. Take it out of him and he wakes up tomorrow still unable to look at her, and he can't draw, and they don't earn, and she eats less.
So for the first time in fifty years, a guy had to keep it.
She put her hand back on his chest.)
"That was the first stage," Luna said.
"I'm aware."
"There were going to be several."
"I'm aware."
She considered that for a moment.
"That's fine," she said. "We've got all night."
She did not get off him.