Ambrose's Muse

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Ambrose couldn’t stop staring at her. Bell shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. What was this ethereal being? No one as beautiful as she could ever be born, it was like the universe had spent ions creating her. He brought his finger to her cheeks and gently caressed her skin, it was so soft and supple, like feathers and whipped cream. Bell hesitantly looked up at him, and he saw her different coloured eyes blink at him.

“No t-touching,” she whispered and shifted away from him.

A smirk made its way on his lips. The little kitten spoke, and her voice was just like her name like bells chiming.

“Why?” he asked.

“It is written in c-contract that you cannot t-touch me, not w-without my permission,” she quietly pointed out and quickly lowered her eyes.

That was the truth, he just needed her for his painting. Ambrose had never thought that he would be so enchanted by his muse, he had accepted all her conditions without even mulling over them. But who knew that she would be so mystifying and alluring? Ambrose was an ex-mafia, and he was so used to getting what he wanted, but for the first time, there was an uncertainty. Bell looked like a girl who guarded her virtues ferociously, she would not give in easily, but at the same time, he saw that sweetness and innocence in her. Maybe she would give in… if he tried hard enough. Which he had every intention of.

“Do you know what else is written in the contract?”

Bell just bit her lip in contemplation.

“It is written that I can see you naked at any time that I want,” he said to her, “if I tell you to remove that dress right now, then you will have to remove it.”

Ambrose was, of course, teasing her, he wouldn’t do that to her. His driver would be able to see everything from the rear-view mirror and sweet Bell was for his eyes only.

“No, you cannot,” she said softly in her bell-like voice.

“Why not?”

“Because you cannot get me naked in someone else’s presence, only when the two of us are alone,”

The little girl had the entire contract memorised. He couldn’t play with her whatsoever. But he would find a loophole, all contracts had a loophole. A clause that can be twisted into any way or form.

The car ride back home was smooth, Ambrose decided it was best to leave the girl to her jittery nerves. It was interesting to see someone with these emotions after a long time. He felt the alpha ego in him soar. He brought out that emotions in her but at the same time he was hurt as well. Ambrose wanted his beautiful muse to be comfortable around him. As a son of a Mafia Don, it had been etched into his mind that one should be fear-inducing to assert their power and that’s what he had been. Ambrose was intimidating as hell, his own staff, which had been working with him since years were still wary of him.

And for a good reason.

He didn’t hesitate in torturing people. He didn’t feel pity rather an unleashed lust for feeling powerful fuelled him further. Ambrose was a monster, those who had heard of him, trembled even in their sleep.

And so, this little girl being fearful of him didn’t bother Ambrose at all. Was she even aware that he was literally a Mafia King sixteen years ago?

The Maserati drove into the affluent neighbourhood, and Ambrose observed her taking it all in. The big houses, a gated community, the exclusive architecture featured in the best of the magazines – all in front of her eyes. He never knew that feeling, the longing of owning something like a house or a piece of jewellery or selling oneself off for the treatment of a family member. It was difficult for him to relate to her.

But he had struggles of his own.

The car stopped in front of a large iron gate, the thick and tall walls followed by a barrier of tall trees obstructed the view of his mansion from prying eyes. It was his private abode, and he didn’t enjoy the intention of others seeing it. This was the case with anything private he owned including his sweet Bell.

The gate opened automatically and the car vroomed inside. Ambrose heard her gasp as his mansion came into clear view, it glistened under the moonlight. A Victorian structure he had personally designed and helped architect. He was a connoisseur of beautiful things.

“I shall give you a tour tomorrow,” Ambrose said, and she abruptly turned to him.

He received a shaky nod from her.

The car stopped in the driveway, and Ambrose stepped out of the car. Before he could reach to her side, she was already out. His temper instantly flared, and he narrowed his eyes at her. He balled his hands into a fist. His cold, freezing temper was reaching its point, and he had to rein on it. As much as he revelled in it, he didn’t want the kitten to be scared of him.

“You wait for me to open the door,” Ambrose said. He didn’t yell, he didn’t snarl. No, he didn’t do any of those things, he simply said to her in his cold and emotionless voice, and it was enough for the little girl.


Ambrose took a deep breath in, he couldn’t scare her. He gently took her dainty hand in his and walked inside. There was something about the way her hand just fit in with his like a jigsaw had found its correct place. He closed the door behind her, the moonlight surely was beautiful, and he knew of a room in the house which would be flooded with it. How lovely would it be to paint her, basking under the silver beam! Her naked body, writhing with the lowered temperatures and the shyness in her eyes serving a catalyst for him to paint her.

He had his painting supplies already arranged. It was a release for him, the hobby of painting. For a moment he could get away with everything else happening in his life and just bury himself into beauty. It was an escape.

“I am going to paint you, now,” he whispered.

“Now…?” she questioned hesitantly.

“Yes, Bell, naked and now,”

She couldn’t refute this, that was her purpose. He had in mind two things, now that he had seen her, he was going to paint her as much as he can. He wanted a very realistic portrait of her for which he decided to use oil paints and many sketches too for which he wanted to use charcoal. He was obsessed with Bell; her beauty was difficult to capture, but he wanted to do it, it would be an accomplishment for him.

They walked towards the room, he took long strides, and she followed him like a lost kitten.

It was a fairly plain room. The bed was a canopy bed with sheer curtains that he parted. He opened the windows and let the slightly chilly air enter the room. His easel was placed right in front of the bed, and he adjusted its position. He then quickly looked in front and walked towards the bed to adjust the cushions and pillows. Ambrose then looked up at her and found her staring at him. His eyes then moved down only to find her still dressed. He raised a brow and walked towards her.

“Undress yourself,” Ambrose whispered.

Bell whimpered, her doe eyes glistening and pleading with him. His heart ached at sight but he didn’t budge, he wanted to see her without clothes. A depraved part of him wanted to see a girl almost eighteen years his junior, without clothes.

“I am not falling for it,” he whispered, “and I don’t have the time for your tears.”

When she didn’t do anything, he brought her hand to the zipper of her dress.

“The contract clearly states that I can remove your dress, should you not do so,”

The dress pooled on the ground, leaving her in her undergarments. Hot searing lust rushed through his veins, and he stepped back. She was tiny, barely five feet three inches. She had a tiny waist; her chest wasn’t the amplest, but it was noticeable. Her hips flared gently but weren’t thick. She had very delicate curves and a frail body. Her torso was short but her legs long and shapely. Her feet were arched. Bell had a wonderful body, and he wanted to do nothing but rip the remaining garments from her body.

“Do I have to remove the rest of your clothes or you can do them yourself?”

She hurriedly removed her bra and her panties and with an unconscious grace in her body, climbed the bed. It was hard for Ambrose to not stare at her luscious body in a way that made her feel like a meal and to a certain extent he tried to mask the emotion.

Ambrose adjusted the pillow behind her and laid her down gently. His tanned hand touched her pale skin, and he fought with his instincts to jump on her and ravish her till sunrise. Her hair was long and brown, like molten chocolate. He gulped and stepped away from her. His eyes again noticed her arched feet and her crooked toes. Ambrose frowned and his eyes went to her again. There was nothing but shame on her face, shame at her being naked in front of him.

He had to capture it on his portrait, how she had delicately turned her face away from him. And the blush looked so beautiful under the moonlight. Everything needed to be captured, she was a beautiful specimen.

He moved to his easel and dipped his brush into an ivory white paint. Ambrose would first do the markings.

“You have crooked feet,” he started as he marked her on the easel, “why so?”

Bell didn’t say anything for a while, and he didn’t prod, her hesitation was making her shameful and shy. He found it very beguiling.

“I am a b-ballerina,” Bell whispered. Ambrose’s brush stopped, and he looked at her. Her tiny figure made sense, her crooked toes made sense and her grace and delicateness made sense. She was a performer and a damn enchanting one at that. Somehow, he didn’t know how, but his want for her increased magnanimously. He didn’t know how he could be in front of her without touching her.

“Which school did you go to?” he asked, his voice barely holding his strong lust. Would she dance for him? Only for his eyes?

“Juilliard,” she said.

Which meant she was extremely talented.

“You didn’t qualify for financial aid?”


“And you have graduated now, are you with a company?”

“Yes, I start the moment this contract is over, with The New York City Ballet,”

“And you perform in front of other people,” Ambrose said. Somehow that didn’t go down well with him. He knew of some depraved fuckers who would do anything for an innocent ballerina like Bell. They would pay millions of dollars. Some of them attended these ballerina recitals for the sole purpose of simply rutting. The things that took place on the dark web, it would steal the sleep from her eyes. He didn’t want her to be going through the same. Bell was innocent.

Ambrose didn’t want her performing for a public. Bell belonged to him.

“How much will they be paying you?” she looked up at him at the question.

“It is not a lot…”

“How much?” much sharper this time.

“Thirty thousand for a year,” Bell mumbled.

“I will pay you three hundred thousand dollars, every year, but you perform only for me,”

Bell gasped and sat up.

“I can’t do that,” Bell trembled, “it is isn’t about the money.”

“It is about the money,” he snapped suddenly, “I will pay you as much as you want.”

“I am sorry, but I cannot accept that offer,” Bell said, her hand was covering her delectable breasts. “I have worked all my life…” she was rudely cut by him.

“Bell, try to understand, I will keep you very well,” he promised. Ambrose would, she would belong only to him, and her art will only be for his eyes. Her beautiful body will be for his eyes. No one would appreciate her more than him. Ambrose couldn’t understand this underlying need to have her. She was simply supposed to be his muse. Why did she have to be so perfect?

“I a-am tired,” she sniffed, “c-can I please sleep, Sir?”

And with that, she laid back on the bed and closed her eyes. They remained furrowed for a few moments, she was hyper-aware of his presence, but her fatigue was taking over her body, and he observed the sleep descend over her.

She was his little sleeping beauty.

He picked up the brush again and started to paint her. One way or other, Bell would be his.

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