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He grips my chin to tear my eyes away from his torso, and away from all the ways I could pleasure him if I weren’t about to be run out of town for being a grifter.

“Omega,” he grunts, using that private name that’s wormed its way right into my brain and turned me to mush for these Wolven. “Do you need support or a fix?”

“Fix,” I rush out. “I can’t go down there without a model.”

“Mitch and I can find someone if you give us thirty minutes,” he says calmly, like it's that easy.

“No,” I insist. “I need someone now, please. Mitch can’t sit still for that long. He won’t hold the poses.”

I know what I’m implying. He needs to be my model.

Nobody else is here. I can’t do it myself, because I need to instruct the class.

This isn’t a fully nude class, but it’s still a lot to ask.

Clay hasn’t even let me see him fully naked yet.

The smell of overbaked pastries tickles my nose when I lean into his grip.

“Roan, sugar, nobody wants to draw some fat old Wolven,” he murmurs.

“I do,” I say, placing my hands on his thick thigh.

“I have, over and over again, because you’re beautiful.

Your body is perfect, Clay. I know it’s a lot to ask for you to sit still for a few hours, but nobody is going to think less of you because of how you look.

If anything, I’m going to have to beat people off with sticks. ”

He rolls his eyes like what I’m saying is absurd, but I know it’s true.

Clay is beautiful. Every curve of his body makes my blood run hot.

He’s anxious about his weight, I understand that.

But it doesn’t make me want him less. I want to worship him.

If he and Mitch weren’t mated, I don’t think either of them would be struggling to find other people to be their mates.

He just needs to see himself how I see him, how Mitch sees him.

Our mate is gloriously handsome.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you were perfect.”

Clay takes a deep breath, but then concedes. “Just for you, Omega.”

I grab him by the shirt and pull him down to kiss me. He doesn’t hesitate to return my affection, nibbling on my bottom lip so he can deepen it. His claws pinch at my chin, angling me better for his tongue to tease mine.

“Okay, there is a robe in the toilet. Leave your pants on. Come down in a few minutes.” I squeeze his thigh. “Thank you so much.”

I run down stairs and get the group set up, warming them up by explaining the situation with the model as best I can. My voice shakes more than it did during my first critique. Everyone blinks as if the concept of seeing Clay nearly nude is just another Tuesday.

He comes down stairs a moment later topless. It wasn't what I was expecting, but I don't hate the vision. The white sheet I was going to drape him in to cover his underwear won't be necessary, which is maybe for the better. His jeans should create stronger, more simple folds with higher contrast.

I get Clay situated, placing a glass of water next to his chair and doing my best not to stare. I’ve seen glimpses of him in the shower or when he’s rolling out of bed, but it's always pretty dark. My chest tightens when I think about the amount of sex I've had, but not seen my partner.

He shouldn't feel anything but attractive and sexy and wanted when he's with me and Mitch. His thick fur is soft, the fat that pads his stomach and chest is generous. Clay is beautifully full of life, and his body shows that.

“We'll hold this pose for fifteen minutes and then move to another,” I announce, starting the timer on my phone.

“Damn,” Bula whispers when I slowly meander around her station. “I need to find a man like that. One of those big boys.”

A smile creeps up my face as I see the progress of everyone's sketches. A few times, I remind them not to focus so hard on his face or hands, but rather his full form. For the most part, everyone seems to be having fun blocking shapes.

“Clay, this how you expected to spend your Saturday?” Louise asks.

“Fuck no,” he grumbles, trying not to move from his lounging position.

“I'm having the time of my life,” Maisie says. “Can I sign Barnaby up for next month?”

The room giggles, and I almost wonder if that could be a thing. The monsters around town posing for the centre art classes seem like a great way to normalise everyone as regular beings, drop any perceptions we have of each other and bare our souls.

Near the final pose, Mitch sneaks in. He makes eye contact with me, eyebrows raised as he looks from me to his mate.

“What kinda spell you put on him, darlin’?”

“It's a long story,” I whisper.

I lean into Mitch's side, smelling his sweet warmth and freshly shampooed fur.

If I weren't cried out for the day, I'd cry again for how lucky I feel. He slides an arm around my waist while we stare at Clay. We’ve gone through a lot of poses today, sheets and sheets of paper are scattered across the floor.

He must be exhausted, but he seems almost… content.

My alarm goes off a final time, and that's it. Our first class is done. People mingle for only a few minutes to help tidy up. Maisie and Bula both congratulate me on a great first class, and I struggle to accept it. This could have been a disaster. Without Clay, it would have been.

“It's all him,” I deflect. “Clay saved my ass.”

“It's what mates do,” Bula says.

“Barnaby is my rock,” Maisie agrees.

Mayor Louise also takes a moment to express her excitement about the success of the class. I promise to come and see her on Monday to return the money we didn't use to pay the model, but she insists I give it to Clay for being so professional while everyone drooled over him.

“But do come and see me, I want to talk about extending your residency,” she says, waving as she leaves the Arts Centre.

My jaw drops. She wants me on longer? I swallow back my shock the best I can as blood rushes to my face. I can’t believe it. One little afternoon class, without the centre even completed, is all she needed to see to want me to stay longer?

That can’t be how this works, right?

In less time than it took to set up the hors d’oeuvres, the gallery is empty.

I’m lost in a blur, trying so hard to get everything sorted that I don’t even have the brain power to speak more than a few words.

Mitch munches on the final carrot baton while I lock up the storage room.

We stare at each other in silence for a few moments before he speaks.

“Whatcha thinkin’, darling?”

“About what?” I blink.

“About today, the class, our Alpha?”

“Today was stressful, but really good,” I admit. “The mayor wants me to stay here a bit longer.”

Mitch wraps me up in the tightest spine-cracking hug of my life. His tail wags so hard it shakes us both, and I can’t help but laugh. He kisses all over my face, practically licking me. My heart feels so light, so at ease all of a sudden, that I can barely keep the happy tears at bay.

“You know who else wants you to stay?” he asks.

“Connie?”

“No. Well, probably, but me and Clay, Omega. Please say you’ll stay?” He stares down at me with the biggest puppy dog eyes I have ever seen. The sincerity warms me, lightens all the weight of the world until I’m floating on a cloud.

“There isn’t anywhere else I want to be.”

“Shit,” he gasps. “We need to tell Alpha.”

“Do you think he’s okay? He ran up to the loft really fast afterwards. Do you think he’s upset with me?”

“I can tell ya right now he was not.” He smiles, guiding me upstairs. “One, he smelled divine when I came downstairs, and two, it's good to normalise bigger bodies. He thinks I want the beefy football player he was when we were seventeen, but I want this Clay more than ever.”

“I like him this way, too,” I say with a sigh, wishing I’d had the chance to pick up my pencil for a sketch during the class.

“Then let's go show him.”