I came to catalog Theo Laurent's art. Instead, he claimed me.

In his sunlit studio, his eyes stripped me bare before the charcoal ever touched paper. He commanded me to pose, then to surrender completely.

Every stroke of his brush, every deep thrust, marked me as his.

He filled me until I swelled with his child, my body ripening under his hands, his gaze, his obsession. I should have run. But I stayed, naked and owned, letting him paint me pregnant, keep me full, breed me again.

Now I'm his masterpiece... body, belly, forever his.