“Don’t let her in. I mean, not yet. Give me five minutes, okay?”
Alex looks at me as if I’m speaking Klingon. Was he drinking with us? Fuck if I remember. Maybe. Important thing is, he closes the door, leaving me to scrub the sleep out of my eyes and put some order to my room.
Not an easy feat after such a night—or in general. I stumble a couple of times, my feet caught in dirty clothes. I don’t have many, but apparently last night I thought it was a good idea to drop them all on the floor. What the hell?
Oh, they aren’t dirty clothes. They’re the new clothes I bought with Amber. So last night I was angry—at her? At the clothes?
Shit.
I tidy up as best I can, pull the sheet and comforter up on the bed, then crack the door open, check the hallway and make a mad dash for the shower.
The thought of her right outside, in the living room, turns my morning wood into a nuclear warhead, and I’d have jacked off if I wasn’t running so damn late. If I wasn’t worried I won’t be able to keep quiet and she’d hear me.
And damn, right on the heels of that thought comes an image of her opening the bathroom door and joining me under the spray, curling her hand around my hard-on and pumping.
Damn, I can’t help myself. I grab my cock and jerk off quickly, desperately. I imagine her breasts, her long legs wrapped around me, her face flushed with pleasure, and I come with a strangled moan, shooting my load on the tiled wall.
I lean back with a groan. Christ.
Turning off the water, I dry myself and drag on my jeans, not bothering with underwear or anything else. Okay, ready to face Amber like a human being, or almost.
That’s when I remember what I invited her over for.
“I want to draw you.”
Oh hell.
***
She walks into my room, her hair caught up in a messy bun, loose strands framing her small face, making her eyes look huge. Her low-cut black top has my pulse racing, and she hasn’t even sat down yet.
Disaster alert. Everyone abandon stations. I repeat, abandon stations.
She hesitates in the middle of my room and chews on her lip. “Good morning. I… I think maybe this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”
I push off the wall, where I’ve been pretending to lean all cool and shit, and lurch after her. “Wait!”
She stops with a hand on the door frame. Her purse slips from her shoulder and hits the floor with a dull thud, but she doesn’t turn around.
I reach her, refusing to acknowledge the relief flooding me, and skim up her arm with my fingertips, tangle them in a loose curl. I love how she shivers. How she feels, like silk and feathers.
Leaning in, I whisper in her ear, “Please stay.”
Fighting the urge to press my mouth to her neck, I suck in a deep breath, try to control my body. Scary how much I want her. How easily I’d forget Zane’s warnings, forget I shouldn’t be doing this.
Forget that she deserves better, forget everything but my need for her, a need that goes deeper than anything I’ve ever felt before. I want to meld myself with her, merge, make her…
Make her mine.
Fuck.
“Okay,” she says. “What should I do?”
I gesture at my bed. “Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. I’ll sit over here,” I point at the only chair I have in my room, “and draw you. That’s all.”
I step away and go grab my drawing pad from a box in the corner, grab my charcoal pencil and eraser, and sink into the seat.
When I look up, my mouth goes dry.
She’s sitting on my mattress, her hair loose on her shoulders, and she’s leaning forward, her blouse dipping low, giving me a glimpse of black lace and the pale mounds of her tits.
Tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, my hard-on pushing frantically against the seam of my jeans, I stare and stare.
“JJ?” Her uncertain voice is like a splash of cold water. She’s staring right back, frozen in place, one hand planted on top of my blanket.
“Perfect,” I rasp, coming down to earth and clutching the drawing pad over my crotch to hide how excited my dick is to see her. “That’s perfect. Stay… stay like that.”
Swallowing hard, attempting to bring some moisture back into my mouth, I start sketching quickly, broad lines, bold strokes to capture the posture, the curves of her body, the wild tangle of her dark hair, her wide eyes.
I botch the line of her thigh and blot it out with the special eraser. Fuck, fuck. My hands are shaky.
“Where did you learn to draw?” she asks, and I pause, the charcoal gripped in my hand.
“Learn?”
“Yeah. Who taught you how to draw?”
“Nobody taught me.” I shade in her hair, a storm cloud around her face. “Z-man takes a look at my drawings from time to time, gives me suggestions.”
“You’re self-taught?”
I glance up from the pad, blink at her. She looks startled. After what I told her last time we met, I thought it was clear my past wasn’t all special tutors and expensive lessons. Fuck, does she even know or guess I never finished school?
“Sorry,” she whispers, bites her lip—goddammit—and wiggles on her knees. “Didn’t mean to break your concentration.”
Is she kidding me? She intrudes on every thought and every wish that goes through my mind. I gaze into her denim-blue eyes, and I have visions of us tangled in my sheets, of me licking the sweat off her thighs as I bend between them, of her crying out my name—
The charcoal falls from my fingers and crashes to the floor with a sound like a bomb going off.
The fuck.
I leave the piece lying there and tear off the drawing, let it drift down to join the charcoal. I need something softer to nail her expression, the heavy-lidded bedroom eyes, the parted lips, the contrast between her dark halo and her sky-hued gaze. Soft and nervous, sexy and unsure, I want it all.
At least I’ll have her on paper, so I can look at her long after she’s gone from my life.
***
“You finished?”
“Hm?” I shade in the outline of her mouth, then glance up at her. “What?”
She’s leaning back, hands gripping the headboard, her white blouse riding up to reveal her bellybutton, and I shift uneasily in my seat. My balls ache with the need to come. I’ve been hard for… how long now? Hours. Hours spent staring at her, fantasizing. Wanting her.
I wonder briefly if chronic boners can prove fatal. It sure feels like it. I’m hard for her, but inside my resolve is weakening, softening, and my heart is pounding as I look at her.
So fucked…
“I said, have you finished with the drawing?” She wrinkles her nose. “You’ve been staring at it for a while now.”
Damn cute. I try to find words. Language fails me, so I grunt, and I hope she takes it as a yes.
“You probably want to do other stuff,” she says, sitting up, tugging on her blouse, and my eyes follow the way it molds over her lush curves. “Eat lunch, meet with friends. I don’t know… Stuff.”
She’s leaving.
I’m on my feet before I realize and walking over to her, the drawing pad and pencil thudding to the bare floor.
“Haven’t finished.” Not done with you.
“But I thought you—”
I sink down on the bed and lick my lips. I feel like a wolf licking his chops. I’ll scare her if I keep this up, so I scramble for an explanation.
I can’t. Can’t explain it even to myself.
So instead I lift my hands to her shoulders, skimming over her slender collarbone.
“What…?” she begins, and I shush her.
“One more drawing,” I say and grip the straps of her top. “Is this okay, Embers?”
I wait until she nods, and when she does, my fucking breath catches.
Shit, I’ve been dying to do this, to stroke her soft skin, to see more of her. She’s watching me, a blush coloring her cheeks, and my dick twitches in my pants. I’ve never felt so close to coming only by cupping a girl’s soft shoulders and staring into her eyes, so clear you’d think the darkening blue in their depths is her soul.