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 top dipping low, giving me a glimpse of 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 black top 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.