“I feel like I’m in a dream,” I say, my eyes moving from his to the cityscape beyond the large windows. The lights in all the buildings around us make the city look like it's surrounded by stars.
“It’s a magical city. I love coming here because there’s always something new to discover, and now I get to do it with you.”
I turn back to him, and even though I am dying to explore the city, there’s something else I want to do more. “Can we order room service and stay in tonight?”
He helps me out of my shirt. “I can get on board with that idea.”
After room service arrives, and we’ve shared an indulgent dinner by the window, watching the city lights twinkle below us, I find myself studying Pierce in the lamplight. The way shadows play across his face, how relaxed he looks.
“May I draw you?” The words slip out before I can second-guess myself.
Pierce pauses, wine glass halfway to his lips. “Draw me?”
“I know it sounds weird, but…” I set down my own glass, suddenly nervous. “You look different here. Softer. I want to capture that.”
Something vulnerable flickers across his expression. “I’ve never… No one’s ever asked to draw me before.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Yes.” The word comes out firm, decisive. “Yes, I’d like that.”
I retrieve my sketchbook from my bag, hands trembling slightly with anticipation. “We should dim the lights,” I say, moving to adjust the lamps until the room glows with warm, intimate light. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“I want to see all of you.”
Pierce’s eyes darken with understanding. Without breaking eye contact, he begins unbuttoning his shirt, each movement slow and hypnotic. I follow suit, my clothes falling away until we’re both bare in the golden light.
“On the bed,” I whisper, my voice already rough with want. “Just…be yourself.”
Pierce settles against the pillows, and I position myself cross-legged at the foot of the bed, my sketchbook propped against my thigh. We’re both already hard, the air thick with anticipation.
I open to a fresh page, pencil poised. “Don’t move,” I murmur, my eyes drinking in every line of his body.
“Thatcher.” His voice is rough as his hand drifts toward his thick, hard cock.
“Don’t touch yourself. Just…let me see you.”
He lets out a breath. “Fuck, Thatcher. This is going to be hell.”
“God, you’re beautiful,” I breathe, my pencil beginning to move across the paper. “Look at the line of your throat… The way the light catches your collarbone.” Each stroke of graphite feels like I’m touching his skin directly. “My pencil knows every curve of you now.”
Pierce’s breathing grows heavier as I continue. The air around us feels thick with unspoken desire. My cock is painfully hard, but I ignore it.
“The shadow under your jaw,” I murmur, pencil dancing across the page. “I’m tracing it now, following the path my tongue took last night.” His hips shift slightly, and I smile. “The hollow of your throat where I can see your pulse racing.”
“Thatcher,” he breathes.
My pencil moves lower on the page as my eyes map his chest. “These lines here,” I say, sketching the definition of his pectorals. “I’m drawing them so carefully, like I’m running my fingers across your skin. Can you feel it? The way my pencil moves across the paper is the way I want to touch you.”
Pierce’s knuckles are white where he grips the sheets, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach.
He moans, moving his hips, seeking friction where there is none. I know what he wants. I want it too.
“Your stomach,” I continue, my voice dropping to a whisper. “The muscles that tense when I touch you. I’m capturing every ridge, every shadow. My pencil is learning your body the way my hands already have.”
I look up to find his eyes locked on me, pupils blown wide with arousal.
