“I didn’t mean that when I said it,” I stammer. Truth be told, I only said it because I didn’t think she’d take me up on it.
“A deal’s a deal,” Jules says primly. “You’ve been clear that you expect that kind of integrity from me. Now, I’m just holding you to your own standard.”
I’m exasperated because she’s right that doing what you say is integrity. And I’m also feeling some kind of way about my unruly cock not staying down. I’m not the kind of guy to be ruled by my cock, but it’s making me think things I shouldn’t.
“Fine,” I say tightly. “Just let me know when and where.”
“Here and now,” she says briskly while gathering up her sketch book and pencils.
I feel like I’ve been outmaneuvered. I bring one hand down to press him to the side in my jeans, hoping that makes it less obvious that I’ve got a huge hard-on. As we make our way to the steps, every club girl in the room notices my predicament because, of course, they fuckin’ do.
Once we’re in our small room, I look around for a place to sit for this impromptu modeling session. Holy fuck, whoever thought I’d end up nude modeling for an actual artist. I’m not ugly, but I’m not modeling material either. I guess it doesn’t matter unless her sketch ends up in a gallery somewhere. I should probably offer to buy it myself.
There’s no easy chair or furniture other than the bed, desk, and chair. This is what I get for living such a damn clutter-free existence. Now Jules has me right where she wants me, naked in bed. My cock twitches at that idea. I reach down and give it a good, hard slap to teach it to behave.
Jules makes a strangled noise from the desk, where she is setting up her sketch pad and laying her pencils out. “Are you okay?” she asks in a serious tone.
I turn to find her staring at me like I’m some fuckin’ feral dick-slapping creature with no self-control, which I am at the moment.
I clear my throat as I take off my cut and lay it on the end of the bed. “I’m fine. Do you want me to stand or what?”
Jules shakes her head, frowning. “I want you on the bed, of course. I’m doing a portrait, not an anatomy sketch.”
Like I know the difference. I take off my shirt, sit on the edge of the bed, and slide off my boots and socks. Hesitating before I go for my zipper, I ask, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“If you’re shy, I can take my clothes off as well. You know, to make you feel more comfortable,” she deadpans back.
“Absolutely not, one of us being naked is more than enough.”
When she laughs, I curse under my breath. “You’re enjoying every fuckin’ second of this, aren’t you?” I tell her grumpily.
“I knew you were going to say no to that idea. I’m far too irresistible for you to agree to something like that.”
I kick my jeans off and climb into the bed in my boxer briefs. “You fuckin’ well are too irresistible. That’s no lie. But we’re not having hot sex.”
Her head snaps up. “I never said we were. Where did that come from?”
“Sorry, I’m just jumpy.”
Setting her sketch pad aside, she sits quietly for a few minutes. “We don’t have to do this if it’s going to freak you out. I thought that since you made the deal, you were okay with it.”
“I am okay with it. I don’t mind you sketching me. It’s just skin and bones. Draw it all you like.”
Her eyes lower to her sketch pad again, and she picks up a pencil. She murmurs so quietly that I almost can’t understand what she’s saying. “Sketching is never just skin and bones, Flint. You should know that from looking through my other sketches. It’s about capturing the details, the emotions, and the essence of the subject.”
I relax back against the wall and make myself comfortable. She doesn’t ask me to remove my underwear, and I’m vaguely disappointed by that. Maybe she didn’t want to see my junk after all. If it were anyone other than Jules, I’d think this was some kind of humiliation ritual.
Chapter 14
Jules
I’m still bent over the desk forty minutes later, making the best of the opportunity of a lifetime. Having Flint mostly naked for me to sketch is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I let my charcoal flow over the page, marking out the long lines of his torso and arms. I zero in on his chest and biceps first, thickening up the muscles before I grab a fine-point pencil to rough in his intricate tattoos. This man’s body is a work of art and deserves to be properly represented in this sketch.
He’s been quiet but can’t seem to sit still to save his life. He keeps shifting on the bed, rubbing his hands down the front of his thighs and recrossing his ankles. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he runs one hand through his hair.
The lighting is amazing, thanks to that rewiring job he mentioned. The lamp casts a hard shadow along the line of his chiseled jawline. Glancing up at him is enough to make me want to begin on his face. The shadow falls down the hollow of his throat, and the shadow drops into the dip at the base of his neck where his collarbones meet, and that is the part I am drawing right now. I don’t, though, because I want to capture the part of him that I don’t get the opportunity to see every day. I mean to capture every single one of those tattoos. He put them on his body for a reason, and if I want to truly understand what makes him tick, his ink might give me the clues I need.
His eyes drop down to watch my hands, which have left the sweeping movements behind in favor of small lines andcurves along his chest and shoulders. Suddenly, he bolts forward as if he’s made of barely restrained energy.
