I’m about halfway through when I hear the chime of the elevator outside. Only a few seconds later, the door opens and there’s Christian in all his glory.
He’s wearing the suit he was wearing at class, but he has a briefcase with him that he didn’t have before. Ohhhh. He had to go get his art supplies before he could meet me here. How will he draw me? I wonder. It’s been a long time since Christian and I talked about his art, and I’m not sure what medium he prefers now. Will he draw me in pencil the same way I’m drawing him? Or will he opt for something a little messier? Maybe charcoal or pastel. Maybe he’ll smudge me, making the lines blurry and erotic.
“I wasn’t sure you’d actually do it,” he says, looking me up and down. His eyes haven’t lost any of the fire he had when he left the art studio.
“I wasn’t quite sure either,” I say. “But here I am. I never asked how you got this amazing apartment. It must cost a fortune.”
He takes off his suit jacket, draping it across the couch and puts his briefcase on the coffee table. “It didn’t cost anything. It’s a display apartment, and my company owns the building.”
“Oh. Well that’s nice.”
“Certainly convenient.” He sits next to me, and I shiver as he leans over me, and slowly takes the book from my hand. I feel the heat of his want and my own matches his. “I’m amazed we didn’t do this before,” he says.
“Draw each other?”
He nods, but he’s preoccupied with tracing the line of my collarbone with his finger that is leaving goosebumps on my skin.
“I wasn’t doing much art then.”
“You were,” he says, calling my bluff, “just under the radar.” He pulls me to my feet and into the center of the room. “Here.” He places me, and begins to pose me. One knee slightly bent, body angled slightly away from where he’ll be drawing. My face he turns towards him, and then he arranges my arms. One crossing my body, only partially hiding my breasts, and the other reaching out towards the viewer. I can see the pose in my mind, it’s a good one, the illusion of shyness and wantonness at once.
“I don’t think I can hold this for three hours,” I say.
Christian smirks, glancing down, and I notice the bulge in his pants. “Don’t worry,” he says, “neither can I.”
He retreats to the couch and opens his briefcase, and sets up a station with quick efficiency. Pencils, paper, smudger. His pencils are not like mine. Some of his are the square kind, pure graphite sticks that can be good if you want really precise lines or a unique angle. No easel. He just holds the paper and begins to sketch.
The silence is loud and full of our thoughts. I watch as his gaze travels my body, catching and stopping here and there as his hand moves, catching the outline of my body. Already I understand. The way he’s studying me, I feel more metaphorically naked than literally. He’s studying every part of me, every curve and crevice and flaw, and he’s doing it with dispassionate ease. It’s at once intimate and separating, thrilling and dehumanizing, unsettling and arousing.
Suddenly his eyes flick up to mine, and I have to catch my breath. That ghost of a smile appears before his eyes flick to the rest of my face, and I blush. I blush with my whole body, and I find myself clenching my legs because my pussy is wet with need. Christian’s eyes drop to my breasts, and God, it’s like he’s touching me. “It really is a shame that I’ve never drawn you before, Audrey.”
My mouth is dry. “Why’s that?”
“Because it lets me look at you. I like looking at you.” He takes a breath, eyes traveling across my skin. “The curves of your hips are fucking sexy.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I like—”
“Audrey,” he cuts me off, “I didn’t say it intending for it to become a compliment battle.”
I blink, reminding myself not to move even though I’m surprised. “How did you know?”
“Because I know you. You take compliments and reflect them back. But you don’t have to because I’m going to keep doing it and I want you to just absorb it.”
For a second, I’m ready to protest, and then I stop. He’s right. I do nearly always compliment someone back, and I bite my lip to keep my mouth closed.
Christian smiles, full and bright, because he knows he won. God his smile could power the whole city with its energy. “I like that you’re made up of curves. The way your neck blends into your shoulder and your ribs into your hips. And your tits,” he stops and stares at them, and I feel myself get wetter. “Your tits make me hard. I love to look at you and think of all the things I’d like to do to you. With you.”