She’d scripted sexual encounters with Max down to the last exhalation, but being with him was unlike anything she could have predicted. She’d never seen a man so feral with lust. Her last lover had screwed with a slack-mouthed expression, kind of enthusiastic and vacant at the same time. Max lookedwild,like he’d die if he didn’t get enough pussy. Their screwing had been more than just a mechanical act of satisfaction. It had been primal. In that small cocoon of torchlight, her body told Max things she’d never told anyone; this is who I am, this is what I like. When she’d wanted to take control she’d felt safe enough to ask and when she wanted to be overwhelmed Max had ravished her like she was a blushing woodland virgin and he was the big bad wolf. She’d never had sex like that, completely egalitarian yet utterlyfilthy. The things he’d done to her, it made her cheeks burn just to think about it. But more than that, he’d made her feel so fucking…safe. Safe and special and vulnerable in a way she shouldn’t be.
Max’s arm tightened around her chest, his wedding ring pressing into her boob. Julia winced. What the hell were they doing? Twelve hours ago they didn’t say hello in the hallway and now they werespooning. How was that a good idea? For a guy who made her feel safe, Max was downright dangerous. Julia sighed, wishing she could let something be good for more than five minutes. Her sleepy, satisfied state well and truly destroyed, she disentangled herself from Max and went into the drugs room to perform her morning abolitions. She re-donned her jeans and top, forgoing the bra because quite frankly she couldn’t be bothered and examined her face in a rusty old toaster. Considering how much she’d drunk and how little she’d slept last night she was doing relatively well. She finger-combed her hair, applied concealer and smoothed Vaseline on her eyelid and brows, an old Ash trick for glamming up after one-night stands.Nice. Very confined chic.
Her stomach cramped, angrily demanding sustenance. It had been twelve hours since she’d eaten, something she hadn’t felt since her “Mum’s so shitfaced, she forgot to feed us” days. Still, there was nothing to be done except swish a little water around her mouth and suck on one of the mints she had in her bag. She wasn’t hungover at least, which was surprising. Maybe Max’s penis had magical healing qualities. It certainly felt like it. She looked over at her evidence-room lover. He was still dead to the world.
Slightly relieved, Julia sat at a tiny wooden table, shoving aside baggies of bullets, and pulled her sketchpad out of her bag.
She might be trapped in her workplace but Tiff would kill her for taking a weekend off. Despite the unlikelihood of anyone buying the game, Tiff was insisting on a fully prepped design document which they’d shop around to any and all interested parties. Tiff was handling the coding and the website which left Julia, the artier of the two, to do the sketches. So many sketches she was occasionally scared her wrists were going to snap in half. Tiff had insisted on multiple character drawings, landscapes, and depictions of the more climatic scenes one by one. The way things were turning out, they’d have a flipbook of the game before they had any animation.
Julia rolled her mint around her tongue and turned to her latest drawing. Eli, Claire’s kidnapped soldier boyfriend, had been chained to a cross and left in the sun to die. The scene was the game’s climax so Julia was a little tetchy about screwing it up. She sucked the mint, which was now the size of a molecule, and let her mind unhinge.
Love, love, love…Frustration, lust, joy. If I was an imprisoned man with a boner for justice and my vigilante girlfriend risked her life to free me what would I look like?
An image drifted to mind and Julia picked up her 2B pencil.
Forty minutes later, she put it down again and inspected her work.
“Jesus Christ. What have I done?”
The junk that surrounded her didn’t answer, which was just as well because she couldn’t have handled the stress.
The scene called for Eli to be bound to a wooden pillar which he was, his arms chained scarecrow-style at shoulder height. He was shirtless, his broad shoulders straining against rusted manacles. He looked raw and desperate, his brows drawn together in fury. Without ego, Julia could say it was the best thing she’d ever drawn. She was a decent technical illustrator but she wasn’t an artist. A sketch with this much animation was rare for her, an act of pure serendipity. It was also an exact rendition of Max biting back the filthy things he wanted to say to her in bed. Forget homage, this was straight up identity theft. She’d given Eli a tattoo, for God’s sake. Max’s tattoo. There was no plausibly denying that.
Julia exhaled, panic rising in her chest. The more she and Max hung out, the more likely it was that he would discover his own non-consenting role in Scarlet Woman’s production process and what would she do then?
Maybe he’ll think it’s cute?
Or maybe he’ll think I should be locked in another room. One with pillows for walls.
She looked down at the drawing and Max’s black eyes stared back at her accusingly.
She should tear it up. Tear it up and tell Tiff that they needed to make Eli thin and blond.
“She’d never let me do that,” Julia whispered. “We’ve spent everything we have making it the way it is.”
She stared at the drawing again. It was just so fuckinggood. Maybe Max’s cock bestowed super healingandartistic prowess upon its rider.
Julia took a deep breath and tried to think logically. What if, when Max woke up she explained everything to him in a calm, rational tone? She closed her eyes and rehearsed what she would say.
“Hey, Max, awesome sex last night. BTW I designed a character after you in my video game. Yes, I know we only started talking yesterday but I have a crush on you, one that spans several years and at least eighty drawings. Isn’t that flattering? Oh, what’s that? You’re suing me? And you think I should be on prescription medication?”
Julia slumped forward, resting her chin on the table. “I am so very screwed.”
At that moment, she heard Max clamber to his feet behind her and almost threw her sketchbook across the room.He’s awake! He’s going to see!
Thankfully she maintained her cool long enough to rifle through the pages, find a half completed diagram of a military bunker and open it on the table.
Bare feet slapped against concrete as Max approached. Julia picked up her pencil and assumed a look of trite concentration. “Max, is that you?”
“Hey, Jules.” His mouth was swollen, his thick black hair all mussed up. “How’d you sleep?”
She was wrong about her drawing. It hadn’t done him justice. Not even a little bit.
“I’mokay,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level. “What about you? How are you feeling?”
He ran a hand through his already battered hair. “I’ve been better.”
“Well, you look good. I especially like the sex-hair.”