"Thanks for your approval."
"I was trying to figure out who you were naked, the T-shirt or the suit. I'm leaning toward suit."
"You're crazy."
Lawson's mouth presses against mine, parting my lips in a kiss. The kiss breaks, leaving our gazes locked. His dark eyes are enticing. I trace my finger along his brow, watching how his iris changes under my touch.
"Can I draw you?"
"What, now?"
"Yeah, now."
"Above or below the waist?"
I laugh. "Above the neck, perv."
"I thought you artists like painting nude body parts."
"Not really. I've had my fill of nude models, I prefer faces. But if you want to keep your clothes off while I draw, I'd be totally okay with that."
"As long as you leave yours off."
"Deal."
Invigorated, I spring off his lap and tug his hand to get him to stand.
"I can't believe I'm letting you do this."
My face falls. "We don't have to if you don't want to."
Lawson smooths my hair. "I want to, I only meant it isn't something I expected to be doing today."
My face beams. I'm so excited to draw him. Exploring someone with my pencil reveals them to me.
"Where're your pencils and paper?"
"In my office."
Lawson leads me down the hall and into his office. The room is huge, almost as big as his living room, with a massive corner desk and a leather sofa and chairs set. One wall is lined with three massive windows, making the room bright and ideal for my needs.
"Wow, this is impressive," I say.
"The paper and stuff is here," he says, opening a drawer.
"Sit there," I demand, pulling out his desk chair. He sits, and I wheel it across the room to position it where I want the light to be. It falls on his face, illuminating him beautifully, and my breath catches. His face and body seem straight out of a magazine, and I struggle to understand how someone like him is interested in me.
I perch on the edge of his desk, propping my foot on his trash can. Resting the pad of paper on my leg, I begin tracing the shape of his eyes in the center of the page.
As my pencil makes the first marks, I realize I haven't drawn or painted anything since yesterday afternoon. More than that, I haven't even thought about it. Which is huge, because I've spent every waking hour since I was a teenager obsessing over my current project and dreaming up my next one.
Nothing and no one has ever taken my mind off it before. Weirder still, the realization didn't make me want to get up and run home to my studio. I'm exactly where I want to be right now.
He's still while I work, and before long I'm happy with his eyes and move onto his nose. Each stroke allows me to examine him more deeply. His deep eyes, inviting lips and strong jaw. Occasionally, I reach out to touch him, sometimes to get a better sense of him, and sometimes to make sure he's real.
There's a certain vulnerability in him, that only rarely peeks out through his outer shell. I know what it is, of course, but I wonder how many others do. The charity is no secret, but I wonder how many people who don't need the charity even know it exists.
Most of the time, his eyes are sparked with confidence. Even the line of his mouth as he rests is a display of confidence.
As I'm smudging the pencil to create the sheen of his lips, he speaks, breaking the silence for the first time. "How long have you been doing this?"
"Since before I could walk."
"And you never get bored of it?"
"Never. If anything, the more I do, the more I need to do."
"So you're an addict."
"I hadn't thought about that before, but maybe. I think it's more a driving need to create and get all my ideas out there."
"And to change the world."
I smile. "That too, if I can get my ideas out, then maybe I can influence someone."
"What is it you're creating now that'll change the world?"
"I'm exposing some rich fucker for what he is."
Lawson's eyebrow raises. "What is he?"
I chew my bottom lip a moment before saying, "Someone I really want to kiss."
Rejected
(Lawson)
I can't believe she's sitting on my desk naked like that. Most women wouldn't have the confidence to hang out in the nude. Skye's got confidence in everything, except her talent.
Normally, I'd have been out of my chair, bent her over the desk and be balls deep in any woman who sat like that. But I'm completely content just to watch her, although it helps that we've been at it all night and morning.
I love the way her brow moves and knits as she concentrates on her drawing.
From my angle, I can't see what she's drawing and I'm curious to know what it looks like. Somehow I find the patience to wait. Right now, I'm happy to make her happy.
"Ta-da," she says, flipping the paper around for me to see.
"Wow, you did that in twenty minutes?"
"Obviously, you just watched me do it."
"It's amazing." It really is, it looks eerily like me and seems like something that should've taken hours to do.
Skye purses her lips, fighting back a smile. She should allow herself to be proud of herself.
"Thanks."
"Do I get to keep it?"
She hesitates, "Sure, if you want it."
I stand, take the paper from her and tack it to my white board. It might be strange to have a picture of myself on display, but it reminds me of her.
"Do you ever do self portraits?"
"Ew, God no."
"Can you do one for me?"
"Seriously?"
"I'll hold the mirror."
"If you really want one, I'll do you one."
"Can it be below the waist?"
She rolls her eyes and says, "Don't push your luck."
"Come with me, I think I know a good place."
I hook my arm around her shoulders and lead Skye to yet another room in my house. This is one of the smallest rooms in the house, so one whole wall is mirrored to make it seem bigger. Which, to me, defeats the whole purpose of having a small room. I have a shitload of big and even bigger rooms, I wanted a small one.
"There are certainly enough mirrors in here."
A black lacquered chest blocks most of the floor space in front of the mirrored wall. I shift it out of the way, exposing the complete height of the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
"How's that? Do you want a chair?"
"I'm good," she says, sitting cross legged on the floor.
My eyes are drawn to the pink spot between her legs. It's like she's completely forgotten that she's naked. My dick twitches, seeing her exposed like that. I clear my throat and move to the window, staring out it intently until it's passed.
When I turn back, I'm relieved to see she's laid the paper across her lap, blocking my view.
I flop onto the armchair and watch her. This was intended to be a quiet room, where I could go to think or reflect or read or whatever the fuck the designer had in mind.
Skye moves with the same level of focus that she had when she drew me. Her body leans to the mirror while she studies herself, then straightens again while she transfers her findings to the paper.
From my vantage point, this time I'm able to watch the creation as it takes place. The way it develops from a blank page to a virtual photograph is mind-blowing. She has more talent in the tip of her finger than most people have in their entire bodies.
Though I suspect a lot of that talent was honed with years and years of hard work and dedication. I have nothing but admiration for Skye.
"Okay, here you go," she says, passing me the finished paper.
I trace the pencil line of her cheek.
"It's good, but missing something."
"Huh?" Skye grabs the paper out of my hands.
"It's missing your spark. Can't you see it in yourself?"
"Whatever, you're just mad I didn't draw my boobs," she says with a quick smile.
"You're probably right."
"Never argue with the artist."
"I'm starving, come and get lunch."
"What time is it?"
"Maybe two, two-thirty?" Damn, time goes fast with her.
"Should we get dressed?"
"If you want, but I'm enjoying having you naked."
Skye shrugs and smiles. "As long as you're happy to eat like that too. I thought it would make you lose your appetite."
"Fuck no, it makes me hungrier."
"For food?"
I smirk and say, "There's a million ways to answer that, but I'm going to keep my mouth shut."
"That's not very suit of you."
"You said no sarcasm."
We make sandwiches, and sit to eat them at my kitchen island.
"Does your family ever come from Michigan to visit?" Skye's arms flop to the counter, causing the sandwich to drop onto her plate.
"I'm an only child of only children, I don't have much family."
"And your parents?"
"We don't speak anymore." She shifts her eyes to the floor.
Oh, right. I move to her side, brushing her arm with my hand. Tears fill the corners of her eyes, and I clear them away with my forefingers. The tenderness of my action surprises even me.
"Sorry. I haven't talked to anyone in person about it before, not even with Ava."
"No one?"
"I Skyped and emailed my college roommate Amy a lot when I was first thinking about moving out here, but life moved on and now our discussions are on the other things going on in our lives, not the old news of my estranged parents."
"Is that, I mean, was that … " How do I phrase that question? I want to shout ‘what happened?'