Overlooked(2)(14)

I kiss her cheek, put my lips to her ear and say, “I kind of liked it when you called me sir.”

“Oh did you now, sir?” The sound sends a shudder to my core.

“That’s exactly it.”

“Sir, do I get to know your real name now?”

“Only if you promise to call me sir once in a while.”

She looks at me, biting her bottom lip in mock deliberation. “Deal.”

“It’s Lawson.”

“Lawson, huh? I like the sound of that.”

“Great, I’m glad my name meets with your approval.”

Skye breaks down into a fit of laughter, she’s certainly high on the news of selling her paintings. I swear being held in my arms is the only thing stopping her from crumpling to the ground.

“Okay, Lawson, when do I get my burger?”

I open my mouth to say now. To say that I’d take her back to my house for a full celebration. But I stop. For the first time in my life, I’m worried she’ll reject me. No woman has ever rejected me before. But knowing her crazy anti-rich schtick, there’s a possibility she’ll reject me when she finds out about my money.

I have to make sure I’ve won her over before she learns the truth.

“How about Friday?”

“Sounds perfect, it’s a date.”

Skye stretches up on her toes and pecks my lips. It’s all the encouragement I need. I squeeze her tight and plant my mouth on hers. She responds with vigor and I make no effort to keep my raging hard dick a secret from her. I want her to know what she does to me.

The feel of her in my arms, the taste of her in my mouth, is almost too much. I want to throw her in my car and take her home and play with her for the rest of the week.

“Skye, are you coming?” a woman shouts.

“I’ve got to go. That’s Ava, my ride,” Skye says.

Reluctantly, I release her. Not wanting her to see my expensive car, I walk in the opposite direction until she’s gone.





Rich Bastard

(Skye)



“Who was that?” Ava asks as soon as I’m in her car.

“Someone I met at the restaurant.”

“Have you been seeing him long?” Ava’s making me feel like I’ve been transported back to my parents’ house during high school. Or at least how I imaging my parents would’ve been, had I dated.

“We’re going on our first date on Friday,” I say, shifting in my seat.

“Oh, you looked pretty comfortable with him for someone you haven’t even been on a date with yet.”

There’s no way I’m entering into this type of parent-child discussion with Ava. We ride in silence for the remainder of the way home.

The whole time, I’m buzzing. I’ve been commissioned for a huge job with Kelso, I’ve sold out of my paintings at Gordon’s gallery, and I’m going on a date with Lawson. I don’t know which of those three things excites me the most.

“I have to get some ideas down on paper while they’re fresh in my head,” I say when we arrive, leaving Ava in the living room.

On my way to my bedroom, I stop in my studio and grab my laptop. The lingering feel of Lawson’s arms around me has inspired me to come up with the plan for Kelso’s hideous bedroom erotica painting. While I’m in the right frame of mind, so to speak.

Friday. That’s three sleeps. Three sleeps until the day I might finally give away my virginity. For him, for Lawson, I’ll do it. Assuming, of course, that he wants to. And judging by the bulge digging into my side tonight, he wants to.

Stop it, I scold myself. I feel like such a child right now. Not the proper honest-to-goodness adult I’m finally about to be.

I grab my sketchbook and pencil set and open my laptop. After a deep breath, I hop off my bed and barricade my door with a laundry hamper. It won’t stop Ava, but it will slow her enough for me to hide what I’m about to do.

If Kelso wants a realistic spread eagle, I have to find out what one looks like. It’s not an image I think I can stomach under normal circumstances. But right now I feel like I’m drunk on Lawson and selling my art. Put those two things together, Lawson and art, and you get one frisky Skye who can handle a bit of full frontal.

The search bring up pages and pages of results. Of course. There are all sorts, from amateur to professional to just plain nasty. I pick one that seems artistic-ish: a woman propped up on her elbows with her knees bent. At least I can get some height on the canvas.

While I sketch, I wonder what Lawson will think of me. Or if I’m being too presumptuous. Just because he kissed me, with a big erection digging into me, doesn’t mean I should assume where the evening will head.

Maybe he’ll be freaked out and turned off by the stupid artist who’s clearly desperate to finally have sex. I need to manage my expectations.