“Besides my mother… no,” he muttered.
For a minute or so, he meticulously organized a few more details: the curve of the blanket, the spread of the petals. Then he walked over to his wall of canvases and supplies.
I took in the way he clenched his muscles when he was confused, the way he furrowed his eyebrows as he thought about which shades would complement one another, and the way his shoulders relaxed slightly when he was able to visualize his next move.
He made eye contact with me in the mirror by the corner for a short while, and I blushed profusely as he approached his easel to begin shortly thereafter. I was confused as to how I was able to feel at ease and exposed to him at the same time.
Being in his studio made me feel a lot of things, actually. Under the nervousness and guilt of being here, I almost felt alive in a sense, like I hadn’t quite been living to my full potential with Gavin at home or when I stressed about bills, loans and expenses for my galleries.
You shouldn‘t be thinking like this,I mentally reprimanded myself.
“You shouldn’t think so much about this,” Beckham said, practically reading my thoughts as his footsteps approached me. “Your nervousness and hesitancy are too prominent in your posture. I want you to feel relaxed for this painting.”
I sat up a bit more as I looked over my shoulder to see him crouching down at eye level. I felt utterly vulnerable with a slight mix of desire as he ran his eyes along my covered figure.
“Well... forgive me for being a bit apprehensive about being here essentially against my will.”
He hummed, his eyes growing a bit darker as he tilted his head. I wanted to look away from his heated gaze but I felt utterly stuck gazing into his eyes.
“Are we going to talk about the other night?” he asked.
“…I don’t particularly recall us needing to discuss anything about it.”
“Oh.You don‘t want to talk about how good you felt on my tongue while your husband was waiting for you at your table?Or maybe you want to talk about how the rest of the night, you weresolelyreminded of me…? I’m sure your lack of panties was definitely a reminder.”
“Beckham,” I warned, ignoring all of his attempts to get me to admit the sinful night we engaged in. “Finish the painting and let me go home.”
In response, he simply stood and walked back over to his station. I softly let out the small breath I’d been holding, getting back into the position from before.
For the next hour, he didn’t say anything, and neither did I. Eventually, he was done, and I stood, wrapping the blanket around me and slowly going over to see his work.
If it wasn’t absolutely perfect, then I didn’t know what it was. It was stunning. Every single detail, as always, was drawn perfectly, and although he would be going in to finish it up later, what he had so far was nothing short of perfection.
He handed me his phone, and I looked down to see he’d captured a few photos of me once again.
“Delete them if you want to,” he muttered.
I stared at the trash icon, my mind contemplating whether or not I wanted to delete the photos he had of me.It wouldn‘t make a difference. What does one photo say when his painting of me and my presence in his home has already said quite enough?
Wordlessly, I handed the phone back before I turned to grab my clothes.
“You’re lying to yourself.”
I froze as I looked over to him. “About what in particular, might I ask?”
“About not sensing what’s going on between us. You want to be here just as much as I want you here.”
“Excuse me, Beckham, I didn’t choose to be blackmailed and manipulated.”
He scoffed as he tilted his head. “Like that’s what I did.”
“That is exactly what you are doing, yes. I’m going to assume that you’ve never been told no in your entire life since I keep telling you that we can’t keep doing these kinds of things, but you won’t listen.”
“I could’ve listened to you that night, but then you wouldn’t have cum on my tongue.”
“Go to hell,” I seethed as I went to walk to his bathroom to get dressed; however, I felt resistance. Looking over, I noticed his hand on the fabric of the blanket by my hip. It was clenched in his fist as he looked down at me dangerously, almost as if he was aroused and displeased with my defiance at the same time.
He pulled me closer by the blanket abruptly, and I gasped as I tightened it around my chest. In one swift motion, if he really wanted to, he could rip it from my grasp and leave me bare to him. The thought alone left goosebumps on my skin.
