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I giggle loudly, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Sem moving away from the grill where his brother and dad are barbequing. A frown mars his face as he watches me laugh with Whit.
“Seems someone is jealous,” Whit says and then raises an eyebrow at Sem, who stares at the two of us.
“He has literally nothing to worry about.”
“Does he know that?”
“I don’t know how many more times I need to tell him.”
“Seems you need to go reassure him. This is still new to him,” Whit tells me and then nods to where Sem’s standing.
Part of me wants Sem to come to me, but I push myself up and walk toward him. His eyes watch me approach, and when I’m able to reach out and touch him, I slide my hands up under his shirt and push myself up against him.
I crane my neck up and glance at Sem, who’s watching me warily.
“You have nothing to worry about,” I say softly, his mother’s words echoing in my mind.
Sem’s gaze flits over behind me to where Whit lounges, and then his eyes flash back to meet mine.
“Seriously, Sem. Stop it.” I nip at his chest, and he threads a hand through my hair. Then I’m in his arms, and his mouth is on mine, and before I can protest, he’s walking us back to his RV.
He pushes open the door and I cling to him as he makes his way inside.
“What’s going on, Sem?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“I want to show you something,” he says gruffly as he locks the door and deposits me on the RV table. My legs dangle above the floor, and I lean back as he disappears into the bedroom. He comes back minutes later with a stack of papers cradled in his hands.
His cheeks are red, and he shoves them at me. “Here.”
“What’s this?” I ask, my heart thundering. Because Iknowwhat they are.
Holy shit.
My eyes take in the first image staring up at me, and Sem swallows when I see my face staring back at me. It’s drawn in such detail that I can even make out the smattering of freckles I have across the bridge of my nose.
“Sem,” I breathe, my heart thundering in my chest. I turn to the next picture and see one of just my eyes and the bridge of my nose. The next is of me the night of the frat party weeks ago, my hands splayed across my chest, my shirt riding up my stomach, my shorts slung low on my narrow hips.
The next of me bent over for him the first time he entered me from behind.
He’s captured me perfectly. In all these intricate and delicate drawings, I look beautiful.
Is this what he sees?
“Are they all of me?” I ask, moving through the rest, my heart expanding in my chest. There has to be at least fifty pages of sketches here, maybe more.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, shifting nervously on his feet in front of me.
“Can I keep them?” I ask, meeting his blue gaze. Something swims in those depths that I can’t read.
“Nah. I’m not ready to part with them yet.”
My eyes are wet and my throat stings as I glance at another picture of me laughing, my head thrown back, my eyes shut in pure bliss.
“Why did you show them to me?”
“I want you to know….”
“Know what?”
