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About an hour later, I’m getting tired of standing, so I attempt to lower myself into a sitting position.
“No.” He shakes his head, even though he hasn’t looked at me once since he started. “Don’t ruin it.”
“I’m tired,” I sign, but he’s still not looking at me. So I snap my fingers.
Nothing.
“Let’s take a break. Do you have anything to drink?” I ask, but his mind seems to be busy focusing on his fingers and the unmoving object in front of him.
“I’m going to rest for a while.” I start to sit down, but he stands up abruptly, making me stop dead in my tracks.
He’s looking at me now, but I wish he wasn’t. His dark blues are no different than a stormy ocean that’s about to swallow me in its depths. “I said don’t ruin it, didn’t I?”
“You’re not the one standing. It’s tiring and boring,” I sign with less bravado than usual.
“Come here.”
“Why?” I sign cautiously.
“You said you’re tired, so we’ll fix it.”
I remain rooted in place. I’d rather stay standing for another hour than get close to him.
“Don’t make me come get you, Mia.”
It’s the first time he’s said my name, and it sounds like a deep growl.
Slowly, I make my way to him, assuring myself I’ll claw his eyes out if he hurts me. I can also break his dick for humanity’s sake.
Once I’m next to the statue, Landon pulls me toward him so suddenly, I gasp.
The sound echoes around us as he pulls me down so I’m straddling with my back to his chest. I squirm when I feel the hard muscle beneath me. I’ve never made a habit of being this close to the opposite sex.
My previous encounters left something to be desired and the unshakable feeling that they were boys.
Landon, however, is all man. It’s not about the age, it’s the edge with which he carries himself. It’s the unapologetic way he touches me as if it’s his birthright.
“Don’t move,” he whispers in my ear, drawing goosebumps on my skin. “Don’t blame me for what happens if you do.”
His arm snakes around my waist and his palm cups the statue’s breast, fingers stroking the nipple.
I shudder, then curse myself. “Why do you keep doing that?”
“Shh, not a word.” He winks. “Unless you want to let me hear your voice?”
I give him the middle finger.
“That’s the last time you flip me off. Do it again and I will take matters into my own hands. Literally.”
He lights a cigarette and blows the smoke in my face like an asshole.
Soon after, his attention falls on the motionless statue. I’d feel sorry for her if she were a real person, but it’s better if he focuses on his art rather than me.
But with the damned position, I’m forced to breathe him in, the scent of man and intoxicating cologne. This close, I can’t help noticing just how well-built his face and physique are. Arguably as perfect as his beloved statues.
Too bad he’s as cold as them, too.
About twenty minutes later, I start fidgeting. It’s impossible to stay too long in one position. Unless I’m playing chess, and that’s definitely not the case right now.
