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Jackson’s profile was attractive, but distinctive. His eyebrows were thick, his eyes were weary and his nose was off-center, like it had been broken. He would be a great subject for an artist — even one as out of practice as I was.
Plus… he looked damn sexy in his t-shirt and jeans.
I wasn’t expecting the look of surprise that crossed his face when I asked, “Can I draw you?”
19
JACKSON
“Can I draw you?”
Emma’s request shocked me, even though I probably shouldn’t have been surprised. I was in the habit of copying pictures from books, but if she preferred to draw from life… it made sense that she would ask me.
“Draw… me?” I asked, to make sure I’d heard her properly.
Emma nodded. She had a wicked glint in her eye, and I wondered if she wanted to draw me naked.
I’d done life drawing sessions at art school where a model had posed in the buff at the front of the room, and we’d drawn them in one, two, five, ten and thirty-minute increments. But they were professional models, paid by the art college, and they had the security of having twenty students and a teacher with them. If someone did something inappropriate, the rest of the class would call them out on it.
Besides that, I’d promised Xavier that I wouldn’t put Emma in any compromising situations. He was very specific… we were here to protect her, and under no circumstances were we to do anything that might make her feel uncomfortable.
I’d seen the video footage of Emma and Adrian in the gym — in fact, I was the one who’d discovered it, while I was flicking through the security tapes between jobs — and while I hadn’t explicitly asked Adrian about it, I knew that things had been tense between him and Emma ever since.
That kind of tension was impossible to ignore, especially when they lived in the same apartment and barely spoke.
But Emma’s question was more innocent than I first thought.
“Stay right as you are now,” she said, and positioned herself cross-legged on the floor in front of me. “If you can hold that pose.”
Most of my weight was on my left arm, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be comfortable for more than a few minutes, but Emma looked so excited that I agreed.
“Okay,” I said, and watched her as she made quick scratches with the charcoal stick, her eyes flicking between me and the page.
“I’m not promising museum-quality art,” she said. “But I’ll do my best.”
She rested the sketchpad on her knee and since I was above her, I could see her work. Her first few lines were shaky, and she rubbed them out, blew the tiny bits of rubber off the paper, and brushed the remaining ones off with the side of her hand. She restarted her work, outlining my head with a rough circle, then my torso, then adding ovals to stand in for my arms and legs.
She added lines to join the circles together, adding detail, biting her lip as she used the eraser.
Her gaze was intense, and I felt my cock harden. I was hoping that from her vantage point, she couldn’t see it — but there was every chance she could. I wanted to readjust my position, but I knew it would mess with her concentration, so I stayed still.
I tried not to glance at her sketch once she started drawing my face — I’d looked up at one of the framed paintings, trying to take my mind off what was going on in my pants, and when I turned my head to look at what she was doing, she said, “Stop!”.
“Your nose is perfect at that angle,” she went on to explain, and I stared at the picture, trying not to blink. It was my least-favorite one in the apartment, something Xavier had picked up at an antique store: a framed oil painting of a boat moored next to a wharf. But I kept watching it, knowing that moving my head at the wrong moment would ruin her picture.
Still, in the corner of my eye, I saw that her page became darker as she kept working.
As she reached over to the drawer to grab a scalpel to sharpen the charcoal, I sneaked a peek. Her portrait was good. Not professional-level — not yet — but it had potential. She had talent and if she developed it, and practiced frequently, she’d be better than many tattoo artists I’d known were.
She’d finished drawing my face, and now she’d moved down to my torso. And I knew that after she’d finished that, it would only be a matter of time before she drew my lower body.
Including the folds of the denim around my crotch.
Electricity jolted through my cock at the idea, and I tried not to think about it as I posed, even as I could see her sketch developing in the corner of my eye.
Could she see it? Was she embarrassed? Or was she turned on? I couldn’t tell, and I forced myself not to peek, even though the air was heavy with suspense.
I heard footsteps on the stairs and I closed my eyes, praying that their owner would turn away and go back to the studio. It would either be Xavier or Aaron, and neither of them would be a welcome sight for me right now.
