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I duck under his arm and flee from the bathroom with him on my heels. “That night was a fluke, but because we know nothing about each other, you’re pushing for something that will never happen again. Just do us both a favor and stop pushing for something to happen between us.” I escape into my walk-in closet to dress in a layer of soft, fabric armor.
When I return to the room, he still only wears a towel, but now he’s staring hard at my sketchbook.
No!
Yes! If you won’t be honest with him, let your art speak for you. Let it tell him how horny you really are.
I rush over and snatch the book from him, but from his glossy gaze, I’m too late. “I don’t appreciate people snooping into my things.”
He straightens. “But it’s alright for you to draw people without their permission?”
“What are you talking about?”
He plucks the book from my hands and opens it to the page that caught his attention. “Don’t models have to sign releases? I haven’t.” He twirls the book around until I have a better view.
Please, world, swallow me now.
In the early morning hours, my fevered brain reproduced what we did together. There’s no mistaking who the subjects are. My vivid memory recreated our 69 position. With the exception of our naked loins, I’ve depicted our bottoms with exquisite detail, specifically how well our faces are buried between each other’s thighs.
I hide my face in my hands to avoid the shame. From the angle of the drawing, there’s no hope of me arguing that the couple is fictitious.
“I know freckles aren’t uncommon, but you seem to have gotten the odd pattern on my legs down to a Tee.”
I take a deep breath and release it. None of the tension escapes my body, so I repeat the action two more times. When my blood cools and my embarrassment simmers to a lull, I say, “I am really sorry for drawing you without permission. I honestly didn’t realize I was doing it. I won’t do it again.”
Cameron pinches my chin and raises my head until our eyes meet. “I accept your apology, but I’m not mad. It would be a shame for you to never draw me again. You’re fucking talented and your honesty comes through in your art. I like it and the world deserves to see more of what you can do.”
My body flushes at his praise and I have to remind myself not to sell myself so cheap. “Still, it seems like a bad idea. All of this.” I point between us.
He sits in my nook and folds his arms. “We seem to be at a crossroads, but I honestly can’t see myself backing away from you. Even without the off-the-charts sexual chemistry between us, I’m drawn to you.”
“What about what I want?”
“What you want is important to me. I don’t know why, but…why don’t I propose something a little more traditional?”
“Traditional?” I sink into the opposite end of the nook, unable to hide my interest.
“I won’t pressure you for sex every time we see each other.”
“That sounds like a win for me. My grannies always say, if a negotiation looks one-sided that’s because there’s a huge catch.”
“The only catch here is we get to know each other. Spend time together with all our clothes on. You show me the wonderful woman I suspect deep down that you are, and you get to know me when I’m not bribing you to suck my cock.”
I nibble my lip as I mull over his offer. If we eliminate the come-ons, will I be able to relax around him? My attraction to him is stronger than anything I’ve ever dealt with. He seems to be in a similar boat. Where he wants to lean into the experience, I want to shy away. This mutual attraction could spell our doom.
But wouldn’t it be nice to see if you actually like him on top of wanting to blow his back out?
“Can I think about it?” I ask, unwilling to commit when everything about him is a walking danger sign.
“Sure, you can think about it, but be warned, I’m only human. If the opportunity presents itself, I’ll pull out every weapon in my arsenal to find out what makes my little lamb tick.” He smiles at me.
This one differs from the others he’s sent my way. For the first time, I don’t feel like prey in a predator’s crosshairs. Although he doesn’t engage my flight response, his smile is no less dangerous for the things it makes me wish I could have. But at what cost?
CHAPTERSIX
Cameron
After leaving Kenya’s bedroom, I head back to my rental with my wet clothes slung over my shoulder. I whistle the melody that won’t leave me in peace, but the desperation that usually overtakes me when a song comes to mind is noticeably absent. Lyrics elude me, yet frustration doesn’t hold me in its typical chokehold. I can’t help but think it’s because being close to Kenya right now is enough to silence the negativity.
