Page 87 of Midnight Ink

“We can just watch movies. I don’t need to draw.”

“No, let’s pick some, put on another one of those Ghibli movies, and we can draw while we watch it. Like background noise.” I don’t know what to say to that. He’s describing a perfect night.

“Okay.” My breath stutters as he leans in and plants a firm kiss on my lips. I like how easy it feels. How fucking good he feels. I lean back, guiding his body over mine, and his hips shift, fitting between my thighs. A soft exhale leaves his lips as his hips slowly grind against my erection. “Do you think we can jump quietly?” I whisper against his lips.

His lips split into a smile before he peels away to laugh, tucking his face into my neck. His body shudders against me. Then I feel his lips land on my neck. “No jumping right now,” he says softly, then he lifts his face and hovers over me. Dropping a quick kiss on my lips, he gets up. “I do want to draw you, though.” His bluish eyes heavy, he lifts off the bed and turns to me, watching me as his fingers curl under his shirt and slowly lift it off. The fabric hits the floor, his fingers diving into the band of his jeans and flicking open the button. He kicks them off his feet and watches me while he drags his boxers down his muscled thighs. “I want to draw you, naked.”

My brows lift. “What?”

“I like drawing people, and you, Jules . . .” He pulls back a little, kissing my shoulder. “You’re a work of art.”

“That was painfully corny.”

“I know.” He gets back onto the bed, stealing another quick kiss. “Only if you want to.”

“No jumping on the bed.”

He raises his hand, two fingers together on each side forming a V. “Scout’s honor.”

“That’s Star Trek.”

He blinks. “You’re such a nerd.” His laughter fades as I lift my shirt over my head. His attention snaps to my chest. “Can’t we bounce a little?”

I slip my jeans off. Then my briefs.

Ian’s heavy eyes stare at all of me. “Fuck.”

“You too.” I pull his attention back. “I want to draw you.”

Ian gets into position on the other side of the bed. My gaze lingers on his strong thighs, inked stomach, and chest. Soft dick. My black dahlias over his hip. My work. My mark. I have sunflowers on mine. His favorite flower.

He settles near the headboard, handing me pillows to prop up against the footboard.

I look up, catching his soft smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, setting his pencils between us. “You’re just beautiful.”

Ian turns his attention back to his sketchbook. His words settle somewhere deep. On my side, I try to focus, and the room goes quiet except for the soft patter of rain, the movie I chose, and the scrape of graphite on paper. I sketch him, his body almost as familiar as my own. Long lines, subtle curves. His tattoos. Normally I hate drawing hands, but I try to get his right. All the while Ian keeps his attention focused on the paper as if he’s drawing me from memory.

Thunder cracks through the room, sudden and sharp, making me jump a little. Our eyes meet with the flicker of the light. “You okay?” He laughs softly. I nod as something heavy settles between us. I can’t ignore this weight.

I’m in love with my best friend, but I don’t know if I trust him with that truth yet.

Ian’s pencil stills. “Jules?” My head lifts at his voice. A warm rush of heat floods my stomach hearing my name. “I’m going to do my best, but I’m not sure if I know how to take it slow with you.”

Neither do I.

His eyes flick back to his paper and he keeps shading quietly. Thunder rolls over the house again. Xia said the house would be okay in the storm, but everything inside this room feels fragile. My eyes grow heavy the longer I focus on my paper. “Tired?” he asks, and I nod. “I’m done. What about you?”

I’m nearly there, but my eyes are heavy and I’m losing focus. “Show me.”

I get up to move beside him. He sinks down further into the pillows and shows me his book. A smile springs to my lips. Ian has an amazing understanding of the human body. I’m naked, but the picture doesn’t feel sexualized. I’m reclining back on the pillows. Relaxed. One knee bent, the other leg stretched out like it’s the most natural thing in the world. My body is all clean lines and soft shadows. He’s caught the slopes of my stomach and the tension in my thighs.

Then I see my face.

My eyes are looking at him, but I look guarded, my mouth relaxed and vulnerable like I’m watching something I shouldn’t. He shaded my collarbones gently. Then there’s my tattoos. Clear as the day he put them on my skin. Normally Ian draws with a heavy hand, the graphite shining along the edge of his palm. But this drawing is gentle. “Wow. This is amazing. Soft almost. Dreamy.”

Ian shrugs. “I drew you how I see you,” he says quietly. “Let me see.” Carefully, he takes my sketchbook while I can’t look away from his, but I can feel his smile. “Amazing, Jules.”