But as fast as he rose to adjust my pose, he's back on the couch poised to draw.
The only sounds in the room are our breathing and the teasing scratch of the pencil against paper. I try to keep as still as possible, wanting Asher to have the best chance of creating another beautiful picture and hoping that he'll capture me in that way that touches my heart.
When I chance a glance, his face is a mask of concentration, brow furrowed, eyes lowered, and a serious mouth. When he pulls the side of his bottom lip between his teeth, it does things to me that I could never admit in public.
What would Asher say if I told him I'm wet for him?
What would he feel? Is he hard between his legs as he sketches the swell of my breasts? Is he yearning to touch the skin he's capturing in grayscale?
The urge to breathe faster and deeper is hard to resist. If he could look into my eyes, he'd see that my pupils are blown wide with arousal.
Sometimes, it's not sex that brings the most excitement. It's these kinds of intimate moments that send a shiver of anticipation through me. It's the drag of the minutes that we aren't having sex that I'll remember when I'm old and thinking back across the most erotic moments of my life.
Maybe I'll recount this story at a time when I no longer care about being appropriate. Maybe I'll be like Blanche from the Golden Girls, still living my best life into old age. I almost snort, thinking about all the things I'm not doing right now that would constitute my best life.
It's hard to be grateful and ungrateful at the same time.
My mind wanders home to Tyler, and Sandy, and his friends. His profile picture captures them all in their den, six men surrounding one very happy-looking woman. Among them is the niece I haven't met yet but hope to soon. My mind wanders to worrying about my mom, although I know Tyler is going to do his best to take care of her. It wanders to a time when I was lying in a dry field with my brothers, staring up at the sky, talking about all the things we'd do when we were grown up. No one knew that Jake wouldn't get to do anything, and no one would have predicted that I would come so far.
But the truth of it is that I would do anything to snap my fingers and be back in that moment. I'd do anything to change history so that Jake never got on that motorbike, even if it meant I was never in the right place at the right time to become Luna Evans, popstar. It’s how I know that deep down, the fame doesn’t mean anything to me.
"Are you okay?" I whisper softly. "Can I see yet?"
Asher shakes his head and continues, and I try to stay in the room with him, not drift into my memories again. I think over what I can remember from his written profile. He's an only child from a small town in Utah. Even knowing that about him, I can't picture the light-haired little boy Asher must have once been. He was decorated for bravery despite seeming too gentle to have ever fought an enemy. He’s a man who’s lived with violence, but who seems more at home wrapped in the quiet concentration of his art.
Eventually, Asher rubs the image with his finger one last time and lowers the pad. His eyes blink and then widen as though he's noticing me for the first time.
"Can I see?"
He nods, then stands slowly to bring me the drawing. I don't move to sit, not wanting to disturb my pose just yet. There's a moment of hesitation where he holds the paper just a little too far away for me to see. When he finally hands it to me, I'm moved by the slight tremble to his fingers and even more moved by the picture.
It's everything I hoped it would be and more. I am me, but I'm better. His pencil strokes have immortalized the wantonness of my pose, and the buzz of anticipation that is fizzing through my body. The girl in the picture isn't just reclining. She's yearning and hungry for something more than the moment. The lump that forms in my throat isn't rational, but it's there anyway. Swallowing it down, I inhale deeply, trying to push down the swell of emotion that's threatening to bring tears. The movement of my chest causes the strap of the slip to slide further down my arm, and the silken fabric drops lower over my breasts, revealing the top of my left nipple.
Asher makes a pained sound in his throat, his eyes falling closed. "Why are you doing this?" he asks. "You know that nothing can happen between us."
"Nobody has to know," I say. "They're all sleeping. How would they find out?"
He mutters an expletive under his breath, this time running both hands through his hair and staring to the ceiling for inspiration.
He'll find nothing there but a smooth, plastered surface. No heavenly inspiration, that's for sure.
I let the drawing drop to the nightstand, and I swing my legs off the side of the bed, moving to stand in front of him and allowing the slip to fully reveal one breast. Reaching for his right hand, I bring it to cup my breast, watching the moment the soft warmth makes contact with his broad palm, seeing the desire building in his eyes. For a long moment, we're both still except for our ragged breathing, then his hand tightens, squeezing my breast, his thumb brushing my nipple.
And then it's like zero to sixty in a second. His hand grips the back of my neck, crushing my mouth to his as my arms slide around his chest, pulling him close.
I'm on my back in seconds, the hard ridge of his cock pressing urgently against my clit as his hand tugs up the hem of my slip. "Fuck," he says again, but this time it's breathy and excited rather than frustrated. I'm so slick between my legs that I'm pretty sure he could just shove his cock right in, and it wouldn't hurt at all. Even through four layers of fabric, I can feel that he's big enough to make me feel it.
The slide of his tongue into my mouth is all about possession. His fingers graze my skin as though he's trying to draw something onto to me. I fumble with his buttons, trying to gain access to his warm skin. His chest and abs are tight and muscular, my hands sliding over them as though I'm trying to read the braille of his body and discover all his secrets.
And inside me, everything is buzzing. It's that same feeling of achievement that I get after a show. The same feeling I got when a pen was placed into my hand, and I scratched my childish signature onto a recording contract. It's about me having the freedom to do what I want. It's about me finding my power and confidence and taking strides away from the frightened little girl I used to be, hiding behind my brothers for security.
Maybe you're still hiding, but this time behind your bodyguards, a small voice whispers in my mind, but I push it aside because Asher has shoved up the fabric of my slip and taken my nipple into his warm mouth.
And oh God that feels good. When he dips lower, nuzzling my navel, kissing my belly, drifting lower, I hold my breath.
Oral sex is an intimate thing. More intimate than penetrative sex in a way, but I don't feel shy when his tongue finds my clit through the sheer fabric of my panties or when he pushes them aside and licks a hot stripe between my legs. I close my eyes and revel in the way he licks and sucks, bringing up my legs to let him go deeper with his tongue.
I hold his head gently, not because he needs guidance but because I enjoy the little flicker of control it hints at, and when he moans, I think maybe that he likes it too.
Asher brings me close, over, and over, and each time pulls back. He's hungry, but he's restrained, and it drives me crazy. He's painting me with his desire but never truly committing to the picture. By the third time, my legs are shaking, and my pussy is leaking between the cheeks of my ass, and the word “please” escapes from my lips. He smiles against the inside of my thigh, pausing for just a moment, then he's freeing his cock and resting in the cradle of my thighs, bending to kiss me deeply as he thrusts deep in one motion.