While drawing the top half of Rocco’s body, I’ve barely had a minute to think about the bruise my ego got from Dimitri leaving me stranded in the middle of a sex-scented room on the brink of ecstasy. It was almost as painful as the spanking he gave my backside. I’ve channeled the energy into something more cathartic, purging it from my body in a way that won’t get me killed.
Well, I hope it won’t.
Dimitri’s response to Mitis’s stalk didn’t end well, so I doubt he’d appreciate his second-in-charge sprawled on the bathroom floor of his room without his shirt on, and I won’t mention how authentic the bumps in Rocco’s midsection look on paper. Considering I’m using pencils designed to enhance my face, they’ve done a mighty fine job outlining all his good points. My drawing is so realistic, I’m fighting the urge to fill in the parts I can’t see with my vivid imagination.
With my cheeks burning, I peer down at the eyeliners teetering between Rocco and me, seeking a better color to match his unique-colored eyes. When I find one with just the right amount of golden, Rocco’s lips tuck in the corner. “What did I tell you? Just like shop-bought ones.”
He grabs a green eyeliner from the pile of many before holding it up to my face like I did his. He’s also drawing on the paper he stole from a cleaner during our silent journey to my room. He hasn’t commented on my punishment, but I’m reasonably sure he witnessed it. His eyes are as telling as mine. I also think it’s the reason he chose to host our art lesson in the bathroom. The cool tiles are a godsend to my burning backside, although the hardness isn’t as welcoming.
I float my eyes up to Rocco’s when he asks, “How did you get the spinach to sparkle like that?”
He’s not happy with the grassy green coloring he’s selected for my eyes, but since lime green went out of fashion many moons ago, he doesn’t have a better option for my eye coloring. The makeup kit Alice shoved into his chest before our flight four days ago is massive, but it doesn’t have the endless color palette artists generally work with.
“It’s all about getting the right mix of colors.” I pick up a gold eyeliner I wouldn’t use in a hundred years before snagging a pair of eyelash curlers off the vanity sink. “A little bit of contrast will pick up the color you want.”
With his skills a mix between novice and a first-grader, I shave the slightest bit of the gold pencil onto the circles of green in the middle of his picture, hopeful they’re my eyes.
Rocco’s laugh is a nice thing to hear in a dark and dreary place. “That was supposed to be your hands, but I guess it’ll work.”
“Sorry,” I say with a grimace. “You have a Jackson Pollock vibe going on.”
“Is that your way of saying my drawing is shit?”
His question is laced with humor, but I still shake my head, mortified he thinks I’d pick on him when he’s been nothing but kind to me. “One day, people will pay good money for that.”
“Of course they will.” Because I’m leaning close to him, the faintest smell of toothpaste lingers in my nose when his tongue darts out to replenish his lips with spit. “It’s a picture of you. That makes it priceless.”
I stagger backward with a squeak when the rough and gravelly voice of Dimitri fills my ears. “Not as priceless as you’ll be when I weigh you down with bricks before dumping you in the deepest ocean.”
When Rocco’s smile switches from a smirk to a full-blown grin, I stare at him like he’s mental. Dimitri’s voice didn’t have an ounce of amusement behind it. He sounds really mad like he’s on the verge of killing someone.
I realize that someone is more likely to be me when Rocco stands to his feet. “I guess we’ll finish this later.” His ‘this’ was much too throaty for my liking. He made it seem as if we’ve done more than drawing the past hour and a half.
With a wink of a man not in fear for his life, Rocco twists on his feet and stalks away from me. I try to keep my eyes on the mess next to my thigh, but I can’t help but gawk when Dimitri halts Rocco’s departure partway through the door. His clutch on his Rocco’s arm makes his knuckles go white, but it doesn’t dampen Rocco’s grin in the slightest. Anyone would swear they’re playing a game of chess, and Dimitri just fell straight into Rocco’s well-thought-out game plan.
My eyes drift past a set of well-splayed thighs, a belt that’s more haggard than new, a crisp, recently laundered dress shirt, and a stern set of lips when a pair of polished black shoes enter my peripheral vision a few seconds later.
After dragging his eyes over my semi-nude sketch of Rocco, Dimitri asks, “Have you showered?”
I shake my head, shocked. “No. That would be a little hard to do with Rocco babysitting me, wouldn’t it?”
My breathing shortens when he asks, “I don’t know, Roxanne, would it? You two seem very comfortable with each other.”
When his jaw tightens after taking in Rocco’s shirt dumped under the vanity sink, checkmate rings in my ears on repeat. I just unearthed Rocco’s game plan, and for once in my life, I feel as if I’m on the winning team.
“I prefer sketching people au naturel. Wet hair doesn’t allow that.” Still salty about how he left me hanging after my spanking, I snatch up Rocco’s drawing as if I can’t bear to part with it before making my way into the main part of my room. “It’s a pity you arrived back earlier tonight than the previous three. I can’t finish my sketch now.”
I realize exactly who I’m messing with when Dimitri’s hand darts out to seize my wrist. His hold isn’t close to nice, and it has my heart rate climbing as high as it did when he spanked me in front of an audience—even more so when I notice the splatters of blood on his hand. They’re proof his shirt is new because there’s no way he could have got that much blood on his hands and none on his shirt. He’s changed since our exchange in the sex chamber, and for some reason, that annoys me more than the aggression of his hold.
“Let. Me. Go,” I seethe through clenched teeth.
My show of jealousy doesn’t faze him in the slightest. He’s too bristling with his own idiosyncrasies to pay mine any attention. “You need to shower before going to bed. I can smell Rocco’s aftershave all over you.”
“That isn’t aftershave. Just like the hairs on his chest, Rocco’s smell is au naturel—” My last two words leave my body in a grunt when Dimitri pins me to the main wall of the bathroom with his heaving, he’s-going-to-kill-someone form. I went one step too far, and he’s more than happy to call me out on it.
He crowds into me so profoundly, I’m blanketed by his big, brooding frame in less than a second. The contrast of our heights is undeniable. He literally towers over me as he did in my dreams many times the past year, except now, I don’t just feel his hot breaths on my neck, I also see his sexy, yet angry face.
“Shower. Now.”
He stops the shake of my head by gripping my face in a determined hold. It’s an aggressive clutch that has me wondering if my childhood affected me more than I realized. Instead of being scared by his dominance, I’m turned on by it. His mouth is an inch from mine. I can smell the whiskey he was drinking earlier on his lips and feel the hardness my closeness is inspiring. This could only be better if we were kissing.