“Princess?”
I quickly turn off the phone and slide it into my bag. I don’t want Levi to see the wedding dress yet, no matter how much he pestered me.
It’s not because of that stupid superstition. It’s about something I’ve seen in Mrs Hudson’s collection.
She has a photo album where she captures shots of the grooms when the brides walks towards them. Their expressions are often filled with awe, love, and utter happiness.
I want to see that look on Levi’s face on the wedding day. Hell, this might be the only reason why I’m willingly continuing this entire planning nightmare.
That’s why he needs to see the dress for the first time next week.
I drop my backpack on the leather sofa and abandon the brochures on the counter.
“Where are you?” I ask, tiptoeing down the hallway.
Although we’ve been practically living together for the past year or so, I’ve been spending more time with Dad lately. It’s like I’m telling him goodbye before I move out for good.
Of course, Levi hasn’t been thrilled about that idea. He keeps sending me texts about his empty bed, empty heart, and empty soul.
I’d laugh so hard at those.
Today, I decided to stay the night for the last time until the wedding.
“In here,” he calls, the sound coming from the last room down the hall.
The room Levi has turned into my art studio as soon as he got the flat. Actually, the first thing he chose in this house is the location of my art studio.
But what is he doing there now?
Oh, gosh. Please don’t tell me he saw the painting. He’s not supposed to lay eyes on it until the wedding night.
It’s supposed to be a gift.
I jog down the hall and push the door open. My feet come to a screeching halt as soon as I’m inside.
Levi lies on the sofa, cradling his head. His massive body dwarfs the space.
Oh, and he’s naked.
Completely fucking naked.
For a moment, I’m speechless. My greedy eyes take in his sculpted abs, his muscular thighs, and that delicious V that leads to his semi-erect cock.
I shake myself out of my stupor and focus on his face; his tousled blond hair, his arrogant smirk, and his pale blue eyes.
Damn those blue, blue eyes.
“What are you doing?” I meant to interrogate him, but it comes out in a whisper, barely audible.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He grins, eyes shining. “I’m modelling for you.”
“Modelling for me?”
“I know you’ve been painting me, and taking peeks at my body while you think I’m asleep.”
I gasp. “You saw the painting?”
“No. I’ll wait until you show it to me.”
A breath of relief heaves out of my lungs. Okay, we’re safe. But how the hell did he know I was painting him? More importantly…
“What makes you think it’s a nude?” I narrow my eyes.
He chuckles then, it’s deep and rough and fucking hot. I love it when he chuckles like that.
Unless it’s in front of other women. That, I don’t like.
“You only watch me when I’m sleeping naked. Besides, you’re blushing, princess.”
“I am not. It’s just the heat of the room.”
“The heat of the room, huh?”
“Oh, shut up.”
His laugh echoes after me as I storm in front of my canvas and flop down on the seat.
Despite his dick attitude, I won’t miss the chance of having him model for me. Besides, he’s right, I’ve been working a nude for him.
When I mentioned nudes to Levi a few months ago, he was surprisingly pro the idea as long as he’s the first and last and only nude I’ll ever draw.
Truth is, I’m not interested in other nudes. It takes a lot of intimacy to sketch someone in their initial form, uncovered and raw.
Since our days in Royal Elite School, I’ve been sketching Levi half-naked behind his back. The idea to make a nude portrait of his magnificent body has been running rampant in my head since then. So I thought; what’s better than to give him a nude sketch as a wedding gift?
I’ve been working on this for months, carefully adding one detail at a time. Having him entirely naked in front of me will save me a lot of energy and sneaking around.
I took so many photos of him, it’s stalker-level, but even then, I couldn’t get a few things right.
This is my golden opportunity.
I remove the cover and retrieve my charcoal. In no time, I’m in the zone, sketching along the ridges of his abs, the curve of his neck, the line of his collarbone.
Then I retouch some parts in his muscular arms and the veins in his hands. Those hands that carry me so effortlessly every time. The hands that grab my thighs under the table whenever we’re out, slowly going up and —
I shake my head inwardly.
Focus, Astrid.
I move down to the ridges of his stomach and to the V line leading down to his cock.
A spark of longing hits me out of nowhere. Hell, isnĘžt he more erect than when I walked in?
Geez. It’s hard to be professional when all I want to do is put my mouth on him and let him fuck all the stress out of me.
“You’re blushing again, princess.” His gleaming eyes capture mine in a spell, potent and strong.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I grumble, my hand quivering.
“Like what?” He drawls.
“Like you want to… you know.”
“Fuck you? Make you scream with the force of your orgasm?”
A spark of pleasure races down my spine and pools at the bottom of my stomach.
Why do I want that so much?
He jerks up, and I do too, quickly covering the canvas. “What are you doing? Models don’t move.”
“This one does.” His wide strides cut the distance between us in a few seconds.
He wraps his arms around my waist. Our lower halves grind against each other, and I hiss a breath as the hardness of his cock nestles between my shorts.
Why the hell am I even dressed?
“I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment you walked in,” He rasps, breathing me.
Before I can make out what’s happening, he captures my lips in a fervent, hard kiss that steals my breath away.
My arms wind around his neck, uncaring that I’ve got charcoal all over my hands.
Without breaking the kiss, Levi places a hand under my arse and pulls me in his arms. The act is so effortless and natural as he marches out of the studio.
“Aren’t you supposed to model for me?” I ask breathlessly against his mouth.
“Later,” he grunts, his voice husky with arousal. “We can do that later.”
Not that I’m complaining about the turn of events.
He barges into the bedroom — our bedroom — and slams the door shut with his foot.
He puts me on the bed and nearly rips my shorts and T-shirt off. I fumble with the buttons and help him undress me.
In Levi’s fashion, he does rip my underwear, though. The friction of his fingers against my most sensitive part leaves me breathless, aching for more.
I pant, showing him my charcoal-covered hands. “I’m all dirty.”
“Oh, I’m going to make you dirtier, princess,” he grunts against the hollow of my neck before he places an open-mouthed kiss on the curve of my throat.