Page 38 of Burning Daylight
Heat shoots through me like a flare gun as I watch her get cozy on my furniture. She’s on her back, fingers wringing together on her torso. Her hands fold, then unfold. Her legs shift. Once. Twice.
I walk over, lean down, and gently take her wrist. Her eyes fly to mine, and my heart thumps.
“Is this okay?” I ask.
“Yeah—yes.”
She watches my face closely as I move her arm above her head, like I’m an equation she’s trying to solve.
“I don’t normally do this, you know?” she says.
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Good. I’m territorial.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means you’remine.”
Her lips part.
“To draw,” I add, trying to save us both from wading into territory we aren’t prepared for.
I tear my gaze from hers and focus on positioning her body the way I want it. I try like hell not to react to how good she feels under my hands. How I want to grip her tighter and position her inotherways.
Bent over the arm of the couch. On her back in my bed. Up against the wall with her legs wrapped around my waist.
I shift, willing my dick to behave.
“Do you want to know my name?” she breathes.
Fuck.
Yes. No. I don’t know.
“It doesn’t matter what your name is,” I finally reply. “Fate seems to love putting you in my hands, regardless.”
Reaching out, I smooth my palm along her jaw until I’m brushing behind her ear. My fingers twist in the silky strands of hair at her nape, pulling lightly until she angles herself appropriately.
“Perfect,” I murmur.
She exhales, and I grit my teeth to keep myself from acting on this insane lust I feel for her. I’ve had plenty of one-night stands before andneverhas someone made me feel like this.
I clear my throat instead and move to the other side of the room, grabbing my desk chair and positioning it a safe distance away. I pick up my sketchbook and pencils from the bed and then sit down across from her.
“Let me know if you get uncomfortable,” I say.
“You don’t make me uncomfortable.”
My chest warms. “That’s good. But I meant the pose.”
“Oh. Right.” She licks her lips and then stares up at the ceiling, studiously avoiding my gaze like it might light her on fire.
Probably smart.
“Try not to move.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
For a moment, I just look at her, my heart beating out a stilted rhythm as I soak in the curves and angles of her body. Every soft line, every tiny flicker of vulnerability she’s pretending not to feel.
