Page 23 of Dating His Brother

I just felt so suffocated by my brother’s expectations and the situation with Heartstring—it sent me straight into Dawson’s arms as a sort of rebellion. And I guess when that didn’t seem to be enough, I thought...What the hell? Why not take it one step further and let him paint me naked?

My back was turned to him by the time I finished stripping out of my clothes. Without facing him, I reached for my drink and tossed it back—trying to slow my heavy breathing and pounding heart. Finally, I sucked in one final breath and slowly turned around.

Dawson stood there with his mouth gaping and his eyes as wide as saucers. He gulped, then cleared his throat, obviously salivating over what he saw.

“Should I just…have a seat?” I asked, pointing to the chair.

“Yes. Yes, go ahead,” he stammered. “However you’re comfortable.”

I settled back into the chair and tried to remember nude paintings I had seen at the MOMA, Met, or the Louvre—posing based on whatever I could recall amidst my many other racing thoughts. I had no clue if the end result was sexy or not, but Dawson sure seemed to think it was. I laughed as he fumbled around his paints and easels, dropping things left and right.

After a while, I stopped thinking so much and relaxed into a zen sort of state. Dawson’s permission for me to continue sipping my drink while he worked certainly helped. I didn’t know how much time passed before he stood up again, but the sun was starting to set by the time he did.

“That should do for now,” he announced. “I can always work on it more from memory. Or we could have a second sitting session if you’d prefer.”

I stood up and walked over to the easel, gasping at the result. I didn’t look like Isabella Landson—uptight, high society heiress. No, this was a new side of me. One that was vivacious and alive.

Dawson lingered next to me as I took it in, until he realized how close he was standing while I was still stark naked.

“Oh, shit. God, I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I can go get you a robe. I’ll just have to grab it from upstairs. I’ll be right back.”

He started to take off for the ladder to his loft, but I reached out and grabbed his arm. “No, Dawson. Wait.”

He froze, not facing me at first. Slowly, he turned. Our eyes locked together. He swallowed hard again, his eyes drifting up and down my body as I pulled him in.

I wrapped my hands around his wrists and positioned him in front of me, inviting him in every silent way I could to explore my body.

“Izzy,” he whispered. “Are you sure?”

I knew exactly what he was asking. The heat of the sexual energy emanating between us was thick and suffocating. And I had a feeling in the right circumstances, it would have been just as strong even if I wasn’t completely nude.

“Areyousure?” I teased. “You don’t want me.”

His eyes darkened with a threat not to push him. He’d devour me if given the chance.

“You know I do,” he rasped. “I’ve wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you in the park, when you were pretending not to admire my painting.”

It was an odd thing to hear a guy pledge his commitment to such a strong desire for me. The problem with being a woman who was wanted by so many powerful men, was that the men I had encountered usually had their own pool of women fighting over them too. They wanted me until they had me—for a night after meeting in the club, or for a fleeting, spontaneous trip to the Bahamas. None of it ever lasted long. Their desire for me came and went, gone just as quick as it appeared.

But Dawson was different. I could see it in his eyes. What he saw in me, and wanted from me, wasdeeper.It was foreign to me, and it was almost terrifying.

I lifted his hands, using my grip to guide them just above the curves of my naked flesh. I traced all of the places he could touch—if he was daring enough to make the move. By the time I let go of his wrists, he took the bait. His big, rough hands grazed my soft skin, sending a tingling sensation shooting through my entire body.

Our lips finally crashed together, giving us much needed relief. Though we were nowhere near finished. It was only the beginning—our tongues trashing together, our mouths widening to deepen the kiss and drink in as much of each other as we possibly could. I barely noticed as he picked me up in his arms and we both went crashing back onto the chair where I had been posing.

He settled in between my legs with his hips, and I kind of loved the feeling of his clothed body grinding against my exposed skin and parts. But it did make me laugh a little.

“It’s not fair that you still have all of your clothes on,” I teased with a coy smile.

But Dawson wasnotlaughing. Far from it. He looked like a beast eyeing his prey. He stood up and started stripping, maintaining a surprising amount of calm and steadiness. It wasn’t what I expected.

“I should warn you, Izzy. You may think I’m some kind of toy. But when it comes to the bedroom,I’mthe one in control. I can be very…demanding.”

I wasn’t laughing anymore either. I had never seen this side to him before—so stern and manly and gruff. But I liked it. The pooling wetness between my legs was proof of that.

“Now, I want you to lay back,” he commanded, climbing on top of me once more—this time in all his naked glory. He grabbed my hands and guided them to the arms of the chair. “Grab on and don’t let go until I tell you.”

His tone was stern, and I didn’t dare to question him. I did as he said, but found it hard to obey as he started kissing down the length of my body. I started to squirm when he found his way to my breasts, flicking each of my hardened nipples with his tongue.

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