Huh. What do you know?
“You’re blushing,” he says, brushing one finger along my cheek.
“Shut up,” I say, stepping away from him. He smiles and just follows me.
“I love making you blush. It’s one of my favorites.” I roll my eyes at him. He once told me he was going to use every line in the book on me. He’s still got a lot to go, but he’s ticked quite a few off.
“Take the plates and go sit down,” I say, trying to hide my face.
“Yes, Redhead,” he says before he bows and does as I asked. He’s in a really good mood, but I wait until we’re sitting down on the couch and I have a glass of wine in my hand before asking about it.
“Well,” he says, picking up his fork and twirling some spaghetti onto it with impeccable skill, “I went and saw a therapist today. I didn’t tell you I was going to do it, because I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, or if it was going to be the right fit.” I’m distracted from the food by his admission.
“Oh yeah? Did it go well?” It’s clear that it went well just from looking at him and sitting next to him. His whole energy has changed for the better. Kind of makes me want to go and see if therapy would work for me.
“It did. She’s really nice and the first session was no pressure. Just asking me about my life and so forth. I edited a little, but told as much truth as I could. I didn’t want to take any chances.” I don’t blame him at all.
“That’s smart. So, are you going to go back?” He chews and swallows. I wonder if his mother was the one who taught him how to eat with such lovely manners. I’m sure she did. It’s hard to imagine Sylas as a child. As a little boy missing a tooth or two with scraped knees and knobby elbows. No, I can’t picture it. I assume most of the pictures of him as a child were lost in the fire. It’s not fair that he’s seen me in my awkward years, but I don’t get a chance to see him.
“Next week. It’s really not as bad as I thought it was going to be. I was so afraid I was going to cry. I really hate crying.” Ditto. We continue eating and he tells me more about his therapy appointment. He seems to really be moving in the right direction. I just hope it will continue.
“So, I have something to ask you. A favor, if you will,” I say. He puts down his fork.
“I’m intrigued. I hope it involves both of us being naked.” I snort.
“Sort of. Um, so I have to do a final drawing for my class and I should have started it ages ago. It’s due on Thursday and I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do. We’re supposed to draw something we love. And, well, I love you, but I don’t want to fuck it up, so I was wondering if I could just draw a portion of you. Like, maybe your back? With all your tattoos?” I feel like a total dork asking him. He just smiles and bumps my shoulder with his.
“You’re adorable when you need something from me.” I try not to blush and fail.
“Stop it. Will you do it or not?”
“Absolutely. How do you want me?” Now I’m the one shoving his shoulder.
“You’re the worst.”
“I try.”
Sylas decides that he wants to “pose” for me right after dinner. I was hoping to put it off until the very last minute, but he’s eager to be my model for some reason.
“You don’t have to get completely naked,” I say as he strips down and lays on the bed as I try to get the lighting right and find the best angle to put my chair.
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. This is so that the next time you have a male model, you think of me instead.” I move one of the lamps and snort.
“Well, the class is over and I’m not taking another one anytime soon.” He props himself up, resting his chin in his hands and batting his eyelashes at me.
“Good. That means that I’m your last subject and the last is the most important.” He’s so full of himself.
“Yes, yes,” I say, sitting in my chair and trying to figure out how I want him to lie down.
“Okay, can you get on your stomach, but more up toward the pillows?” He does as I ask and then it takes a few more adjustments to get him just right. It’s a sexy pose that shows his entire back, including the dimples above his ass and all his beautiful tattoos. His face is out of the picture, but his back is breathtaking enough as is.
I sit down in my chair and grab my charcoal pencil and start a rough sketch.
“Am I allowed to talk to you while you do this?” he asks. I glance up from my sketch.
“As long as you don’t move,” I say.
“I’ll do my best. I’ve never been a model before.” I narrow my eyes and give him a look.
“Stay. Still.”
“Yes, Redhead.” He closes his eyes and relaxes as I finish the rough outline. It’s going to take forever to do the intricate designs of his tattoos, so I’m going to need him to sit again for me tomorrow night. But as long as I get the basics, that should be good for now.
“You look beautiful when you concentrate,” he says and I realize he’s staring at me. I stick my tongue out at him.
“And you’re annoying when you’re talking. I think I’m going to revise my rule to no talking while I’m working.” He heaves a heavy sigh, as if I’m being difficult.
“Fine. Then I’ll sing.”
He hums a few bars and then starts singing low. I recognize the song immediately. It’s one he told me was his favorite. “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor. I wonder if his mother used to sing it to him when he was young.
Sylas’ voice so unbelievable, I’m distracted completely from drawing. It simultaneously gives me chills and warms me inside. By the time he gets to the end, I’ve completely forgotten what I’m supposed to be doing.
“Saige?” he says. I blink and remember I’m supposed to be drawing him. Oops.
“Sorry. Just… got lost for a moment. You’re a very good singer, you know.”
He shrugs one shoulder and then apologizes for moving.
“I’m nothing special. My mother had the magical voice. She could have been a star if she wanted to.”
“I bet,” I say. He’s silent for a little while as I start adding the outlines to some of his bigger tattoos.
“You can keep singing. If you want,” I say and he looks up again.
“Okay.”
He sings for the next hour as I sketch. I think he’s going to get tired of it, but as soon as one song fades, he launches into another. He definitely needs to sing more. As in, all the time. Every day. I might use some of my recording equipment so I can have it with me always. That would mean going back to my parents’ house to get it. No, I’m not going to do that.
My eyes start to itch and I’m not focusing anymore.
“That’s enough, I think,” I say, blowing off the excess charcoal and then putting a protective sheet over it so it won’t get smudged before I close my sketchbook.
“Can I move now?” he asks.
“Uh-huh,” I say and he rolls on his back. I think he’s going to get up, but then he does something else. He runs one hand down his stomach. Slowly. I look up to his eyes and see he’s watching me as he touches himself.
I’ve never seen Sylas touch himself like this in front of me. He grips himself and I watch as he gets hard. I’m instantly so turned on, I almost throw the sketchbook on the floor.
“Do you like what I’m doing?” he asks, moving his hand up and down his cock.
“Uh-huh,” I say. I sound like an idiot.
“Do you want me to continue?” he asks, his eyes full of blue fire.
“Yes,” I say, my voice raspy. I’m stuck to my chair, unable to move. He strokes up and down and his eyelids shutter in pleasure. He moans and arches his back. I’ve never seen anything so erotically beautiful.
His hand moves faster, up and down, up and down, with a little bit of a twist. I’m completely mesmerized. It doesn’t take long before his back bows off the bed, his head thrown back and a part-grunt-part-growl escaping his lips as he climaxes onto his stomach.
“Fuck,” he says, his eyes opening. They’re drowsy and sweet. He smiles at me.
“Did you enjoy the show?”
“Yes,” I say. My mouth is dry.