Page 71 of Anyone But the Superstar

‘Stay there a sec,’ he says as he leaves the room, his well-defined muscles twitching and stretching as he walks.

I figure he’s gone to get dressed but when he gets back, he’sholding a yogurt cup and a spoon in one hand and an apple in the other.

‘Here.’ He places the yogurt next to me, then takes a standing position at the foot of the bed before taking a large bite out of his apple. ‘Have at it.’ He turns his shoulders and poses, the only thing moving his jaw.

‘I thought you wanted pancakes?’

Still looking off to the side, he swallows his bite. ‘I will, but this will tide us over until you answer your muse’s call—’ he flexes his pecs ‘—and I can get to the store.’ He gives me side-eye. ‘Someoneused all the eggs last night.’

Heat rises in my cheeks, and I dip my chin back to my sketch pad. I don’t even heckle him about calling himself my muse.

Hard to heckle when it’s true.

Time ticks by, enough for him to finish his apple as my pencil flies over the parchment, the varying shhhh sounds familiar and calming.

What isn’t as calming is the tall, muscular man in front of me, yet I find myself just as comfortable today – showing him the side of myself my ‘father’ deemed worthless – as I was in bed with him last night.

I continue making quick glances, ensuring my lines are correct, my eyes fighting to linger longer over his body, wanting to do more than catalogue proportions and shadows. Especially when a certain part of him starts moving.

Rising, if you will.

I’ve taken a lot of art classes. Mostly in secret to keep Stanley Moore from giving me a hard time. And I’ve drawn a lot of nude models. Even male models whose bodies may have involuntarily reacted to being stared at. I’ve always remained professional. I’ve never been disrespectful.

Today, I shift in my seat, my legs wanting to uncross andpress together. Wanting to soothe the damp ache growing beneath my sketch pad.

When I find myself re-tracing the lines of his hard-on more than once, I decide to call it quits and get the poor man something to eat.

Closing my sketch book, I uncurl my legs. ‘Just give me a sec to get dressed and I’ll come with you.’ I slide to the edge of the bed, stopped from standing when Felix bends over and kisses my forehead.

‘No, you stay.’ He pops back up, his dick bouncing. ‘Artists shouldn’t waste inspiration.’ His tone is more self-satisfied than I’d like, but as I’m going to need to change my panties before getting dressed, I stay quiet.

He steps into the bathroom and tosses the apple core, re-entering the room cock first.

‘You sure?’ Managing to keep my eyes above his shoulders, I take in his well-known features. ‘What if someone recognizes you?’ Even with bed hair and scruff, Felix looks every inch the leading man right now.

Thinking of inches, my eyes drop to his hard-on, and I can’t help but note that our positions are very much like the ones last night when I put his cock in my mouth.

I lick my lips.

‘Ah.’ Felix, not looking as lustful as I feel, holds up a finger before leaving the room again.

The man is hungry, Liz. Just let him eat, then you can jump his bone.

He comes back mid-pep talk, this time with his cowboy hat in hand. ‘I have this as a disguise, remember?’ Felix dons the Stetson I bought him.

Yeah. Felix is just going to have to starve.

Standing, I push down my panties and yank off my shirt. ‘I’m really glad you finished that apple.’

Felix’s Adam’s apple bobs. ‘And why’s that?’

Plucking his hat off his head by the crown, I drop it on my own.

‘Because you’re gonna need your energy.’

A slow, delicious smile curls up the sides of his scruffy face, his dark eyes twinkling.

I tip the brim of the hat. ‘This cowgirl needs a ride.’