Page 38 of Under My Skin

Chapter Thirty-Eight

EVERETT

Tuesdays and Wednesdays are hardly packed with appointments the way the rest of the week is.

Today was light, but it’s still after eight by the time my last customer leaves with another portion of his sleeve outlined.

The guy always has to come after work, so I try to set aside my last slot of the day for him.

The other artists all finished early, so after I pull the chain on the OPEN light, I turn around to take in the quiet.

I could head out for the night, but instead, I go to the desk where my sketchpad sits.

Most of my art is on the tablet these days, but sometimes it’s nice to work with the medium I started with.

As I stand behind the reception-style desk with the overhead lights off, nothing but the tabletop lamp casts a glow over the cartridge paper.

I should probably work on a Disney inspired concept a customer asked me to do later this week, but it’s almost like the pencil has a mind of its own.

My mind wanders to a certain blonde as I sketch lines on the lightly textured paper.

The stray strokes slowly evolve into the bangs and unmistakable eyes I haven’t been able to stop thinking about all day, and I’m tempted to text her and see how she did at her parents’ house.

She said something about finishing today, and I wonder if she’ll still want to spend time with her parents after this.

Maybe she’ll need some space from it all.

It’s not like she had much time to digest the news before coming here.

Her fleeting cat tattoo phase is evidence enough of that.

As I finish adding some shading to her bangs and the pieces framing her face, there’s a light tap on the glass front door. Pulling my attention away from the grayscale eyes, I find the inspiration staring back at me in full color.

An apologetic smile pulls at her features like she isn’t sure she should have come here, and I quickly shut the sketchbook before walking around the desk toward the front of the shop.

There’s a soft ding overhead as I open the door wide enough for her to come in. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she says, a little sheepish. “I hope it’s okay I stopped by.”

Closing the door behind her, I turn the lock. “Everything okay?”

She nods, her shoulders rising and falling as she takes a breath. “Yeah. All good.”

I’m not sure I believe her, but she quickly goes from looking at me to looking around the shop. “You’re the only one here?”

With a shrug, I head back toward the desk so we can see each other better. “It was a light day.”

She looks around again, like she’s trying to piece together what I’m still doing here. “Anything I can help with?”

Returning to where I was standing behind the desk, I shake my head. “No. I wasn’t really working on anything.” Grabbing the sketchbook and pencil, I set both aside before bringing my attention back to her.

Lucy’s eyes still linger on the book for a moment before darting back to me. “Were you drawing?”

My heart rate rises at the thought of her knowing she was the inspiration for my latest sketch.

What would she think? She said we should keep things between us casual, and I’m fine with that, but nothing about drawing her from memory in my spare time makes it seem that way.

“Oh.” I scratch the side of my head as I glance at the book in question.

“I was just messing around. Nothing important.”

Her eyes shine brighter, all hope I had of her dismissing the topic fades when she asks, “Can I see?”

No. “Sure.”

Shit.

Why can’t I say no to her? I mean, I guess I know why. It’s the look on her face at this very moment. It’s the way her smile brightens the entire room. I like seeing her happy. Scratch that, I like being the one who makes her happy. I want to be the reason for it, even if it’s something small.

I slide the closed sketchbook in her direction and hope she’ll start at the beginning and get bored before she makes it to the end.

Standing at the side edge of the desk, she gingerly picks up the worn pages like she’s handling archives at a museum. She opens the first page and pauses, her eyes flicking upward to meet mine.

“Everett,” she says softly, and something foreign in my chest clenches.

My muscles tense as she carefully turns one page and then another.

I can’t even see which sketches she’s looking at until she eventually lays the book flat and slides it closer to me as she joins me behind the desk. “You drew all of these?”

I glance down at the sketch of the shop I did a few weeks ago and nod, not sure what to say.

She turns the page again to reveal a half finished drawing of a man sitting on the bench out front as he reads the newspaper.

A lot of these sketches are rough. They’re mostly just a way to kill time between clients, and a lot of them were drawn before Hal started working on the apartment upstairs.

Now, whenever I have downtime, I’m up there with him, trying to figure out what exactly I’m paying for.

She thumbs through a few more pages, and with each one, the shop feels hotter.

It isn’t until she pauses and looks up at me again that I can breathe a little easier.

Maybe she’s seen enough. Maybe she never has to know I was just fixated on the pattern of lightly scattered freckles that compliment her cheeks.

“Everett, you’re so talented.” She beams at me, and it feels good. It would probably feel a lot better if she wasn’t getting closer to the page I left off at, but it still feels good.

“Thanks.” I rest my elbows on the desk, and my thumb taps an anxious rhythm.

“I mean, I knew you were an artist. Even years ago, but I had no idea . . .” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but I know she’s found it. Even without looking down at the pages lying flat on the desk, her silence is all the confirmation I need.

I should look at her, but I can’t. My stare stays fixed on my reflection in the dimly lit glass storefront. “You drew this?” she asks, and I brace myself for her reaction.

“Yeah.”

She looks up at me. “When?”

“A few minutes ago.”

Her eyes briefly widen before a slight frown tugs at the corners of her lips. “You drew me?”

I knew she’d think it was weird. “It’s nothing. I don’t even know why I did it. I should probably scrap it.” I go to reach for the pad, but she snatches it out of my reach.

“Don’t you dare,” she says, her eyes burning with that familiar fierceness. She slips in front of me, her back resting against the edge of the desk. “Why did you draw me?”

Straightening so she can have a little more space, I let my hands rest where my elbows just were, my arms caging her on either side. With a laugh, I say, “Why do you have to ask that?”

Her frown deepens, this time revealing the crease between her brows. “Because I want to know.”

My hands grip the desk on either side of her a little harder, and I’m glad she’s facing this way so she can’t see how much she’s unnerving me.

“You were on my mind, I guess.” She waits like she’s expecting more, and I rub the back of my neck.

“Come on, don’t do this to me, Luce. You know why I drew you.

You’re everywhere. You’re the first thing I see in the morning, you’re sleeping in my bed at night, and you’re in my head for all the moments in between.

I didn’t even mean to draw you. It just sort of—” I forget how to speak when Lucy slowly lowers to her knees in front of me.

Her hands find the front of my jeans, and she innocently looks up at me. “You were saying?”

I swallow. “Luce, what are you doing?”

Her delicate fingers unbutton the front of my pants, and my cock twitches as she lowers my zipper. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

I groan, and a soft smile pulls at her lips. “Luce,” I rasp again, but there isn’t much conviction in my voice. I’m not about to stop her, and we both know it.

As much as I’d love to keep my eyes locked on her face inches from my groin, I look up and scan the streets outside. It’s quiet tonight. The doors are locked, everyone’s gone home, and the desk blocks us from anyone’s view anyway.

Dropping my gaze back to her, I run my hand over her head, and her eyes flutter shut. Twisting a lock of her ponytail around my fingers, I pull until her face is angled toward me. “Go ahead,” I say with a nod.

“Go ahead,” she echoes. “Keep drawing me.”

I huff a bewildered laugh. “What?”

“You heard me,” she says, and the heat behind those eyes intensifies as soon as she frees me from my black boxer briefs.

Wiping a hand over my mouth I dare to look outside again, because seeing Lucy’s perfect face so close to my cock might be more than I can handle.

Someone passes by the shop, but I couldn’t tell you anything about them.

By the time they pass, I can’t even remember if they were a man or a woman.

All I can think about is Lucy. Even if I’m not looking at her, the image of her on her knees in front of me has taken over, like looking directly at the sun and still seeing the outline long after you close your eyes.

I’m still staring out the glass storefront when I feel her perfect mouth wrap around me. Cursing under my breath, my fists clench on top of the open sketchpad, nearly crumpling the paper. How am I supposed to think straight with her lips around my cock, let alone draw something?

Let alone draw her.

She takes me in deep enough to hit the back of her throat, and I brace myself against the desk before looking down. Those captivating eyes stay locked on me as she flattens her tongue against my shaft and hollows out her cheeks.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I brush my thumb across her cheek as she takes me in again, her eyes fluttering shut at the contact. Even like this, there’s a vulnerability to her—a softness that can’t be faked. My fingers weave into her hair, and I dare to guide her movements.

She goes to pull back, probably to remind me about a certain drawing I’ve abandoned, but I tighten my grip on the back of her head to keep her in place.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I say, the words coming out in heated breaths.

“I’ll finish the sketch. I’ll draw nothing but you from now on if it’s what you want.

But not right now.” She sucks hard and my hand clenches in her hair.

“Right now, I want to watch.” Still holding the back of her head, I gently thrust my hips forward.

She moans as she takes me in deeper. Fuck she feels good.

With each thrust of my hips, she meets me, matching my pace and bringing me closer to the edge with every eager twist of her tongue.

She brings her hand to the base of my cock where she pumps me into her mouth while her tongue expertly works the tip.

I don’t want to look away, but I’m so fucking close my head falls back.

My fingers tighten in her hair as I feel my release building in the base of my spine.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I get my bearings enough to force my attention back to her just in time for me to come in her perfect mouth.

I watch her face the moment I spill onto her tongue.

I memorize the way her eyes shut as she swallows.

And I lose myself in her just a little bit more.