Page 34 of Naughty Nicky

NICK

Iget my easel set up in the living room along with a stool for me to sit on. I have a collection of paints and brushes on the coffee table. I look around, waiting for Pen, wondering what is taking so long. But knowing her, she is probably fixing her hair or something.

I’m nervous for some reason, and I don’t know why. I feel dumb actually. I have no idea why I agreed to this. I know she is just looking for something to pass the time. But we could have done a hundred other things. I feel vulnerable painting her. It’s bad enough that she saw the painting I was working on and not just the part with me being naked. It’s just painting in general. I’ve never been the best at it, but it’s something I’ve been doing to blow off steam after spending time with my dad. It helps me decompress and recenter myself. But I do it alone. Not with anyone else around. Hell, I’ve never actually painted another person. I usually just do landscapes. I was just experimenting with portraits. And now I have to paint her, and she will probably laugh at it when she sees I’m not any good.

I hear her footsteps in the hall and snap out of my thoughts. “Finally. I thought you fell asleep.”

“No, I was just getting ready.”

“It took you long enough to change.”

She doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t walk to the couch. I turn around to ask her what the hell she’s doing and drop the paintbrush I was twirling around in my fingers.

She isn’t nude. But this is probably worse than her just being a naked subject.

She’s standing in front of me in nothing but the jacket to the Santa suit and a pair of lace underwear.

My dick twitches the second I see her. Because this version of Penny looks as vulnerable as I was just feeling. I can see her trying to pull off confidence, but I think she is nervous about my reaction to her.

But all I really want to do is pull her into me and kiss the hell out of her. Because, fuck, she is a goddamn work of art.

I can’t help but stare at her. The way the jacket is way too big for her but sits just right on her breasts. They peek out ever so slightly, showing off the perky fullness. She’s a tease and a bombshell all in one with the way she fluffed out her hair and the light layer of gloss on her lips. Again, I find myself staring at the constellation of freckles on her face.

“I…umm…well…” She trails off, not even able to complete a sentence.

“I thought you said this wasn’t going to be like one of my French girls,” I say to lighten the mood.

She bites her lip and smiles at me. “Well, I couldn’t resist.”

“So much fucking trouble,” I mutter under my breath. Because this girl is going to be the death of me.

“Where do you want me?” she asks.

I thought I was going to be painting her reading a book. Not in my stupid Santa suit and nothing else.

I look around the living room and point toward the wall of glass at the front of the house. Night is starting to fall eventhough it’s hard to tell with the overcast sky from the storm but the lighting outside, along with the trees in the background and the falling snow, make it a perfect spot to paint her.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “Do you want help moving your stuff?”

I shake my head. “No, it will only take a minute to move it all.”

I have no idea how I am going to be able to sit for two hours painting this gorgeous woman who is wearing nothing but a goddamn jacket.

I take deep breaths as I gather my easel and canvas and move them toward where I asked her to stand. “I’ll be right back,” I tell her.

I walk into my studio so I can grab a table to set up my paints and brushes on. I pause for a moment though. I need to regain my composure and find a way to paint her like I said I would without going caveman on her and fucking her against the window. Because goddamn it, I want to. But I can’t. And it’s going to take everything in me to maintain my self-control.

I let out a deep-seated breath then grab the small table I use to hold my paints and carry it out into the living room.

Pen has her back toward me as she watches the snow fall from the sky. But she must hear me walk in since she starts talking. “I used to hate the snow. I always hated that we lived here surrounded by mountains. It felt like we had no escape, like we were trapped inside this labyrinth. I just always wanted to get out.” She pauses, but I don’t say anything. Her thoughts are rhetorical that are meant to be left in the ether. “But looking at the snowfall right now, it seems so peaceful. Beautiful even.”

I clear my throat as I sit on my stool setting up my paints. “Do you still feel trapped?”

She turns to look at me and tears brim her eyes, but they never fall. “Yes. At times. But I know how to escape now.”

“You found your way out of the labyrinth.”

She nods. “Did you?”

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