Page 25 of Illicit Illustration

But I couldn’t promise that. Because I had no idea how she would takemebeing the man she was talking to at the reveal.

Fourteen: Don’t judge me.

Seven: Never.

The three little dots showing she was typing danced across the screen while I waited for a response, stopping briefly, but then starting back up again. She was second guessing herself, and I hated that I’d made her feel that way. She was so closed off sometimes it made me ache.

Maybe that was why I was throwing myself into getting to know her like this. Imissedher. The way things had been before she caught me with that girl. Back when we spent late nights sketching together and talking about our futures in her parent’s basement while everyone was asleep. Before she froze me out of her life, and I became a spectator when I’d once been considered a friend.

My phone buzzed, and I picked it up, my cock surging to life when the image she’d sent me loaded.

The first image I’d seen on her tablet was a sketch—a hot sketch—but it was unfinished and unrefined.

This…this was not that. While it was uncolored, crisp black lines outlined a woman who was in the throes of passion, with one hand holding a bare breast and the other digging into her flowing hair. But between her legs and extending behind this sensual woman was a man with shaggy hair like mine, with his face buried between her legs. The detail on his hair, despite the fact it was line work, was kind of insane.

My eyes eagerly traced every outline, from the subtle peek of his tongue to the way his knee was bent in the background, his hard cock protruding from between his legs. As I scanned the detail of his fingers flexing against her thighs, I couldn’t help recalling how it’d felt to have Hazel hovering above my face—the overwhelming scent of her driving me insane—and the way I’d instinctually dug in my fingers when she’d tried to pull away from me.

Despite the throbbing pain when she’d slipped and put down her entire weight, I’d wanted to keep her there, nuzzling her until she couldn’t take it anymore, and begged me to rip off those tiny fucking shorts.

Fourteen: That bad?

Fuck. Just the opposite. How was I supposed to resist telling her I was currently palming my cock and convincing myself it was a wildly bad idea to go bang on the door to her apartment right now so I could give her some proper source material to work from?

Seven: You’re insanely talented. Thank you for sharing this with me.

Fourteen: That was a very polite response.

Shit. Even through text, I could tell she was disappointed with me.

Seven: Fine, you want the impolite response?

Fourteen: Well…

Seven: Your work is incredibly arousing. I’m sitting here palming my hard cock, trying to resist the urge to fuck my hand while I stare at your artwork. You’ve got a gift. Seriously, this is fucking hot…

The dots danced again, and I tried to think unsexy thoughts.

Fourteen: I may have made myself aroused by drawing this…

Seven: And what did you do?

Fourteen: I got out my vibrator and fucked it in my tiny bathtub while I thought about you.

Goddammit.

Seven: You shouldn’t say things like that to me. My willpower is not that strong.

Fourteen: Should I go back to asking you more innocent questions? So we can get to know each other?

Seven: As much as I want to say no, and have you send me a detailed account of your time in the tub today, we probably should. I don’t want you to think I’m only messaging you because I want to fuck you in a few weeks.

Fourteen: You don’t want to fuck me in a few weeks? How disappointing…

Seven: You’re a bad girl, Fourteen. What am I going to do with you?

Fourteen: Should I start a list? I might be inexperienced, but I have a very active imagination.

Seven: Fuck, yes. Save that list for me. I want to check every damn item off it.

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