Page 61 of Good Girl

The additional sex pillow, lube, and vibrator have all disappeared, but it's now that I remember I had an actual task to do last night. Abandoning my mug for the time being, I quickly gather my tin of graphite pencils and sketch pad, and carry them back to the kitchen.

I need to draw all of Viper’s friends’ pictures. I may be a little late, but they are all still here. I can be a good girl for him and get this done. Maybe I’ll even have time to draw him a picture too.

Xavier disappears for a moment, then takes a seat next to me, his warm arm occasionally brushing mine and his knee very firmly pressed against my knee. I glance at him but he is absorbed in his tablet, finger scrolling up the screen as he reads something. Turning back to my sketchbook, I flick through the pages and scan the outlines of the images I started last night and smile.

These are going to turn out perfect, I just know it. I pop open the graphite case, run my fingers over all the pencils, then make my selection and start converting the outlines to actual drawings.

Time melds together as I start sketching, shading, and rubbing on the paper. Occasionally, I feel warm lips press to my exposed shoulder, but I pay them no mind. I need to get these done for Viper and his friends before they leave for the day. I want to give them something to remember me by, to remember that I was a good girl for them.

That this was the perfect weekend and that I am perfect for them.

Chapter 31

Darcy

Emmy’s focus on her art is completely singular. She hasn’t acknowledged a single one of us. Not even when we each gave her skin a good morning kiss, nor when I brushed and braided her hair to keep it out of her way.

She isn’t being secretive about what she is working on, but none of us have tried to look. If she is anything like me, whenshe is ready, she’ll show us. The others all know and respect that about me, and I can see they are giving her the same treatment.

I pick up my phone from the dining table, tap the screen, and check the time. Nine-thirty. My chest tightens knowing we have less than half a day with our girl. I have less than half a day to convince the others that she is ours to keep. Convince her that she belongs with us.

I’m not sure what I am going to do if they disagree with me. I’m not sure that I can walk away. There are only two ways that I’ll part with this girl.

One. She wants to leave.

Two. My scene with her doesn’t go well.

And I’m not talking sub drop or being anxious. If she does not enjoy my ropes and knots, my suspensions, and the predicaments that I long to put her in, if she doesn’t find pleasure in any of that, then I’ll walk away.

Playing with her as a fuck toy last night was fun, but I don’t want an inanimate hole to stick my cock in all the time. What I want is…

The click of graphite against marble disrupts my thoughts, and I refocus on Emmy as the quiet murmuring around the table stops. She stares down at the sheets of paper in front of her, then reaches up and uses a graphite-stained hand to tuck hair behind her ear, leaving a smear of gray on her cheekbone.

I grin.

The number of times I’ve left my art studio with paint or clay or graphite on my face is more than I can count. For me, they are badges of honor, showing the world I had an excellent session with my art.

Emmy straightens her shoulders and blinks owlishly for a few moments before she turns to face us, her cheeks staining an adorable red. “Oh, um, I’m s—”

“Are we allowed to see what you’ve been working on?” I cut her off with my question. I never, ever, want her to apologize for being so immersed in her art, that she forgot the real world exists. That hazy space between reality and fantasy is where artists are supposed to live.

Emmy’s hand goes up to her mouth, and she bites at the side of her index finger as she glances back down at the pages. Her body is filled with tension. She shuffles the pages around for a moment, eyes darting back and forth between us and the paper before she takes a deep breath, picks them up, then scoots off her seat.

Each step is slow and unsure, like a deer sensing a trap but having no idea where the predator is. Art held in her delicate grasp, Emmy stays out of distance range. Gone is the sassy girl, and in her place is a shy artist. And I know she is an artist. Our sketching yesterday told me as much.

While amateur, her sketching skills are amazing.

I’d love to get her into one of my classes, but that isn’t going to happen. At least, not this year—enrolments are closed. Maybe I can work with her to get her enrolled for next year.

I cut off the thought. Nope. Not thinking about her still being in my life a year from now. I just need to get us all through the weekend. Then maybe, maybe, we can have this. But right now, my princess needs my assistance.

Shifting in my seat, I turn to face her more and hold out my hand. “Come here, princess.”

Emmy’s gaze snags on mine, staring for a moment before slowly drifting down to my extended hand. The uncertainty pouring from her causes a pang in my chest, but I don’t lower my hand. As much as I want to see the artwork, it isn’t purely out of curiosity.

We didn’t give her much of an opportunity to get her drawings done last night, and for her own sake, she needs to share themwith us. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy a punishment scene with Hudson, but Emmy doesn’t deserve that right now.

She has been nothing but a good girl for us so far. I just want to make sure it stays that way.

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