Page 30 of Reckless Temptation

She damn well knew I was trying to rattle Sabrina. She had to see me on campus. I never changed my surname to Lorsen since I was already an adult when Mom married George. Unless someone wanted to poke around and snoop, it wasn’t common knowledge that Tiffany was my stepsister. I didn’t interact with her on campus. I didn’t speak with George, either, save for the rare occasion when I’d need to stop by his office, like the day I ran into Sabrina as I dropped off a package.

Tiffany and I didn’t run in the same circles, but to see through this ultimatum, I had been present near the law buildings. She couldn’t claim that I wasn’t trying.

I was.

Yet, no matter what I did, Sabrina would not pay attention to me.

She would not falter or crack.

After my swim, which wasn’t as calming as I wanted it to be because she was on my mind the whole time, I had to admit that if I wasn’t so determined to bring her down and drag her through the mud, I’d admire the hell out of her tenacity.

She was no damsel in distress, no wallflower or weakling.

I had to think of something else to appease Tiffany—but not drugs. I’d be damned if I had to intoxicate Sabrina to get her to fall. She had to have a weakness somewhere.

Back at the studio that night, Diego and I worked on our respective projects. As usual, he was more or less hosting a party, drinking and smoking with the models he’d draw. I stayed in the corner, falling down a spiral of thinking about Sabrina and hating that I wanted to make her crack.

“It’s been a while since you’ve had an exposé,” Daniela, one of the models, said as she meandered across the messy studio, seeking me out.

I nodded, not looking up from the painting I’d started the background on. “It has.”

Months ago, one of Diego’s models wanted me to paint her in a boudoir style, and Daniela had posted it as an art exposé. From there, things snowballed. More women wanted racy paintings done in my realism style of art. Then the dares anted up to more challenges, like painting a boudoir painting as graffiti, only for someone to paint over it by a certain time. The limited timeframe of the pornographic artwork added to the hype about it all. The videos and photos of the dean’s daughter’s painting had gotten the most traction, but I still didn’t care about all the interest from the art community. Being a painter wasn’t what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I was skilled. I had talent. But it wasn’tme. Although I had no grounding and direction in my life, I knew I didn’t want that path.

“Or not,” she quipped, smiling wider. It wasn’t the booze that put the excited gleam in her eyes now as she studied my painting.

I glanced at her, then back at the canvas that had captured my attention the most lately.

“That’s the one law student,” Daniela observed.

I frowned, not wanting to share Sabrina even like this.

The night after she slapped me, I started to sketch, then paint, her. I’d never seen enough of her to paint her nudity accurately, but I imagined her. I dreamed of what she’d look like, bare to me alone.

“You shared those pictures of her at the Cricket’s wet T-shirt contest,” she added.

I shook my head but didn’t speak up. I wasn’t denying that I’d posted about Sabrina. I had. But it wasn’t her at that bar. As far as I knew, she didn’t go to any bars. I’d lied, making it up that she’d entered a wet T-shirt contest.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” She pointed at the painting. “Sabrina something.”

I nodded. “Sabrina Rosario.”

“She posed for you?” Daniela grinned. “Like that?”

ItwasSabrina. Or it was the depiction I could summon in my mind of her. Sabrina was too good to ever pose like one of the “boudoir” models who wanted to be risqué and naughty like that. Sabrina was too practiced at ignoring me and how I bullied her to ever spend time near me long enough for me to paint her.

Daniela was now taking pictures of and then videoing me as I touched up the paint. This painting hadn’t been done with a model. It was nothing more than me making artwork of the wet dream that plagued me of the girl I couldn’t get off my mind.

Of Sabrina in a wet blouse, her tits accentuated without a bra. Her lips smirking in a dare as she reclined back and spread her legs. The skirt falling back to reveal her tracing her finger along lacy white panties that showed wet spots on the fabric.

“I can share these, right?” Daniela arched a brow at me. “It’s been a while since I shared anything of your art. My followers have been asking.”

I frowned, not liking the idea of anyone seeing Sabrina like this. It was just my imagination, not an actual sitting she’d posed for.But it would fit right in with the series Daniela had started in sharing my work.

And it would go a long way toward ruining Sabrina’s reputation.

For fuck’s sake.I rubbed my hand over my face as I struggled with the indecision.

It’s not like I’d ever actually have a chance with her.I wasn’t supposed to care about her.

---