Page 16 of Bottle Rocket
She did, and goosebumps bloomed over her arms.Speaking of. “What should I do with my arms?”
He studied her, his gaze lingering on her breasts and abdomen. Self-consciousness threatened to sway her—she was very aware of the years that had passed since Leo had seen her in any state of undress—but this wasLeo. Her Leo.
“Close your eyes and pretend you’re going to lie there and chat with me. Where would you put your arms to be most comfortable?”
She let her eyes flutter shut and breathed deeply for a few seconds before slipping one arm behind her head and letting the other rest at the waistband of her jean shorts.
“You’re fucking hot,” Leo said as she opened her eyes.
“Really?”
“Yes. You deserved to be worshiped, Rosie.”
Leo didn’t start immediately, his eyes flickering all over her from head to toe. She felt his gaze as if it were his tongue. He was playing with his lip piercing, biting it and letting it slip through his teeth, again and again. Finally, he huffed and put his pencil to the paper.
“I do this at conventions,” he said. “Fast-track commissions. They’re normally super stylized. A lady drawn as a sexy superhero. Two men—one as a jacked Santa, the other an elf. That sort of thing. Do you want that?”
The question felt loaded. “Do you enjoy creating the stylized stuff?”
“I love it. It’s fun.” His eyes swept over her again. “People expect boldness from me. Bright colors and sharp lines.”
She glanced around the trailer. That wasn’t at all how he’d decorated. There was a definite boldness to his pastel pictures, but more intimacy and vulnerability too.
“I have no expectations. Just draw it how you want to,” she said.
His smile warped into something cocky and warm. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to draw someone.”
“Sure.”
“I’m serious. My best work comes when I’m connected to the subject, when I can infuse it with my own feelings. I have lots of feelings about being able to do this for you.”
He was staring at her hip and that intense focus paired with his words made heat pool between her legs. She tried not to squirm but didn’t quite succeed.
He looked up. “You okay?”
“Yes. Sorry.”
“If you’re uncomfortable, want me to stop, or need to move, let me know.”
She laughed softly. “It’s none of those things.”
“What is it, then?” he asked.
“I’m hot.”
“I can get a fan.”
“No. Not like that.”
He grinned the dirtiest grin she’d ever seen. It was at once familiar and totally new, an echo from her past but rounded out by maturity and self-assuredness.
His focus returned to her hip. “We can talk while I do this.”
“I can try.” She was dubious she’d be able to concentrate. “Tell me about the control stuff.” She couldn’t keep the question in any longer.
His breath was speeding up, and hers matched it. He was drawing quickly, the scratch of pencil to paper sending shivers through her.
“I’m not into intense pain, but I love to be put in my place. To be ordered around. To be used. Playfully slapped. It’s … freeing, and it turns me on.”
