Chapter 2 #2
Derek turns around and I can’t help but stare.
He’s tall and fit, filling up his suit as if it has been specifically tailored to him.
Which I guess it might have been. His dark blue eyes flick away from the phone he’s holding and study all four of us with little interest. There is just no spark, or even a tiny flicker of emotion, to signify excitement at meeting the artists who have been handpicked to decorate his own gallery.
It’s like a punch to the gut, because I did my best with my mural design, but it feels like he doesn’t even care. Part of me wonders if he even looked at any of them, or if this is maybe some new money-laundering thing that billionaires do.
Whatever. I’m getting paid, and I’ll still be able to do some networking and get my name out there. Even if he doesn’t care, it’s still a huge win for me.
“It’s a pleasure to meet all four of you,” Derek says dryly, maintaining a very disinterested expression.
Adam, who I randomly remember from somewhere is also his partner, follows up with a greeting of his own, congratulating us with a professional smile that his features don’t reflect at all.
Again, I quickly move on from examining him though, more drawn to the sharp angles of Derek’s face and the way his stubble follows his jawline and reaches his light brown hair.
He would be a good model to draw, especially if you could get him under dramatic light, though as much as he is attractive, his absentmindedness is the one thing I notice the most.
He’s just not really here. He keeps glancing at his phone like he has somewhere better to be. It might actually be the case, but this is his gallery, after all, so doesn’t it make sense to be at least a little present? Then again, what do I know about the lives of billionaires?
The shitty part is that his constant glancing at his phone makes me super conscious about mine and the conversation I was having with Mystery Guy earlier. Now is really not the time to remember that, but my mind has a will of its own. What am I going to do? I’ve never sent a nude to anyone, period.
“I am looking forward to seeing your murals once they are finished,” Derek says, the delivery flat and emotionless, but still successful in distracting me from my dilemma.
“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to speak to Cassandra or the staff.
” With a glance at his expensive-looking watch this time, he lifts his mouth in a barely there polite smile.
“Adam and I have to go, but it was nice to meet you.”
He doesn’t wait for an acknowledgment and whooshes past us, Adam on his heel.
Sandalwood teases my nostrils, pulling a shiver out of my body that catches me off-guard.
I scoff at myself and shake my head—Derek Salinger seems like an asshole boss.
But, oh well—a job is a job, and besides, I could really use the extra money.
The evening rolls by excruciatingly slowly. I’m a nervous wreck by the time I get home from my job, and even though I’ve barely eaten anything all day, I don’t really have an appetite. Still, I force myself to have an apple and some granola-yogurt before I go in for a shower.
My hands shake as I wash myself, and my loud heartbeat echoes all around me. It’s like tiny prickles live under my skin, sending shocks all over me. My fingertips tingle and my cheeks feel like they are on fire, but… I kind of like it. This intense feeling is new to me, the way my body is wound up.
Just as I’ve finished with my shower, my phone pings.
Swallowing hard, I pick it up from my drawer and sit on my bed while pat-drying myself with my free hand.
A text pops up on my screen. It’s from Mystery Guy.
Electricity rushes across me, coiling my stomach as heat spreads from it through the rest of me.
Him: I’ve had a really hectic day. And I’ll get even busier from now on. I’m afraid I might not be able to text you as much for a while. It’s unfortunate, but I have an important work thing coming up. I hope you have my reward ready for me : ).
My excitement dulls down a notch at his words. It’s a bummer he’s not going to be around so much, but I understand. Sometimes work has to take priority. Besides, some distance might help me get over what I am about to do.
Me: You aren’t going to ask how it was at the gallery?
Wow, how smooth of me. But I do need a few more minutes before I can send him a picture of my dick. It’s not as easy as it sounds, and all my confidence from earlier has kind of drained. Even if Mystery Guy is technically a stranger, it does take some guts to go through with a nude, okay?
Him: Stalling. Okay then. Did you have a good time?
Fuck him for calling me out. But he’s not wrong.
Me: I did! All the other artists are very skilled, and Cassandra, the manager, is very nice. I even got to meet the owners.
Him: Oh, you did?
Me: Yeah, they were there. But…
Derek seemed so disinterested. I really can’t put my finger around it.
Him: But?
Me: Well, Derek Salinger didn’t seem to care much. Isn’t that strange? I mean, it’s his gallery… But he was kind of broody and distracted and looking at his phone the entire time. It’s rude, you know. Like, I know he’s rich and great and so on, but why do this whole thing if you don’t even care?
Oh shit, why am I ranting? Or am I buying time because I’m so nervous about the damn dick pic? Like, seriously, it shouldn’t be such a big deal, and besides, I won’t be showing my face or anything!
I want him to like it, I think that’s the problem. I’m afraid he might not, and what do I do then?
Him: Interesting. But I think you should give me my reward now. I have an early start tomorrow, and I’d rather not stay up too late ; ).
Oh my god. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? He’s killing me.
With trembling hands, I untie my bathrobe and let it slide to my sides. My cock is semi-hard already, clearly intrigued by what’s about to happen. I gulp down a bout of nerves and give it a stroke, tearing a moan out of myself.
“Fuck. I’m really doing this.”
A few more strokes while imagining it’s Mystery Guy’s hand has me wishing it really was. That he was here watching me jerk off, or helping me do it. But he’s not, and the next best thing is having him masturbate while looking at my dick pic, isn’t it?
While my liquid courage lasts, I snap a photo and send it to him, too turned on in the moment to care about what I’ve done. This was probably a bad idea, but I just want to come, so I continue to pump while still imagining it’s his hand touching me.
When my phone pings next, I throw it a quick glance, only enough to see that Mystery Guy thinks my cock is pretty. It’s all I need, really. With a groan, I climax, spilling inside the small towel I grab from my nightstand.
For a few minutes I stare at my ceiling while lazily palming myself, feeling like a boneless mess. It’s been a while since I jerked off, I guess. I retrieve my phone. There is a new message.
Holding my breath, I open it. It’s a photo of Mystery Guy’s dick, the tip glistening with precum. It’s flushed and veiny and it looks delicious, sending a zap through my entire body.
Him: If you get lonely, just imagine you are riding me, little artist. I bet you’d look lovely shaking on top of me. Sweet dreams.
I jerk off two more times that night. His dick is so beautiful I can’t get it out of my mind. His words, too. They replay in my head over and over, until the sun rises and I regret not getting an ounce of sleep.
With a vile headache, I make my way to my morning shift, contemplating my life choices and arriving at the conclusion that maybe putting some distance between us while his work thing lasts might not be such a bad idea.