Chapter 14
I’d lost my mind. It was the only plausible explanation for why I’d stripped down to my underwear and parked myself on a cold metal stool in the center of a room so that a group of people could draw me.
I’d strategically placed my hand between my partially spread thighs and gripped the edge of the stool to hide my junk for a bit of modesty.
Atticus, the sexy little minx, alternated between biting and licking his bottom lip while he sketched my almost nude form, and I couldn’t stop thinking about where I wanted his tongue and teeth on my body.
“Even your bare feet are hot,” Mr. Sanchez said.
The room collectively murmured their agreement as most of them drew my form. Some hadn’t stopped staring almost thirty minutes into class, but Atticus didn’t seem concerned about their participation, so why should I?
“That’s some ass you have,” remarked Ms. Merriweather, who hadn’t so much as sketched the first line. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at Atticus. “What do you youngsters call a big ass like that these days, Kit?”
“Dump truck,” Atticus replied without lifting his head. “You know, so you can back it on up.”
I was going to back Atticus up against the nearest surface and do wicked things to him. “Thank you,” I said to Ms. Merriweather, even if it was the oddest compliment I’d ever received.
“Your tattoos are amazing works of art,” Mrs. Cho said. “Truly remarkable.”
Atticus lifted his head and met my gaze long enough to mouth, “Told you,” before returning his attention to the drawing.
I kept my head straight so as not to ruin anyone’s efforts, but mostly, I couldn’t take my eyes off Atticus.
That pink tongue, the one I’d just had in my mouth hours ago, poked out of his full lips and spiked my body temperature even higher.
I didn’t need a powerful imagination to picture his tongue caressing my nipples like his fingers had at lunch.
A slight shiver rippled through my body, and I forced my gaze away from Atticus before I made an absolute fool of myself in front of the class.
I’d never live this down once the guys found out.
Unfortunately, my gaze landed on a smirking older gentleman whose shrewd gaze and impish grin let me know he hadn’t missed where my attention had been.
“I bet you served in the military,” Mrs. Howard said from my left.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You look like an army man,” Mr. Murphy said with a salute. “Special Forces, I bet.”
“Yes, sir. I was an Army Ranger.”
“A career in security and protection after serving in the military makes a lot of sense,” Mr. Murphy said. “Though working here is probably a bit too tame for you.”
My gaze returned to Atticus, who watched me with curious eyes. There was nothing tame or safe about my feelings for him. “I don’t know about that, sir.”
Mr. Murphy laughed. “Did you start your company immediately after the end of active service?”
The question caught me off guard. I didn’t like talking about the intervening time between leaving the service and establishing RAVEN Securities. I hated to sound like Dickens, but it was both the best and worst time of my life. I must’ve waited too long to answer because Atticus spoke up.
“That’s enough personal questions,” he said. “Ray’s done us a huge favor today, and we don’t need to pry into his personal life.”
“But you might learn something interesting about your sweetie,” Ms. Merriweather said.
Atticus held my gaze and said, “I’ll let him tell me at his own pace.”
His patience meant the world to me and proved Atticus deserved my leap of faith. “I’ll answer this one last question,” I said. “I spent a few years working private security for embassies and high-risk targets before establishing RAVEN with my best friends.”
Mr. Murphy nodded his approval and saluted me again. I risked the wrath of the class to return the gesture.
“Thank you for your service, dear,” Mrs. Howard said before humming “God Bless America.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
Atticus slowly raked his teeth over his bottom lip, and I watched with rapt attention as the flesh plumped back up once it was free.
His mouth looked darker from the abuse Atticus had put it through, and I wanted to kiss it better.
Then I wanted to make his lips redder and puffier from my attention.
“Bet you’re really packing some heat, aren’t you?” Mrs. Hastings blurted.
“Hattie! Stop being vulgar,” Mrs. Cho scolded before Atticus could.
The class laughed together for a few seconds before conversation lulled in favor of…
art? I kept my body as still as I could, though it was harder than I imagined.
I had several stretch breaks but was relieved when Atticus called an end to the class at exactly the two-hour mark.
The group begged for more time, but Atticus wouldn’t budge, no matter how persistent they got.
“And take your drawings with you,” he reminded them before they left.
Mrs. Hastings looped her arm through Ms. Merriweather’s on the way out and asked, “What do you call that kind of ass again?”
I couldn’t hear Ms. Merriweather’s answer, but I chuckled anyway. “I can’t wait to see your sketch,” I told Atticus once we were alone in the room.
He closed his notebook and clutched it tightly against his chest. “No chance.” Atticus raked his gaze over my body and said, “You can get dressed now.” The smoldering expression in his eyes said that was the last thing he wanted.
I stood up and stretched my arms over my head, giving Atticus a real eyeful. “I showed you mine, and now you’ve gotta show me yours.”
Atticus’s brow shot up. “Are we still talking about artwork?”
I stalked forward, stepping past my pile of clothes. “Maybe.”
Atticus swallowed hard and gripped his notebook tighter, making me even more determined to see it. “I can’t draw for shit. My sketch is barely more than a stick figure.”
“Uh-huh.” I strode forward, took him by the hand, and led him into the art supply closet.
I tested the handle, noting it was a little stiff but still functioning.
I shut the door and backed Atticus up against the nearest shelf, not stopping until my body pressed against his.
I liked the fact that I was all but naked while Atticus was fully dressed.
“That was some serious concentration you showed for only drawing a stick figure.”
“Some parts of you are enormous and needed extra attention.”
My dick knew when it was getting stroked—figuratively and literally.
Atticus was doing a bang-up job with the first, and I really wanted to turn him loose on the second.
I didn’t hold back my reaction to him; I let Atticus feel how hard he made me with a glance and a few casual words.
I leaned in and brushed my nose against his temple, his cheek, and pressed my mouth to his ear. “Show me.”
“Oh god,” Atticus whimpered.
I pinched his chin and tilted his head back so I could kiss his trembling lips.
Atticus parted for me and met my tongue with unrivaled eagerness and intention.
He melted against me, his limbs turning into noodles, and his notebook would’ve hit the floor if not for my quick reflexes.
I snatched it out of the air and tightly clutched my prize.
Atticus broke the kiss with an affronted gasp. “Did you kiss me just to get your hands on my notebook?”
“No, I just needed to taste those lips again after staring at them for two hours.” I stepped back and held the notebook in the air like a trophy.
“This is just a bonus.” I flipped open the cover and fanned the pages until I found what I was looking for, then stared momentarily stunned at the drawing on the page. “This is…”
“Ugh.” Atticus sidestepped me and walked to the center of the closet. “It’s terrible.”
“No, it’s incredible,” I told him.
Atticus hadn’t gone with the traditional style of sketching; he’d chosen to do…
I didn’t know for sure. It was like a cartoon, reminding me of the satirical style I’d seen in newspapers.
Those subject matters were usually politicians and world leaders, not a massive dick with a ladder leaned against it so a cartoon version of Atticus could climb the rungs to reach its head.
“I’m blushing a little because you’ve been very generous with my dick size, but damn, this guy on the ladder has your cute nose and pouty, perfect lips.
I want to kiss the freckles on his nose.
” I turned and walked to the real Atticus and kissed his freckles instead.
“Do you really want to climb my dick? And what would you do with it once you reached the top?”
Atticus raised his head and stared into my eyes. His pink tongue darted out and swiped over his lower lip before he sank his teeth into it. After a moment, Atticus released the tender flesh and said, “I think you know.”
I shook my head. “You’ll need to spell it out for me.” I cocked my head to the side. “Or you could draw it.”
“I want to suck you dry,” Atticus said.
I nodded. “Yeah. I want that too.” More than I’d ever wanted anything.
Atticus stepped back and gestured to the door. “Not here. Get dressed while I clean up. Then we can leave. My house is close, and my parents are out of town.”
I cupped his neck with my free hand and kissed him hard enough to make Atticus sway when I released him. “Take me home with you.”
Atticus moved easels and drawing supplies into the storage closet while I got dressed.
The art room was otherwise tidy, so I handed his notebook back to him, and we left.
The urge to reach for his hand was strong, but we weren’t in high school.
We’d acted inappropriately in the workplace enough for one day, and I didn’t want to push the limits too hard.
“I just need to grab my stuff from my office,” I told him.
“Same. I’ll meet you in the parking lot. You can follow me.”