Chapter 41 “if u think i’m pretty” - Artemas
“if u think i’m pretty” - Artemas
Maeve
I don’t often have bad ideas, but I seem to be on a roll recently. Today’s plan might just take the cake, however.
Pierce is standing in my living room, unbuttoning his shirt. He’s already discarded his suit jacket on the sofa behind him. His eyes fix onto mine, and the smile on his face is pure arrogance. A tiny jolt of desire rushes through my core.
But before you go getting any ideas, I should probably add that he’s surrounded by seven women who are all currently three glasses of pinot noir into their afternoon. An easel, a blank canvas, and a paint palette waits in front of each one of them.
When my cousin Benita asked me to be her maid of honor, it wasn’t because we’re close. It was because she knew I would throw her the best bridal shower and bachelorette party. And considering the way she’s currently drooling over Pierce, I’d say she is congratulating herself on her choice.
Pierce undoes the last button and moves his hands behind his back to strip off his sleeves.
I’ve seen him do it a hundred times, but for some reason, in front of all these women, I see it with fresh eyes.
The muscles in his chest ripple with the movement, and everyone catcalls—with the exception of yours truly—as the shirt falls to the floor, leaving that delicious torso of his on display.
“Oh my god,” Giselle Wheeler says. “It is real?” Giggling, she moves to the center of the circle and runs her manicured hand over Pierce’s skin, which is smooth, tight, and golden.
Laughter rings throughout the room.
Frowning at Giselle, I call out, “Okay, let’s get started on these paintings.”
They make a half-hearted attempt to follow my instructions, every eye still glued to our model. He ignores them and reaches for the zipper of his pants, keeping his gaze fixed on mine. I expect to see mockery there, but instead it’s something softer. Sympathy? Or, god forbid, pity?
I blink quickly and turn away, breaking eye contact. The house party at Belgrave Park was two weeks ago, and the two of us have hardly spoken since—not because he hasn’t tried, but because I can hardly stand to face him after the things I told him.
It was an amateur move, one I only made because I was shaken up by the events of the day.
Hell, I barely escaped with my life in those woods.
At the time, he seemed trustworthy, and I was just so bloody tired of carrying everything myself.
I told him those things because in the moment, I trusted him.
In the moment, I forgot what we are to each other—competitors.
So I made the worst mistake of all: I showed the competition my weakness. Weakness that he now has the ability to weaponize against me. He hasn’t done anything yet, but I’m preparing myself for it. He would be a fool not to, and Pierce St. James is anything but a fool.
After turning in the final treasure hunt clue—which Pierce surprisingly kept his word about and let me claim—we were given our next challenge. The note read, Choose your weapon! You must each choose an activity to complete together. The first one to bail or complain out loud loses.
I’ll admit, this one had me a little excited.
There were so many things I knew Pierce would hate to do—a yoga class, a craft project, a guided therapy session—but I needed the perfect activity to break him.
When I remembered Benita’s upcoming bachelorette party, it was like the clouds parted and the angels started singing.
It all feels a little less angelic as I watch Pierce slide his pants down over his hips before releasing them in a puddle at his feet. He slowly steps out of them, much to the glee of his audience, another cocky smile spreading across his face.
He is enjoying this way too much.
“Does everyone have their paints?” I ask, walking behind each easel to inspect the supplies. I don’t look at Pierce. I don’t need to. I’m intimately acquainted with those muscled thighs of his, those sculpted calves, everything covered in a light layer of soft hair.
“Forget the painting,” Fiona says. “Can we get a dance instead?”
There’s a chorus of tittering laughter as the others wholeheartedly agree.
I aim a glare at the back of Fiona’s head. The whole point of this was to humiliate Pierce, and yet I seem to be the only one not enjoying myself.
Forcing a chuckle, I return to my own easel. “Unfortunately, Mr. St. James has only been contracted for two hours of modeling.” Our eyes meet above my canvas, and there’s a knowing twinkle in his eyes.
The bastard knows exactly how to ruin me.
I should have remembered that when we were at Belgrave Park. He will do anything to win, including sabotaging me. If I care at all about beating him at this challenge, I have to keep my eye on the prize.
I tilt my chin and don’t back down from his gaze. “Okay, Pierce. I think we’re ready.”
Instead of flushing or looking embarrassed, he just nods and drops his black Calvin Kleins with the flourish of a French model.
Several quiet gasps float from behind the easels as we all take in his considerable length.
Even when it’s not erect, his cock is quite impressive.
A faint line of hair trails down from his navel, and I know exactly how soft it is.
Realizing I’ve been staring along with everyone else, I jerk my gaze up, only for it to collide with Pierce’s once again. He tilts his head to the side, giving me a small mocking smile. My cheeks immediately burst into flames.
“Can you turn to the side just a bit?” I ask. “The lighting is hitting you all wrong from this angle.” It’s nothing but a lie, but I need to do something to regain control of this situation.
Once he’s shifted his position slightly, we all pick up our brushes and start painting. After an hour, I glance around at the other canvases, but it seems nobody is spending much time with their art. They’re all much too interested in ogling the model.
My irritation blossoms, especially when I look up to find Pierce’s eyes on me. It’s like he thinks he can get me to bail on my own activity. The absolute audacity of the man.
Soon our two hours are up, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much relief coursing through my body before. I toss my paintbrush aside and begin gathering the supplies. The women take far too long saying thank you to Pierce, who is still undressed, save for his boxer briefs.
After the last one has gone, shutting the door behind her, I sink onto the sofa and shut my eyes. “God, what a nightmare.”
I can feel him smirking at me from where he’s still standing in the middle of the room. “You’re not the one who was naked.”
“Why are you still here?” I say, opening my eyes. “You can leave now.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
My mouth turns dry as I watch him watching me. I recognize that smoldering look. It means I’m five minutes away from getting fucked in a corner somewhere, hard. Sitting up, I force a laugh. “It’s my house.”
He ignores me and moves closer to the couch.
“Do you know how difficult it was not to spring a semi? Or fuck, a full-blown hard-on?” Pressing his palms into the cushions on either side of me, he leans down.
“I just spent two hours thinking about my grandma so I wouldn’t think about what I was going to do to you afterward. ”
I swallow as a thrill races up my spine.
Abruptly, he pushes off the sofa and straightens. “Take off your clothes.”
I’m feeling devious, so I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
“All the same, I prefer not to be naked in my own living room.”
Pierce’s movements are as quick as a snake’s. One second he’s standing across from me, and the next he’s pulled me upright against him, his erection pressing into my stomach. “When I tell you to do something, you do it.”
I gasp, then let out a breathy exhale. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I drag out your orgasm.”
A slow smile spreads across my lips as I consider the implications of what he’s saying. “That sounds even more fun.”
“Oh, I don’t mean for another five minutes. I can play with you for hours, Maeve Wilson.” He twists my arm, bringing me even closer so he can grab my chin. “In fact, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”