All the Pretty Lies
Page 14
I shift until I’m comfortable on my backside then I grab the apple and ease down into position. I let my head fall back and release the breath I was holding.
I feel Mrs. Shuler’s cool hands as she adjusts my limbs. She maneuvers my bent leg, pulling it a little farther forward, then she moves the apple lower on my throat, almost onto my chest. Lastly, she raises my head a little, which I can already tell will be much more comfortable for the duration. Now, if I do happen to open my eyes, which I’m instructed not to do very often, all I see is the door across from me. The one with the black felt over the window. If I can just focus on that…
I sense her backing away and then I hear her voice somewhere over my left shoulder. “Begin.”
It’s with that word, with that one small word, that I feel true relief. The hard part is over. I did it. I took off my clothes and climbed onto a table to pose na**d for a room full of artists. Now I just have to wait.
Just wait.
The minutes drag on like they’re hours and I start to think about how I must look sitting up here. With thoughts like that, my nerves return. Then I remember what Ms. Shuler said.
The song.
Although there are at least a dozen songs that I can think of right off the top of my head that I not only love, but are relevant in today’s culture, only one comes to mind. Still Remains, the song I heard at the studio. The one that will likely forever remind me of Hemi. Sexy, beautiful, elusive Hemi.
I don’t know how much time has passed. I don’t know how many times I’ve played the song over in my head. I don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about Hemi, letting my thoughts drift in oceans of dreams and fantasies, all revolving around what I had hoped we’d share, what I had hoped we could be, but it seems like forever.
I have to admit to myself that I had hoped for more than just sex. I had hoped I could experience love at least once in my life. But with every passing day, I wonder if that’s possible. Time passes so fast, so unexpectedly. My mother thought she had forever. But she didn’t.
My eyelids flutter open and I realize my head has fallen back on my shoulders too far, farther than where Ms. Shuler had positioned me. I raise it, my eyes searching for the covered glass square that served as my landmark. But rather than seeing the blank wooden panel with black felt over the window, I see Hemi. Standing at the door across from me. Watching me.
My pulse flutters and my stomach flips over with some mixture of embarrassment, curiosity and excitement. I feel my breathing pick up, but I slow it on purpose, determined not to react in any perceptible manner. I don’t look away and I don’t close my eyes. I keep my head steady and my gaze trained on his.
His eyes are intense. They aren’t happy or angry, just intense. I can tell by the color that he’s not in a light, teasing mood. They…shine almost when he’s feeling playful. They’re a brighter blue. But not tonight. Tonight, they’re the color of deep, deep water, water that’s still on the surface and churning underneath.
Purposely, as though he’s daring me to try and stop him, he lets his eyes fall over my nude form. I feel warm as they rake their way down my throat, over the apple, to my breasts. They linger there. I don’t think I’d have to see them stop to know that’s where he’s looking. If he were breathing, exhaling on my nipples, I don’t think it would feel any more real than what I feel right now. His gaze is a touch. Not a physical touch, but a touch just the same.
Finally, when my ni**les are heavy with an ache that can’t be soothed, Hemi moves on. His eyes slide down my ribs, caress my stomach and tease my thighs. He narrows them on the place shielded by the way my leg is bent, but I feel his touch there, too, nonetheless.
Warmth floods me. I begin to flush and become short of breath despite my determination not to. I close my eyes, close them against what he’s doing to me. What he’s doing to me from all the way across the room. In front of a crowd of onlookers. I try to regain the calm I felt earlier, but it eludes me. I return to the song that was stuck in my head, but now it only worsens the effects of Hemi’s perusal.
Against my better judgment, because I can’t seem to help myself, I open my eyes again. This time, he’s gone. The doorway is empty.
I wonder for a few seconds if I simply imagined him there, but movement to my left catches my eye. For one instant, I turn my head. Hemi is skirting the room as, I assume, he heads over to speak to my instructor. Surely that’s how he got in tonight. This isn’t exactly a public event.
Quickly, before anyone can notice and before Hemi can catch me watching him, I return to my position. But whatever happens from here on, my peace is gone. My calm is over.
Hemi’s seen me na**d.
And I loved every second of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY - Hemi
Damn it! Dammit, dammit, dammit!
I’m just as furious now, three hours later, as I was when I walked into that room and saw Sloane, lying na**d, stretched out on a table. I should never have gone. I should’ve stayed the hell away from her. I got the information I needed. There was no reason to keep up this ruse, much less put things back on a personal level. But that’s exactly what I did.
All I could think about Thursday night after she left was what she’d be doing tonight. And all day today, all I could think about was her taking off her clothes and striking some pose for a bunch of salivating college assholes to sketch. But I didn’t have to go see for myself. Why the hell did I do that?
And now…now I can’t get the image of her out of my mind. If I’d thought the lure of her sweet, sexy innocence was tempting before…
I slam shut the drawer in my table and glance up at the clock again. She should’ve been here by now.
“What the hell’s your problem?” Sasha asks from where she’s sitting on the other side of the room, inking some guy’s meaty arm.
“Mind your own business,” I snap back, not caring the least bit that she looks wounded. I’m not answering anybody’s questions. There’s no way I’m admitting that I’m waiting for Sloane, that I told her professor to have her stop by the shop tonight because I needed to discuss this preceptorship with her. No, I’d never admit to that. Or to the crazed way I feel right now because she hasn’t shown up.
No, I’d never admit that to anyone. Not even to myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Sloane
At first, I refused to do as Hemi had requested. I told myself that I was not coming to the shop tonight. Period. I’m not required to be at his beck and call. Besides that, I was humiliated just thinking of facing him again after what happened. But then I realized it would look much worse if I didn’t come. So here I am, waiting for everyone else to clear out of the shop so that there are no witnesses to whatever embarrassing conversation I’m about to have.
Sasha is the last one out. Of course. I see the front door open and she emerges. Alone. Hemi is nowhere in sight. That gives me comfort and satisfaction for some reason. He didn’t walk her to the door. That must mean he wasn’t hanging on her every word and look. At least that’s what I tell myself it means.
I watch her get into her bright red little convertible and pull away from the curb. I resist the urge to throw up in my mouth. Ack! I don’t even like that woman’s car!
I watch until her tail lights disappear over the crest of the hill and only then do I get out of my own car. I stand and straighten my skirt, taking a deep breath as I cross the street. It’s as I’m nearing the curb that I see Hemi come to the door. I guess he’s locking up for the night.
I stop when he looks up, my eyes meeting his through the smoked glass door. His hand pauses in midair, hovering over the lock. He doesn’t move for a few seconds. It makes me wonder if he’s debating whether to talk to me or just ignore me. When he moves his hand away from the lock, I know what he’s decided. Leaning forward, he pushes open the door and waits for me to enter. So I do. Neither of us says a word as he closes and locks it behind me.
Not knowing what kind of confrontation lies ahead, I stand, chin up and chest out, and wait for him to say whatever it is he needs to say. But he doesn’t speak. Instead, he walks around the counter and through the doorway that leads into the back room.
I wait a few seconds before I follow, finding him standing at the chair he uses to tattoo. It’s extended and flattened into a table, no doubt for him to clean it.
Hemi is leaning forward, his fingers curled into tight fists and planted on the padded, vinyl surface. Although his head is down, I don’t need to see his face to know that he’s mad about something. I can see it in every rigid line of his body.
I approach slowly, the heels of my sandals making a delicate tap on the tile floor. The air is cool on my bare arms and legs, and I shiver as I stop a few feet away. “What did you want to talk to me about, Hemi?”
He doesn’t move or speak. I can see the veins standing out along his forearms, and his triceps are bunched. I’d had reservations about coming at all. Now, I’m thinking I should’ve listened to my gut.
“If you’re not going to speak to me then I’ll just go.”
I start to move backward when he looks up at me, pinning me with his angry stare. “Don’t you dare,” he growls. He pushes himself upright and takes two long strides that bring him to me. Right to me, his chest within an inch of mine. “You’re gonna tell me what the hell you were thinking with that stunt?”
“What stunt?” I ask, taken aback.
“Taking your clothes off and lying na**d, on a table, in front of a bunch of slobbering idiots.”
“That wasn’t a stunt. I did that for school. I got—”
“The hell you did! You did that to get back at me.” His teeth are clenched so tight I can almost hear them grinding.
“Get back at you? For what? That’s ridiculous.”
“You wanted to show me what I can’t have, what I’m missing out on? Well, you showed me all right.”
“Hemi, that makes no sense. What are you talking about?”
“I’ve done everything within my power to stay away from you. To keep it professional. To keep my hands off you. And then you go and do this.”
I see red. “You are an egotistical asshole! This had nothing to do with you. It had everything to do with me. I didn’t get na**d and show my body to everyone in that room to show you anything. I did it to prove to myself that I could. That I would.”
“And did you like it? Knowing that all those eyes were on you? That everyone in that room, male and female, would slit a man’s throat for one little taste of you?”
“That’s insane! No one in that room was looking at me that way.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” he spits furiously. “You have no idea what you looked like up there. With your hair put up and a few curls dangling down on your shoulder.” Reaching out, Hemi fingers the strands that still rest there. “Your lips so red and kissable.” His eyes rise to my mouth. I have the sudden urge to moisten my lips. “And your breasts, so round and firm. Oh, God!” he groans, “I’ve never wanted to touch somebody so bad in all my life. Not one person. Ever. My tongue tingled just thinking about sucking one of those pink little ni**les into my mouth. And when you looked up at me, I could see it in your eyes. You were wishing the same thing. You were wishing I was touching you.” His voice is low and thick, hypnotic. It oozes over my skin like molasses. “Tell me you were wishing I was touching you.”
He’s weaving a web of desire around me, his words like strands of the strongest silk, holding me captive. I’m trapped by them, ensnared by him until he either lets me go or makes me his.
Before I can think better of it, I give him honesty. “I was. I could barely breathe when you were looking at me,” I admit breathlessly.
“I know I’ll hate myself for this tomorrow, but I have to have a taste of you, Sloane. I can’t deny myself for one more minute. Let me show you what I was thinking when I saw you lying up there. Let me show you what it feels like when a man stops fighting.” His words drift away as his face draws closer to mine. I feel his breath, warm and moist, on my lips. “Let me show you what it feels like when your wish comes true.”
And then his lips touch mine. From the first touch, I get the feeling he wants to devour me. They’re firm and insistent. His tongue is demanding when it licks across my mouth, determined to slip inside. I welcome it. I welcome him.
It tangles wetly with mine, and I wonder at the flavor of him. It’s even better than I thought it would be.
He pulls my bottom lip into his mouth and sucks gently on it as his fingers find the straps of my sundress and slide underneath. He trails his hands down my arms, dragging the straps with them, peeling the dress from my body. I feel the cool air hit my stomach when the material falls to the ground.
His lips still on mine, Hemi skims his hands down my back. When he reaches my hips, I feel him moan into my mouth. He pulls his head back.
“What’s wrong?” I pant, looking up into his handsome face.
“You’re not wearing anything else.”
I shrug. “What was the point?”
As though my simple clothing somehow further fuels his passion, Hemi growls when he crushes my lips beneath his, lifting me off my feet and turning to set me on the end of the tattoo table.
Never taking his mouth from mine, I hear the whir of the small motor as Hemi raises the surface. When it stops, he is able to slip his h*ps easily between my legs. The perfect height, the perfect position.
He speaks against my lips, his hands roaming over the skin of my arms and waist. “Every second that I spent inking this beautiful skin, I wanted to put my lips on it.”
I feel Mrs. Shuler’s cool hands as she adjusts my limbs. She maneuvers my bent leg, pulling it a little farther forward, then she moves the apple lower on my throat, almost onto my chest. Lastly, she raises my head a little, which I can already tell will be much more comfortable for the duration. Now, if I do happen to open my eyes, which I’m instructed not to do very often, all I see is the door across from me. The one with the black felt over the window. If I can just focus on that…
I sense her backing away and then I hear her voice somewhere over my left shoulder. “Begin.”
It’s with that word, with that one small word, that I feel true relief. The hard part is over. I did it. I took off my clothes and climbed onto a table to pose na**d for a room full of artists. Now I just have to wait.
Just wait.
The minutes drag on like they’re hours and I start to think about how I must look sitting up here. With thoughts like that, my nerves return. Then I remember what Ms. Shuler said.
The song.
Although there are at least a dozen songs that I can think of right off the top of my head that I not only love, but are relevant in today’s culture, only one comes to mind. Still Remains, the song I heard at the studio. The one that will likely forever remind me of Hemi. Sexy, beautiful, elusive Hemi.
I don’t know how much time has passed. I don’t know how many times I’ve played the song over in my head. I don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about Hemi, letting my thoughts drift in oceans of dreams and fantasies, all revolving around what I had hoped we’d share, what I had hoped we could be, but it seems like forever.
I have to admit to myself that I had hoped for more than just sex. I had hoped I could experience love at least once in my life. But with every passing day, I wonder if that’s possible. Time passes so fast, so unexpectedly. My mother thought she had forever. But she didn’t.
My eyelids flutter open and I realize my head has fallen back on my shoulders too far, farther than where Ms. Shuler had positioned me. I raise it, my eyes searching for the covered glass square that served as my landmark. But rather than seeing the blank wooden panel with black felt over the window, I see Hemi. Standing at the door across from me. Watching me.
My pulse flutters and my stomach flips over with some mixture of embarrassment, curiosity and excitement. I feel my breathing pick up, but I slow it on purpose, determined not to react in any perceptible manner. I don’t look away and I don’t close my eyes. I keep my head steady and my gaze trained on his.
His eyes are intense. They aren’t happy or angry, just intense. I can tell by the color that he’s not in a light, teasing mood. They…shine almost when he’s feeling playful. They’re a brighter blue. But not tonight. Tonight, they’re the color of deep, deep water, water that’s still on the surface and churning underneath.
Purposely, as though he’s daring me to try and stop him, he lets his eyes fall over my nude form. I feel warm as they rake their way down my throat, over the apple, to my breasts. They linger there. I don’t think I’d have to see them stop to know that’s where he’s looking. If he were breathing, exhaling on my nipples, I don’t think it would feel any more real than what I feel right now. His gaze is a touch. Not a physical touch, but a touch just the same.
Finally, when my ni**les are heavy with an ache that can’t be soothed, Hemi moves on. His eyes slide down my ribs, caress my stomach and tease my thighs. He narrows them on the place shielded by the way my leg is bent, but I feel his touch there, too, nonetheless.
Warmth floods me. I begin to flush and become short of breath despite my determination not to. I close my eyes, close them against what he’s doing to me. What he’s doing to me from all the way across the room. In front of a crowd of onlookers. I try to regain the calm I felt earlier, but it eludes me. I return to the song that was stuck in my head, but now it only worsens the effects of Hemi’s perusal.
Against my better judgment, because I can’t seem to help myself, I open my eyes again. This time, he’s gone. The doorway is empty.
I wonder for a few seconds if I simply imagined him there, but movement to my left catches my eye. For one instant, I turn my head. Hemi is skirting the room as, I assume, he heads over to speak to my instructor. Surely that’s how he got in tonight. This isn’t exactly a public event.
Quickly, before anyone can notice and before Hemi can catch me watching him, I return to my position. But whatever happens from here on, my peace is gone. My calm is over.
Hemi’s seen me na**d.
And I loved every second of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY - Hemi
Damn it! Dammit, dammit, dammit!
I’m just as furious now, three hours later, as I was when I walked into that room and saw Sloane, lying na**d, stretched out on a table. I should never have gone. I should’ve stayed the hell away from her. I got the information I needed. There was no reason to keep up this ruse, much less put things back on a personal level. But that’s exactly what I did.
All I could think about Thursday night after she left was what she’d be doing tonight. And all day today, all I could think about was her taking off her clothes and striking some pose for a bunch of salivating college assholes to sketch. But I didn’t have to go see for myself. Why the hell did I do that?
And now…now I can’t get the image of her out of my mind. If I’d thought the lure of her sweet, sexy innocence was tempting before…
I slam shut the drawer in my table and glance up at the clock again. She should’ve been here by now.
“What the hell’s your problem?” Sasha asks from where she’s sitting on the other side of the room, inking some guy’s meaty arm.
“Mind your own business,” I snap back, not caring the least bit that she looks wounded. I’m not answering anybody’s questions. There’s no way I’m admitting that I’m waiting for Sloane, that I told her professor to have her stop by the shop tonight because I needed to discuss this preceptorship with her. No, I’d never admit to that. Or to the crazed way I feel right now because she hasn’t shown up.
No, I’d never admit that to anyone. Not even to myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Sloane
At first, I refused to do as Hemi had requested. I told myself that I was not coming to the shop tonight. Period. I’m not required to be at his beck and call. Besides that, I was humiliated just thinking of facing him again after what happened. But then I realized it would look much worse if I didn’t come. So here I am, waiting for everyone else to clear out of the shop so that there are no witnesses to whatever embarrassing conversation I’m about to have.
Sasha is the last one out. Of course. I see the front door open and she emerges. Alone. Hemi is nowhere in sight. That gives me comfort and satisfaction for some reason. He didn’t walk her to the door. That must mean he wasn’t hanging on her every word and look. At least that’s what I tell myself it means.
I watch her get into her bright red little convertible and pull away from the curb. I resist the urge to throw up in my mouth. Ack! I don’t even like that woman’s car!
I watch until her tail lights disappear over the crest of the hill and only then do I get out of my own car. I stand and straighten my skirt, taking a deep breath as I cross the street. It’s as I’m nearing the curb that I see Hemi come to the door. I guess he’s locking up for the night.
I stop when he looks up, my eyes meeting his through the smoked glass door. His hand pauses in midair, hovering over the lock. He doesn’t move for a few seconds. It makes me wonder if he’s debating whether to talk to me or just ignore me. When he moves his hand away from the lock, I know what he’s decided. Leaning forward, he pushes open the door and waits for me to enter. So I do. Neither of us says a word as he closes and locks it behind me.
Not knowing what kind of confrontation lies ahead, I stand, chin up and chest out, and wait for him to say whatever it is he needs to say. But he doesn’t speak. Instead, he walks around the counter and through the doorway that leads into the back room.
I wait a few seconds before I follow, finding him standing at the chair he uses to tattoo. It’s extended and flattened into a table, no doubt for him to clean it.
Hemi is leaning forward, his fingers curled into tight fists and planted on the padded, vinyl surface. Although his head is down, I don’t need to see his face to know that he’s mad about something. I can see it in every rigid line of his body.
I approach slowly, the heels of my sandals making a delicate tap on the tile floor. The air is cool on my bare arms and legs, and I shiver as I stop a few feet away. “What did you want to talk to me about, Hemi?”
He doesn’t move or speak. I can see the veins standing out along his forearms, and his triceps are bunched. I’d had reservations about coming at all. Now, I’m thinking I should’ve listened to my gut.
“If you’re not going to speak to me then I’ll just go.”
I start to move backward when he looks up at me, pinning me with his angry stare. “Don’t you dare,” he growls. He pushes himself upright and takes two long strides that bring him to me. Right to me, his chest within an inch of mine. “You’re gonna tell me what the hell you were thinking with that stunt?”
“What stunt?” I ask, taken aback.
“Taking your clothes off and lying na**d, on a table, in front of a bunch of slobbering idiots.”
“That wasn’t a stunt. I did that for school. I got—”
“The hell you did! You did that to get back at me.” His teeth are clenched so tight I can almost hear them grinding.
“Get back at you? For what? That’s ridiculous.”
“You wanted to show me what I can’t have, what I’m missing out on? Well, you showed me all right.”
“Hemi, that makes no sense. What are you talking about?”
“I’ve done everything within my power to stay away from you. To keep it professional. To keep my hands off you. And then you go and do this.”
I see red. “You are an egotistical asshole! This had nothing to do with you. It had everything to do with me. I didn’t get na**d and show my body to everyone in that room to show you anything. I did it to prove to myself that I could. That I would.”
“And did you like it? Knowing that all those eyes were on you? That everyone in that room, male and female, would slit a man’s throat for one little taste of you?”
“That’s insane! No one in that room was looking at me that way.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” he spits furiously. “You have no idea what you looked like up there. With your hair put up and a few curls dangling down on your shoulder.” Reaching out, Hemi fingers the strands that still rest there. “Your lips so red and kissable.” His eyes rise to my mouth. I have the sudden urge to moisten my lips. “And your breasts, so round and firm. Oh, God!” he groans, “I’ve never wanted to touch somebody so bad in all my life. Not one person. Ever. My tongue tingled just thinking about sucking one of those pink little ni**les into my mouth. And when you looked up at me, I could see it in your eyes. You were wishing the same thing. You were wishing I was touching you.” His voice is low and thick, hypnotic. It oozes over my skin like molasses. “Tell me you were wishing I was touching you.”
He’s weaving a web of desire around me, his words like strands of the strongest silk, holding me captive. I’m trapped by them, ensnared by him until he either lets me go or makes me his.
Before I can think better of it, I give him honesty. “I was. I could barely breathe when you were looking at me,” I admit breathlessly.
“I know I’ll hate myself for this tomorrow, but I have to have a taste of you, Sloane. I can’t deny myself for one more minute. Let me show you what I was thinking when I saw you lying up there. Let me show you what it feels like when a man stops fighting.” His words drift away as his face draws closer to mine. I feel his breath, warm and moist, on my lips. “Let me show you what it feels like when your wish comes true.”
And then his lips touch mine. From the first touch, I get the feeling he wants to devour me. They’re firm and insistent. His tongue is demanding when it licks across my mouth, determined to slip inside. I welcome it. I welcome him.
It tangles wetly with mine, and I wonder at the flavor of him. It’s even better than I thought it would be.
He pulls my bottom lip into his mouth and sucks gently on it as his fingers find the straps of my sundress and slide underneath. He trails his hands down my arms, dragging the straps with them, peeling the dress from my body. I feel the cool air hit my stomach when the material falls to the ground.
His lips still on mine, Hemi skims his hands down my back. When he reaches my hips, I feel him moan into my mouth. He pulls his head back.
“What’s wrong?” I pant, looking up into his handsome face.
“You’re not wearing anything else.”
I shrug. “What was the point?”
As though my simple clothing somehow further fuels his passion, Hemi growls when he crushes my lips beneath his, lifting me off my feet and turning to set me on the end of the tattoo table.
Never taking his mouth from mine, I hear the whir of the small motor as Hemi raises the surface. When it stops, he is able to slip his h*ps easily between my legs. The perfect height, the perfect position.
He speaks against my lips, his hands roaming over the skin of my arms and waist. “Every second that I spent inking this beautiful skin, I wanted to put my lips on it.”
