by Mara Leigh
Nah. I shook my head. That was me projecting romantic fantasies onto this magnificent hunk of man.
“Time,” Chad announced, and the class collectively tore the top sheet of newsprint off their easels, leaving me stunned and staring at the one line I’d managed to draw in the allotted sixty seconds.
Reacting slowly, I flipped over my paper, then checked out the second pose. He’d lifted one foot to rest on a wooden block on the podium, and the new pose made me audibly gasp. The bottom curve of his balls and the head of his long cock were clearly visible between those powerful legs.
“Grow up,” said the hipster artiste beside me.
“Mind your own business,” I replied in a whisper, glancing over to see that in about thirty seconds, and with six or seven quick charcoal-drawn lines, she’d captured the basic shape of the man.
Jealousy and competitiveness surged through me. I had no desire to be an artist—I was taking this class to expand my horizons, become a more well-rounded person before starting law school next fall—but my desire to one-up the hipster was overpowering.
“Time!” Chad called out.
Another sixty seconds shot. At least I didn’t need a fresh sheet of paper this time. I hadn’t even managed one line.
Leaving his leg on the block, Zach twisted his torso to look over the bent leg and I frantically sketched, trying to capture the essence of his body, and the strong line of his chin, in profile to me now. Dark curls of hair licked the edges of his face and the sides of his neck, and while it was decidedly messy it looked clean and soft, and instead of focusing on my sketch, I kept imagining how his hair would feel between my fingers.
By the ninth gesture sketch I’d regained my concentration enough to actually draw for the whole sixty seconds, but what I created fell so short of what I was seeing before me.
And then he turned.
The last short pose was strong, his arms folded back behind his head to show off the hard lines of muscle on his chest, and his torso was twisted so that his abs seemed to all fire at once without effort. And I finally saw the head of that snake. Its mouth was open, tongue out like it was trying to lick—or bite—his nipple.
Badass and sexy. Tough, yet kind of vulnerable at the same time.
Everything about this man seemed a contradiction. Even though the pose was one a body builder might strike, he looked more like I’d just caught him stretching after rising from bed. Naked.
And at that thought my eyes could not move from his package. Dark, curly hair trailed down his lower abdomen—not enough to obscure the goods, but enough so that he didn’t look all manscaped—and his dick… I’d seen plenty of photos online, but I’d only ever been with one guy, my ex-boyfriend Josh, and the difference was so great it was hard to believe we were talking about the same piece of anatomy, or even the same species. It was like comparing a human nose to an elephant trunk.
Okay, that was exaggerating, but I’d never seen a penis so long and thick—not in real life—and I wondered if he might be getting hard, turned on by the posing, because it hung with some tension, not straight down, and the head was dark pink, almost shining in contrast to the paler veined length of him.
“Time,” the instructor called. “Good job.” I spun toward the sound of his voice, realizing he was standing next to me, then looked back to the paper on my easel.
Instead of tackling his entire body, in my subconscious stupor I’d drawn a full-page sketch of the model’s cock.
It wasn’t exactly detailed—we only had sixty seconds, and it wasn’t anything that would get me admitted to a real art school or anything—but I had captured the shape, the angle, and the kinetic energy of how it hung.
“Harl!” Lara said. “You go girl!”
Perhaps I’d found my artistic calling. Cock portraiture. I tore off the sheet and let it drop to the floor, eager to continue.
As Zach and Chad discussed poses for our half-hour sketching session, I held my breath, hoping that Zach would have his back to me again so I could focus in on a less erotic part of his anatomy.
So much for that wish. The chosen position had him semi-reclined on the gray riser, one arm up on a pile of Moroccan cushions, and his legs bent and splayed like the entire purpose of the pose was to put his genitalia on display—for me.
For a few moments I was tempted to move my easel to the other side of the room—trading places with some of my classmates who’d quickly repositioned to this side—but the model captured my gaze with a teasing smile that felt like a challenge.
Challenge accepted.
I was a grown-ass woman. Twenty-two next December. I might not be an artist, even an aspiring one, but I could treat this situation professionally. I could draw this man, treating him as a mere subject instead of a droolworthy hunk.
But in spite of my vow, I couldn’t focus. During the first ten minutes of the pose, every time I looked up from paper to subject, my gaze either landed on his eyes, still smiling at me, or his groin, which seemed to be taunting me in a way dirtier way.
My earlier blush returned with a vengeance.
“What’s wrong?” Lara asked from beside me.
I shook my head, noticing that she had a great sketch already and was starting to shade, whereas I’d drawn a shape that was less like a man and more like a manatee.
The hipster beside me chuckled, pushing her heavy-framed glasses up on her nose and flipping back her peacock-blue hair.
Whatever.
I continued drawing but every time I looked up, my face heated to the point where I couldn’t decide if the color came from embarrassment or arousal.
When Chad called for a break, I pressed the back of my hand against my cheek in a vain attempt to cool it.
“What’s wrong?” Chad stepped up beside me and frowned at the drawing on my easel.
“I’m not really feeling this pose,” I said—because it was opposite day?
Chad put his hand on my shoulder. “Harley, If you’re overwhelmed, don’t try to sketch the whole figure. Zoom in on one section. Your gesture sketch of the model’s genitalia was promising.”
The hipster beside me snorted, and one of the longhaired older men on the other side of the room snickered. Damn Chad for speaking so loudly. But now I felt like his patronizing proposal was a dare. If I didn’t do what he’d suggested, would my classmates consider me prudish? Would the model, assuming he’d heard?
The break ended and Zach shed his robe for the final fifteen minutes, taking up his position again—even adjusting his package to make it lie the same way. The simple fact that I noticed this adjustment seemed like a sign that I should follow Chad’s suggestion and focus there. Why not? Drawing an entire human body was leagues past my limited life-drawing skills, and I had to do something or I was going to end the class without creating any kind of sketch. Art might not be in my wheelhouse, but neither was giving up—or failing.
Starting with a clean sheet of paper, I started to draw, tentatively at first, and then with more focus and purpose, and it turned out Chad was right: keeping my attention on one area did help. And it also helped not to look at the model’s face or think about him as a human male, a living and breathing man whom I’d never have the guts to talk to if I saw him out in the wilds.
If I ever did have the guts to approach him, I wasn’t sure which I feared more: that he’d reject me, or that he’d take me in his arms and kiss me, press me up against a wall, his muscular body hard against mine.
Forcing those thoughts from my mind, I rubbed the charcoal on the paper, smudging and shading, trying my best to represent what I was seeing.
I was shading the underside of his balls, fighting to remember the techniques I’d been taught to get the shape to look three dimensional, when I lifted my eyes from my paper and noticed the model was no longer there. I must have missed it when Chad called time.
After dropping the charcoal onto the easel’s tray, I stretched my shoulders, shocked at how tense they’d become. I glanced over t
o Lara, who grinned like a goofball, striking a “look at this” pose in front of her sketch.
“Wow, that’s great, Lara.” I joined her in front of her easel.
I couldn’t exactly recognize Zach the model in her sketch, but I could recognize that she’d drawn a human, and for beginners like us, that counted as a huge win.
Lara’s eyes opened wider and she tipped her chin up like she was trying to tell me something.
“Do I have charcoal on my face again?”
“No.”
I glanced back toward my easel. Zach—now in a loosely wrapped robe that didn’t begin to cover the snake tattoo curling over his chest, or the good bits south of his waist—was standing in front of my sketch, the smirk on his face visible even in profile.
Mortified, I looked at my drawing with the perspective of distance. My cheeks flared.
My sketch was like something an eight-year-old might draw—if we’re talking skill level versus subject matter, that is. Sure, some eight-year-old boys might do dick drawings, but one hoped not like mine, with its exaggerated size, overly graphic head and veining, and definitely belonging to an adult male.
I wanted to crawl under the paint and charcoal-coated floor.
“Impressive,” Zach said.
“Right back at you,” I replied, then immediately felt my entire body blush. “I mean, what I meant was: holding a pose like that for so long.” I was stammering now, and my throat and tongue felt like I’d spent a week in the desert without water.
“I was talking about my dick,” he said. “Not your sketch.” He turned to me, flashing the most devilish grin I’d ever seen.
It was like his expression licked me, scalded me in all my hidden places.
I raised my chin. “There’s no need to be rude. I’m a beginner.”
“Sorry.” He reached toward me in an apologetic gesture. “Good effort. You really, um, captured my package.”
“It’s only my second life-drawing class.” I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly aware my nipples were hard. “I suppose you could do better?”
“Yeah, I could.” He said it without question or humility. “But drawing dicks isn’t really my thing.”
“Oh really?” My voice carried a challenge I hadn’t really intended. “What is your thing?”
He stepped closer so suddenly I had to fight the urge to step back, his presence invading every molecule of my personal space even though he was still more than two feet away. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he said.
The look he shot me was incendiary, like his eyes had growled, and I’d never been so turned on, or so terrified. Snappy comebacks whistled through my consciousness, but none felt quite right. I didn’t know whether to play the smartass, the bold woman, or coy—which so wasn’t me—or to act totally unaffected, as if that were possible at this point.
“Zach.” The hipster stepped between us, her back to me—an aggressive move given our proximity. “Some of us are headed to Sanctuary. Wanna come?”
“Sure.” He shrugged, then looked over top of the hipster’s head to me. “Are you going… What’s your name?”
I had a strange impulse to give a false name, and fighting that urge I couldn’t seem to get my mouth to do anything.
“That’s okay.” He raised his hands as if in surrender. “No need to get personal.”
“Harley,” I blurted.
“Like the bike?” His eyes flashed a smile.
“Yup.”
Hipster turned toward me. “You wouldn’t like Sanctuary. It’s a little rough for someone like you.”
Lara stepped up beside me and put her arm over my shoulders. “Did I hear the mention of drinks? We’re in. Right Harl?”
I nodded, and Hipster turned away with a huff and a wave of her peacock hair.
“See you at the bar,” I said to Zach.
“You’re relentless,” he said with a smile. “Haven’t you seen enough already?”
Continue reading BAD STEPBROTHER
Also By Mara Leigh
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PARANORMAL, WHY CHOOSE ROMANCE
Bound by her Blood Series
Bound by her Blood
Bound by her Passion
Bound by her Destiny
Bound by her Love
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Bad Stepbrother
Downey Brothers Series
Bad Boy Next Door
Bad Habit
Bad Princess (coming soon)
Best Kind of Bad (coming soon)
SHORT EROTIC READS
Fantasies Unleashed Series
Dirty Business
Surrender
Bedded by Strangers
Humbling the Boss
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About the Author
Mara Leigh escaped from the corporate world and now hangs out in coffee shops, letting her imagination run wild. After living in various cities including Edinburgh, San Francisco and Philadelphia, Mara and her exorbitant shoe collection have settled in Toronto where she writes sexy, smart and satisfying contemporary and paranormal romance.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © Mara Leigh
Cover design: Covers by Juan
ISBN: 978-1-989318-08-9 Digital Edition
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book is protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. Except for quotations for use in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.
