Midnight Muse

How could anyone, let alone his family, do something like that? It’s utterly fucking evil and vile and…and…I can’t even think of another word to describe what Knox has gone through.

I try to swallow past the lump in my throat, breathing shallowly so I don’t make myself sick with the thoughts racing through my mind.

As if he’s already so attuned to my body language, Knox squeezes my hand, offering me a gentle smile. It’s crooked, where one corner of his mouth tilts higher than the other, but it’s easily the most handsome smile I’ve ever seen. It makes him look years younger, like he’s carrying less of weight of the world on his shoulders. It has me wishing I brought my sketchpad with me. When he looks at me like this, it feels like there’s a garden of anticipation sprouting in my stomach, a field of colorful flowers.

I frown when Knox untangles his fingers from mine but then he’s sliding that large palm slowly up my thigh. My gaze turns sharp but he looks like the perfect picture of innocence, smirk gone as he focuses intently on the road.

The car jumps when we hit a pothole and it causes Knox’s hand to slip even higher up my thigh. I wonder if he can feel the heat radiating off of my?—

“How are you doing over there, Princess?” Knox asks me, but I can hear the mirth in his voice, see the arousal in his eyes, flashing in the streetlights.

“Peachy,” I offer, using both hands to clamp down on his wrist to keep him from coming any closer to my already weeping pussy. The thin fabric of my dress does little to separate Knox’s searing touch. “Just peachy.”

I skip going back to my apartment, trailing after Knox with my hand still tucked in his.

My heart beats wildly in my chest. The closer we move towards his door, the more confident in my decision I am. I want him. I want his hands all over my body, his eyes and tongue on my skin, his cock plunged deeply into me.

The elevator had been the only option to get upstairs because of my tired feet, but Knox had thoroughly distracted me by pinning me up against the wall and slotting his lips against mine.

We stumbled out onto our floor in a fit of laughter. Now, I’m mostly just drunk off of Knox, his hands, the strain in his pants that’s calling to me like a beacon, and that sexy gleam in his eye.

“I’m going to get you some water,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to my mouth. We both creeped quietly into the dark apartment, holding our breath and listening for movement. For college students, the weekend night is still young and his roommates must be out because I don’t hear any grunts or moans behind closed doors or through thin walls.

His hands settle on my hips, eyes shining with amusement. “And after you drink it, if you still want to?—”

“Yes, Knox,” I cut him off, tone earnest. “My answer isn’t going to change.”

He studies me, eyes hungry with desire, before he nods, slipping from the room.

I bite back the smile threatening to tear my face in two at the sight of his ass in those black trousers. I can’t wait to rip them off of him and find out what’s underneath.

Exhaling, I spin on my heel, kicking off my shoes. My feet sigh in relief as they fall flat against the hardwood floors and I wiggle my toes, admiring his room. It feels different this time, from when I’d woken up here hungover as fuck.

The light from the lamp beside the bed is soft, the pile of books stacked in pristine order as opposed to the ready-to-tip-over pile I remember. It’s clean, no clothes on the floor like in Slate’s room, no pair of panties thrown over the back of the desk chair.

Knox’s desk is the only thing I could consider messy, but even then, it’s cleaner than what some of my art stations look like when I’m elbows deep in a project. There’s a jar filled with chunks of charcoal sticks, a cloth drenched black hanging over its side. There are loose sheets of paper and thick graphite pencils for sketching and a cluster of sketchbooks stacked in a neat order, the one on top open.

Leaning closer, I squint against the dimness of the room to get a better look, and my breath hitches in my throat at what I see.

Sketch upon sketch litter the spread, each one of me. He’s made me look so beautiful that I’m not even sure I look like this. Even the ones that have clearly been drawn in a rush are impeccable.

It’s me in the elevator, head buried in my sketchbook, hat pulled low over my eyes. It’s me when Rory and Ace forced us all to have lunch together, tossing the grape at Slate. I flip the page and it’s me, scowling up at him the first night we met. Me sitting on the back of his motorcycle, rain plastered to my head, me?—

I all but collapse into the desk chair as I continue to pry. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s as if I’m in a trance. Some of the pages are filled with larger scale drawings, spanning across the spine of the book. When I’d eaten dinner with Knox, the shock on my face while finding out he could cook.

A hysterical laugh bubbles in my throat. I didn’t realize that Knox has been paying as much attention to me as I was with him. The drawings of his hands that I dropped all over the floor are a tribute to that.

“What are you doing?” Knox’s voice startles me. I whirl around, jumping from the chair to face him, but I don’t move any farther than that. I can’t because my knees are locked and my feet are glued to the floor.

He’s standing in the doorway, a glass of water in his hand. He doesn’t move, either. When his eyes flicker from me to the sketchbook, my chest hurts at the guarded look he wears.

“That sketchbook is filled with drawings of me,” I blurt stupidly, still in shock.

I watch Knox’s throat work as he swallows. Like he’s considering not answering at all.

After a few, long seconds in silence, he breaths out a quiet, “Yes.”

“Why?” I ask, trying to resist the urge to wring my fingers together.