ℂ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℕ𝕖𝕠𝕟 𝔾𝕝𝕠𝕨 ➃

13. What'd I Get Myself Into? - ✭ Boston ✭

Even though I should feel like a walking zombie, I don't. I had stayed up all night sketching for Monica, which resulted in me actually sketching Monica once she fell asleep. I drew her, captured all those wonderful features. Not to brag, but the likeness was uncanny. If there's anything I'm truly good at— it's drawing.

She'd made these little whimpers in her sleep that'd made me wonder what she was dreaming about. Could she feel my eyes on her even in her sleep? Did her subconscious know I was sitting there, outlining every seducing detail of her immaculate form after she'd kicked her covers off? From Monica's slumbered responses, I would say yes, yes she most definitely knew.

Sketching is what tore me from that bed last night, kept me from jumping back in it with her throughout it. When she said she wanted my work, my craftsmanship on her body forever, my heart had palpitated unevenly inside of my chest. I had wanted to brand every bit of her skin with my touch before permanently marking it with ink. I chose to do so with soft kisses on her shoulder, neck, jaw, and lips instead.

Those slow kisses had made me want so much more though. So much more than I knew she'd be willing to give. They'd awakened a hunger in me that I knew I couldn't feed. If I'd have stayed on the bed with her a second longer, I would've probably shoved my tongue down her throat and my fingers between her legs.

Sexual thoughts had continuously entered my mind throughout the night as I drew her sleeping form. She'd kicked those covers off and I had a perfect specimen to sketch. Just a t-shirt on and a pair of booty shorts that showed more than they'd covered, I was left enamored.

Once I finished, at about five in the morning, I'd sat back and thought about our last few days. I couldn't help the stupid grin that came across my features as I did. Tomorrow makes one week that I've known Monica. One week felt like an entire year.

How can something that only happened just a few days ago feel like it was so long ago? Because you are fucking infatuated with her. Yeah, I suppose I am.

She stirs on the bed, stretching out her body before slowly opening her eyes. She glances to my bed in confusion and then back at me. "You're right where I left you?" It was more of a question than a statement.

"Indeed, I am." It's cute she thinks she left me here when I'm the one that got up and left her on the bed.

"What time is it?" She yawns and I can't help but yawn as well. Stupid yawn factor.

"It's six."

"Damn we're up early."

"I never slept."

Her brow furrows. "Why not?" I point to my sketch book. She smiles and asks, "can I see?"

Hell no you can't see that I'd been drawing you in your sleep. God, I feel like such a fucking creep now. You should. Yeah, I'm aware.

"It's not ready yet." It's not a lie. Once I set my mind on something I can't stop until it's perfect. And for her first piece, it had to be perfection. Nothing else would suffice. "I'm fucking dog tired though." I scratch the stubble on my face that'd grown over night.

"I'm still sleepy too but humanity calls." She throws her legs over the bed and makes her way to the bathroom.

I eye her bed and then the bathroom door. What is the likelihood that she'd climb into that bed with me in it? You're in your underwear— slim to none. Regardless of my previous thought, I stand up and then climb into her bed.

When the bathroom door opens Monica quirks a brow. "You have your own bed." She points at mine.

I shrug and snuggle deeper into the covers with, "yours is comfier." Which it is because it's still warm and smells like her.