DISCRETION SERIES - Stand Alone - BOOK #6
"O-one portrait," I whispered, and he replied.
"That's all I want, Rose." He said, sounding very sensual, and I gulped softly as I rubbed the back of my neck.
"I-I guess I c-could," I replied, and he let out...
It's so fine and yet so terrible to stand in front of a blank canvas.
- Paul Cezanne
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Rosenna's POV
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It was the day of the.. session with Beckham, and to say I was nervous would be a huge understatement. Reaching the address, I noticed it was a finished warehouse turned into an art studio, I assumed. Getting out of the car, I grabbed my belongings and dusted off my black tights. I decided to wear a shoulderless, long-sleeve white fitted crop top with a pair of black leggings, some white chunky sneakers, and white ankle socks.
I was only dressed this way since it was my day off, and no matter what time we finished, I needed to go to the gym for at least an hour. I felt like it was a bit revealing, but I assumed I would only be dressed this way for a short while as he probably had something for me to choose from, considering he told me to dress comfortably.
Making it to the door, I knocked and waited for a while before the man himself opened it. He let his eyes wander my entire body, and I felt exposed all of a sudden.. he looked hungry, or rather starved.. for what reason, I was entirely unsure of.
I was physically here.
I didn't cancel.. I didn't back out.. and I didn't know why..
" Come in, flower.. " He spoke, and my stomach flipped at the nickname he'd been calling me recently. I looked around to see that his home was basically split into two. He had one half that was dedicated to his works of art, his portraits, paintings, sculptures, everything. The other half had held his rustic living room, small dining room table, his kitchen, and a spiral staircase that led to the upstairs.
He had huge windows that let in the sun from outside and lights that hung from the tall ceiling. I turned to look at him to see he was still looking at me, studying my features. I cleared my throat, and he looked up into my eyes before directing me over to his setup.
He had a canvas set on an easel, and in the middle of the room, there was a cushioned bench in the middle with a chunky dark maroon knit blanket. He went over to his desk and grabbed a few of his utensils before standing in front of me. I played with my sleeves as I felt the pressure under his gaze, and I spoke softly.
