Artwork

Chapter 14 - Adaline Seitz

My thumb hesitates to swipe over the screen and begin the call that can conclude my collaboration with the emerging artist easier than breaking a biscuit in half. The string keeping me tied to the idea of contacting him is simple - all the other options are unavailable or out of the question.

"Do you regret it?" The smooth texture of his voice reaches the depths that causes my tongue to roll across the inner side of my cheek once he picks up. Sharp taps of my manicured nails against the wood of the vanity desk disappear when I knock down a setting spray, profanities spilling under my breath before I grab it in the air.

Only then does the meaning of his words come to life, making me tilt my head to the side with a furrow between my brows. "Regret what exactly?" My attentive gaze inspects my reflection in the mirror, fingertips dipping under the cleavage to adjust the crease disarranging the delicate lace of my bra.

"Us." His tone dips to a sotto voce, attaining the quality of Chinese silk I love running my hands through while exploring the traditional shops tucked away from the bustling centre of the city. The solitary word bears a spectrum of emotions, none of which I can properly discern.

I swallow, tracing the edge of the spray bottle with the pad of my middle finger. "No. Do you?" Not managing to conceal the wobble in my murmur is a skid I want to choke myself over, but there seems to be no indication from his side that he caught it. In fact, there's no response from him at all.

My teeth graze the flesh of my bottom lip as stillness envelops us like the first snow covers stray leaves still withering on the barren branches, my throat tightening in anticipation of his impending answer. I didn't even get to the main reason for this call and I'm already prepared to cut the line and hurl the phone at the wall.

A deep inhale becomes the sole warning for a violent sneeze ripping through his lungs, escorted by a thunderous roar of his voice that isn't exactly necessary, but adds to the frightening effect of the act. Finally, a faint sniffle dampens the turbulent moment. "No, I don't," He mumbles.

Jesus Christ on a fucking bike, he scared the shit out of me.

"I'm happy to hear that, because I'm about to make you regret your whole damn life since it led you to this point. Are you willing to help me out with a client? She wants to be watched while I pleasure her." I drop the request on him before common sense returns to my frontal lobe and ruins my chance of earning decent money.

His hum is woven in fascination, my mind imagining his fine eyebrow raising to accompany the indistinct sound. "I'm both baffled yet completely fine by the nature of your question. Am I not allowed to touch her?" A pencil or a brush clatters once it slips through his fingers, stealing a soft sigh from the confines of his chest.

"Du bist ungeschickter als ich," I manage to catch the chuckle in my throat, producing a strangled snort instead. "By the way, no, you can't touch her - salon's rules. Why, would you wish to?" The smile tugging at the corner of my lips is embroidered in my tone like a satin dress trimmed with beads and sequins.

Fine hairs at the back of my neck grow attentive when the substance of his voice stretches across my skin, eliciting tremors from the core of my being. "I would wish to touch you." His resolve is indisputable, the simple sentence holding the power to pebble my nipples beneath the dainty material.

My tongue glides over the expanse of my teeth, muscles in my face tightening in exertion. "I thought your cock was more eloquent than this. I'll send you the address of the hotel, meet us in about an hour and a half." Before he can form an answer to my statement, I cut the call and let the phone clatter against the vanity.

Resting my elbows on the wooden surface and pressing the inner corners of my eyes with the pads of my fingers, I take a steadying breath as goosebumps appear on my forearms. My ankles threaten to bend in unholy angles from the height of my heels after I stand up, a surge of arousal soaking my underwear once I do.