Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 40057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Elena’s breath got shallow. “You don’t like it?”
I looked up, meeting her eyes again. “It’s fucking brilliant, baby.”
The relief that washed over her face was immediate, and it made something in my chest tighten. It felt a little like pride. She hadn’t soaked up the praise. She cared about whether she’d done it right.
I wanted to be the one who taught her. Who she looked at first and trusted so completely that she didn’t even question what I asked of her.
I needed her to be completely dependent on me.
That was the part that unsettled me because it wasn’t really about control. The urge was about my obsession to have her, all of her. I wanted her orbiting me until I was the only thing she saw.
With a mental shake of my head, I stepped back, giving her space before I did something stupid.
“You worked on real skin?”
She nodded.
“Good to hear. However, I’m going to start with fake skin first. Gonna watch your hand pressure, needle depth, and consistency,” I explained. “Then I’ll have a better idea how to teach you each technique and which ones will require more explanation and practice.”
She nodded again, and I watched her lips part again, like she wanted to ask a question but didn’t want to look stupid.
“Ask,” I encouraged, softening my expression.
Her eyes widened slightly, clearly taken aback by my change. Then she seemed to forget all about it and asked, “What if I mess up?”
I held her gaze. “Then you fix it. Or you start over. You learn. That’s what you’re here for. Once you start working on clients, you’ll have supervision for a while, just so I can catch if you are about to make an irreversible mistake.” I raised a brow and warned, “I won’t jump in and take over, though. You’ll need to move forward on your own. Because eventually, there might not be anyone around to help you with a fuckup.”
She exhaled, her shoulders dropping a little, but her tone was strong when she responded. “Okay.”
When she took another deep breath, I couldn’t help watching the way her chest rose under her shirt. It was subtle, but my cock noticed anyway. The heat didn’t fade, not even a little.
She picked up a pencil again as I set out supplies, and the second her focus narrowed onto the page, something strange happened. The room around her didn’t disappear, but it softened. Like her brain had locked onto a frequency the rest of us couldn’t hear. Her hand moved with quiet certainty, her posture shifting from cautious to sure, as if drawing gave her a spine of steel.
Over the next two days, I learned more than I meant to.
She was disciplined. Showed up early. Stayed late. Asked smart questions. Didn’t try to impress anyone but didn’t shrink when the others gave her shit, either.
She spent most of her downtime with that sketchbook open. And every time I glanced over, I got drawn in. Some of them I recognized as symbols from around the studio. Others were typical designs people ask for, but with incredible variations. Some involved people, and I realized that she didn’t use reference photos. If she looked at something, she memorized it with a glance. Then she worked by feel.
And her lines were clean and confident. Precise in a way I hadn’t seen outside military design or deep archival work.
But it wasn’t just that. It was how she moved when she drew. The way her breath slowed when her pencil touched the page. How her fingers curled just enough to adjust pressure, and her eyes softened slightly when a line clicked into place.
It was sensory. She didn’t just draw, she registered. And she rarely erased. Sometimes she adjusted slightly, but more often than not, she sketched like the shape already lived in her head, and she was just dragging it into existence.
The problem was that she stole my attention along with it.
I caught myself watching her mouth when she concentrated, the faint press of her lips together, and how she chewed the inside of her cheek once when she was thinking. I took in the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, exposing the line of her neck, and my mind immediately supplied my mouth there, my teeth grazing and tongue tasting. I watched her bend over the counter, and the curve of her ass in her jeans made my hands clench like I was already holding her hips, spreading her for me.
It got worse every time she looked up and met my eyes.
She didn’t look away anymore. She tried sometimes, but her gaze always came back as though she couldn’t help it. Like her eyes were learning me the way her hands learned linework, memorizing pressure and spacing, storing me somewhere deep inside.
That had satisfaction blooming in my chest. I wanted to be one thing she couldn’t forget.