Skullduggery {sapphic thriller}

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The morning sun rose over the bay's horizon, pouring warmth in through the balcony door. As my eyes blinked and unblurred, Desirae came into focus in the pink velvet chair across the room with a sketchbook propped up against her bare knees. Free from her scarf, her hair draped down around her neck and over her shoulders. A halo of golden sunlight wrapped her deep bronze skin and I wished I was the one with the sketchbook and charcoal. Her lips pursed with concentration, eyes focused to the paper until they caught mine staring.

"Oh good," she murmured with a smile. "You're still alive."

"I think that's up for debate," I mumbled, arching my back to stretch out the ache. It still hurt like hell to take a deep breath, but for the most part, I wasn't feeling much worse than a bad hangover. A really bad hangover. "So you're uh, quite the pro at sneaking out of bed, huh? Barely felt you move this morning."

"Just natural talent." Desirae walked over and dropped the sketchbook next to my face. A slight smirk tugged at her lips. "Not work, by the way." She sat down on the bed in the empty space that my body cupped. "I even captured the glisten of sunlight in the drool dripping from the corner of your mouth."

My hand went straight to my lips, but both sides were dry. "You liar."

I sent her a glare before turning my attention to the sketch. Precise, cross hatched lines defined the features of my face, my messy hair heaped on the pillow, the shape of my body beneath the sheets. No drool. Her style reminded me of Artie's, very technical and tight. Totally the opposite of my own.

"Not too bad, Udekwu." I propped myself up on an elbow and flipped through a couple pages of the book, landing on some muscular écorchés of broad shoulders and the lower back. They looked like master copies of a Prud'hon possibly. "What's your favorite muscle?"

"On which gender?"

Her distinction piqued my curiosity and I sat up a little more. "Do you have a preference?"

The playful crease in the corner of her eyes told me she understood exactly what I was asking. Taking the sketchbook from me, she set it aside. "Permission to touch the model?"

My heart started to race before the answer even left my mouth. "Granted."

With a delicate caution, she slid one of the legs of my shorts up. "I've always loved how the sartorius creates a beautiful 'S' curve in the leg, especially in dramatic morning light like this." Leaning over me, she took the end of the charcoal pencil and slowly traced from the crest of my hip bone, following the curve of the muscle to the inside of my thigh, slipping down around to my knee. "What's yours?"

"I uh, I was gonna be immature and say glutes or tongue or something, but I like your answer better. Sartorius..." Bending my knee upright, I flexed harder to try to see it. "Where exactly was that again?"

The warmth of her laugh spread over my bare legs, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She set the charcoal down this time and instead used the tips of her fingers to slowly tease the side of my knee to follow the muscle. Heat coursed through me, smoldering deep in my core and I wanted so badly to further complicate an already complicated relationship. As her fingertips danced across my skin, they lingered on the inside of my thigh. And I could feel that she wanted that complication too.

Reaching up, I slid her locs behind her ear, revealing her dark doe eyes. She tipped her head towards me, needing no coaxing. But as she leaned closer, three heavy-handed knocks pounded against the apartment door followed by two short ones.

Desirae's knee caught me square in the box as she trampled over my legs to get away. "Stay here," she commanded. Stumbling to the hall, she swiftly shut the bedroom door behind her.