It was a naked lady, who was laying on her back in some sort of bed. Her eyes were drawn so that it seemed like she was staring at you deeply with those glazed, vulnerable eyes with curled lips. Then I realized, it was a picture of me.
I quietly place it back and swallow hard. I was about to walk out, but I saw Sebastian right at the door wide eyes.
I felt my face go pale. "Sebastian," I say with a surprised tone.
"You saw them, didn't you?" He mumbled, his eyes cast guiltily to the ground. "The paintings."
"I... I didn't know. I'm sorry, I'll just leave."
Looking back was hard. I forced myself to head for his door and maybe never get a chance to see his art once more. I walked at a brisk pace back to my house, as a strange feeling started to creep over me.
I take off my shoes once I step on my floor and plunge on the couch. I messed up so bad today and I felt like the shittiest person in the planet.
Of course he'd have those paintings and of course he'd keep them in a room like that. I let out a loud sigh and let the guilt continue to stab my chest.
Aside from how I felt like a jerk from walking away just like that, I couldn't bring myself to forget about that nude painting of me. Everything about it... the colors, the pose, the way he drew my body so delicately and my face was far beyond from what I could actually look like. But still - there was something about it that makes me feel so... attracted to it. Attracted to myself.
Suddenly, I felt hot all over. It felt good to rub my thighs together, and the need to do more to my body grew intense.
A shaky breath left my lips as my fingers slowly traced my upper thighs with a feather-like touch. The other slowly rubbed the fabric of the shirt I was wearing against the bra and against my breast.
Was this because of Sebastian's painting of me? Maybe it's the thought that he saw me that way where I'd never do that makes me somewhat happy with my body. I don't know. But it feels good.
I closed my eyes and continued to rub myself all over. This desire was so overwhelming, and it was being continuously fueled by the mere thought of the man who drew me.
I sigh once more, and close my eyes, continuing to repeat his name over and over again like a broken record.
"Sebastian..."
***
"... she was crazy to think I actually stole her mug," I say to my friend on the other line. I walked past aisles and aisles of wine, grabbed a few bottles and mindlessly placed them in my cart.
"Like, seriously Karen? A mug? I'm not that low. Such a bitch. And on top of that, she's my fucking boss. How worse can things get?"
"That really sucks. Anyways, how are things with that artist dude you told me about?"
My lips pursed into a tight line at the mere mention of that. My friend didn't know anything, in fact, no one did - since the circumstances were obviously TMI.
"It's been months since I saw that guy. He got busy all of a sudden, and yeah, we stopped hanging out."
"Aren't like artists free all day? I mean they're just painting or something."
x || sebastian • paintings of you
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