Breakable

She kicked off her flip-flops and we climbed on to the bed. I reached for my pad and pencils and she leaned back on her elbows. ‘So do you arrange me, or do I strike a pose, like this, or what?’

No way I could touch her and then draw. ‘Just get comfortable. It’ll take me awhile. You don’t want to try holding an awkward position.’ Like the one she was in, her perfect tits straining against her fitted top, creating gaps between the buttons and pulling the hem higher to display the strip of tanned skin above her shorts.

She turned to arrange pillows at the head of the bed while I sat against the wall. She lay on her side, half sitting, half reclining into the mound of pillows, her hair rippling across the surface like a gold waterfall. Pulling one leg into an angle, she straightened the other until our toes touched. I waited for her to still. Her eyes on mine, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt, showing off the white, lacy bra beneath.

‘Is this good?’ she asked, her voice quavering and soft.

My hands shook. Fuck. I sucked in a slow breath, and then another, regaining some self-control. ‘Perfect,’ I said, and she smiled.

Neither of us spoke. There were no sounds but an occasional throat clearing and the scratch of my pencil. Her foot swept over the top of mine when she shifted, and I pressed back reflexively. Finally, I stared at the sketch, and then handed it to her.

‘Oh, my God.’ She looked from the pad to me and back to the pad. ‘I knew you were good … but this … is amazing.’ She examined herself, stretching out both legs and assessing deficiencies. ‘I don’t look like this in real life, though. This is gorgeous.’

I took the pad from her hand and placed it on the lowest shelf, just over our heads. ‘Trust me. You look better.’ I moved next to her.

Not meeting my eyes, she reached out to trace my tattoos – her touch nothing like the gratuitous strokes from the girl yesterday, who seemed to think that touching me was part of the package deal her dad paid for.

‘Do you want to kiss me again?’ Melody asked. Still not looking at me.

I leaned over her, skimming one hand just under her shirt to her bare waist and waiting until she raised her eyes to mine. Repeating the careful, experimental kiss we’d shared two days ago, we kept our eyes open, the touch of our lips seemingly halfhearted. And then her hand twisted in my T-shirt and she pulled me down. My knee slid between her legs and there was no hiding the hard length pressed to her thigh. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, and I didn’t waste time weighing variables because I couldn’t think. Driving my tongue into her mouth, my eyes closed and my hands wandered over everything I could reach.

I loosened the last three buttons of her top and we sat up, attempting to keep our mouths fused while she shrugged out of it. My T-shirt joined her shirt at the foot of the bed. When she reached round to unhook her bra, I watched, eyes consuming her hungrily. I reached to slide the straps down her arms, and she trembled as my thumbs traced her curves. Her dancer’s limbs, lithe and athletic, contrasted with the supple fullness of her tits. Tossing the bra towards the end of the bed, I lay down and pulled her on top of me, high enough to tongue her ni**les while cupping her ass to keep her close. Arms straight, she braced herself above me.

When Melody’s whimpers became dazed cries, I sucked a nipple into my mouth, and she screamed and bucked against me. Rolling until my hip hit the wall, I dragged her under me on the narrow mattress, nudged one thigh between her legs and pressed. She clawed my arms and kissed me wildly.

Then her hand slipped into my shorts, and I lifted just enough to give access, lost to the soft, warm grip of her palm and fingers. Going to one elbow, I pulled her with me and thrust my hand down the front of her shorts. ‘Jesus Christ, Melody,’ I gasped, fingers sliding into her so easily. She came seconds later, quaking against me, and I followed.

Drifting back to reality, we slowly pulled our hands from inside each other’s clothing. I grabbed my T-shirt and used it to clean her hand and then mine. I wanted to suck on the fingers I’d thrust inside her, wanted to know how she tasted, but I was oddly shy in that moment. Cocooning us inside my comforter, I drew her close and we lay staring at each other until we fell asleep.

When I woke, she was gone. She’d taken the drawing with her.

LUCAS

I didn’t email Jacqueline until Sunday evening – four short sentences, all instructional, no flirting. She responded in kind, but referred to my weekend. I couldn’t stop myself from telling her that my weekend was good – especially Friday. How was yours? I asked.

Three words stuck out of her short reply – good, lonely and productive.

We all need our moments of solitude, but this girl should never be lonely.

I pulled out a heavy sheet of paper and my charcoal pencils, chose the fully reclining pose – on her back, arms above her head. As I re-sketched her lean limbs, each stroke across the paper evoked the kisses and caresses that left my body craving more of her. I smudged the shadows under her br**sts with my finger, recalling her soft skin and the way she’d allowed me to touch her. Despite my need to keep a wall between myself and her, it was crumbling faster than I could rebuild it.

In my bedroom, I tacked the drawing to the wall, across from my pillow.

By the end of economics Wednesday, my desire to tell Jacqueline the truth about who I was warring heavily with my desire to continue the game we’d begun – the one where I was the sexual mercenary who helped her get her groove back. It seemed the ideal scenario – I got to be with the first girl to rivet my attention in years, and she got to spread her wings, forget her self-important ex and reclaim ownership of her own body.