Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set (24 page)

“That sounded very convincing, Sam,” I say, taking another strawberry and biting off half of it. I reach over and lightly touch her bottom lip with the other half, and she opens her mouth, allowing me to place the ripe fruit on her tongue.

“Mmm,” she moans softly as she chews and the sound connects with my cock, making it twitch in response. She licks her lips as she swallows and then says. “Well, the thing is … I love to paint. But I’ve never been very proficient at it. I know that I’m not going to gain any fame from it or anything. My real talent, if I have any at all, lies in my sketches.”

“Your sketches,” I repeat, cocking my head to the side. “Like those over there?” I ask, pointing to the wall with the nudes.

She nods. “Yeah. I’ve always loved to draw, as far back as I can remember.” She looks at me quizzically. “In fact, I’ve been wondering something.” Her voice is suddenly hesitant as she gazes at me.

“What is it?” I ask.

“How would you feel about … posing for me?”

My eyebrows shoot for the sky. “Posing for you?” I ask in surprise and she nods. She’s chewing on her lip again. I’ve noticed it’s a gesture she does whenever she’s feeling unsure of herself. “What would that entail?” I ask her hesitantly.

“Well … I would really love to sketch your back,” she says, looking at me hopefully.

I frown at her. “Why my back?”

She blushes again. “Because you have a beautiful body, Josh. I would love to sketch all of you, if you’ll let me. But if the thought makes you uncomfortable then … I’ll settle for just your back.”

At her words, it dawns on me that she means to sketch me in the buff. “You want to sketch me … all of me … nude. With no clothes on?”

She smiles slowly and nods her head. Her bright green eyes are lit up like a Christmas tree, and her excitement makes me smile with her. She is serious. And the scary part is, as much as I want to say ‘hell no’ to this little request, I know that I won’t. Not if it makes her eyes sparkle at me like that! I chuckle and shake my head at myself. What the hell am I doing? I say nothing and look at her in disbelief.

“Well?” she asks, her voice small and anxious.

I close my eyes and sigh. “You don’t mean right now, do you?” I ask in surprise.

“Not right this instant,” she answers. “But soon.” I nod, saying nothing and her eyes light up even more, if that’s even possible. “Is that a yes?”

“Yeah,” I sigh quietly, resigned to my fate. I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. But to my shock and delight, Samantha squeals. She actually squeals, clapping her hands and bouncing slightly on the bed beside me, almost toppling the bowl of strawberries in the process. I smile broadly at her; I can’t take my eyes off of her, she is so … exquisite. And once the bouncing stops, I take her face in both my hands and kiss her soundly. “You are adorable, do you know that?” I ask.

“I’m so happy,” she beams. “Oh, I can’t wait, Josh. I’m so excited,” she squeals again and I laugh loudly at her.

Once her excitement dies down, we settle back into the pillows and continue eating our dessert. As I feed her another strawberry, I glance around her room and my eyes light on the wall with the nude sketches again. They are really good. “So, you said your paintings won’t make you famous. What about your sketches?” I ask, and she blushes again.

“I thought this conversation was over,” she says bashfully.

“Um mm,” I murmur, smiling at her. “You didn’t let me off the hook that easily. Come on. Tell me … are you any good? I mean, I think they’re very impressive but, admittedly, I don’t know too much about art.”

“Well, you’re only looking at five of them there,” she says, glancing over at the wall. “I have hundreds upstairs.”

“Really?”

“Well, maybe not hundreds,” she smiles. “But there are at least forty or fifty of them up there.”

“All nudes?” I ask, and she shakes her head.

“No. Although drawing the human form is my passion,” she says. “But I’ve done other things as well. Landscapes and portraits and still lifes.” She’s thoughtful for a moment and I get the feeling that she wants to say more but she’s reluctant to.

“Sam?” I ask, taking her hand. “What is it?”

She shrugs and that enticing soft blush of hers slowly steals across her face. “I have a friend named Lola Thorne. She was a fellow art history major at college and she recently opened up her own gallery down in the South Lake Union area.” She pauses and looks me in the eye for a second and I nod. “She keeps asking me if I’d like to show my work there. It would give me some exposure and it could be a big coup for her at the same time … me being a Colby and all. Good publicity for her struggling gallery and possible new patrons. That sort of thing.”

“That’s great, Sam,” I smile at her. “You are going to take her up on it, right?”

“I don’t know,” she shakes her head, looking bashful again. “ So far, I’ve been dodging her invitations. I’m just not comfortable with the idea of putting my artwork on display for the world to see. I mean, displaying at school was one thing; I had no choice in the matter. But doing it of my own free will … the thought fills me with fear.”

“But why?” I ask with a frown. “Your work is really good. Granted, I’ve only seen those five sketches but, they’re amazing.”

“You’re only saying that because you want more sex,” she says softly, blushing again, and I can’t help laughing.

“God, you are a little spitfire, aren’t you?” I say still chuckling. “Well, you’re right, Sweet Sam,” I say, looking into her enchanting eyes. “I do want more sex. But I’m not going to lie to you to get it, baby.” She blushes more and bites her bottom lip and I can’t resist. I lean over and kiss her slowly, and sweetly. Then I take that bottom lip and lightly suck on it for a few seconds and she moans softly. “Mmm,” I whisper, “you taste like strawberries.” Her breath hitches slightly and she gazes at me, speechless. “And you should take your friend up on her offer.” She pouts and rolls her eyes at me slightly and I smile.

“Look, I don’t know much about it,” I continue, “so correct me if I’m wrong. But don’t artists sometimes wait and hope and work and save for years and years for the chance to exhibit their work in an actual gallery?”

She mutely nods her head, still pouting.

“And yet, you have a friend with a new gallery in a hip neighborhood who wants to
give
you the chance to exhibit your work?”

She mutely nods again, and I can tell that she is really spooked at the idea of showing her work in public. That surprises me and I cock my head to one side and frown at her. “Why does that idea scare you, Sam?” I ask softly.

She shrugs again. “It just does. Especially since I know that my work is nowhere near good enough for that. I’ll admit that the idea is flattering as hell but … I just don’t know.”

“Well, I’m sure your friend wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t think your sketches were good enough.”

“She’s really only familiar with the work I did in college,” Sam says. “She hasn’t seen anything I’ve done since.”

“So, invite her over here to look at your stuff,” I say simply. “Let her decide if she thinks it’s good enough.”

“I know that you’re right,” she sighs. “Maybe I’ll work up the courage one of these days,” she says softly. Then she gets up to take the tray and the empty bowl of strawberries back to the kitchen.

She’s gone for only a short time and when she returns and climbs back into the bed, I wrap my arms around her and settle back onto the pillows as she snuggles into my side. We sit in silence for a few seconds and I kiss her temple as a question occurs to me. “How did you get interested in art, Sam?” I ask her quietly.

“My dad,” she smiles. “My dad was great. He always had a smile on his face. And from the time I was really little, he always had a joke for me or a song. Even when he was busy working or he’d had a bad day at the office, he always had time for me. We were very close.” Her words make me think about my own terror-filled childhood and my fucked up relationship with the old man. We really do come from two different worlds.

“When I was little,” she continues, “once a week he would take me on what he called a ‘daddy date.’ Just the two of us. We would go do something fun like see a Disney movie or go to the petting zoo, or he would take me to one of the local art museums. He loved art; he was almost fanatical about it. So, it didn’t take me long to fall in love too. Soon, I was begging him to go to the museum any chance I got, and Daddy would always oblige me,” she says, smiling at her memories. “And when I started to show an interest in drawing and painting, he went out of his way to encourage my efforts. He started buying me professional art kits and lessons and keeping me supplied with sketchbooks and pencils and canvases and paints. He even had some of my drawings professionally matted and framed. They’re still hanging on the walls at my mom’s house,” she says with a small giggle.

She looks up at me with a smile and I run my fingers through her hair, kissing the top of her head. “He sounds like a great man,” I say quietly, thinking about my own sleazebag of a father.

“He was,” she gushes. “It wasn’t just me though. He and Lucas had their own special time too but, they called it ‘boy’s day.’ No girls allowed,” she frowns and I smirk at her. “But my daddy dates continued until I started junior high school. That’s when I foolishly began to believe that I was too old to be hanging out with my dad. It just wasn’t cool. But his support of my artistic endeavors never wavered though.”

“How old were you when he passed away?” I ask her, still playing with her hair.

“I had just turned eighteen,” she says softly. “I was devastated.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” I kiss the top of her head once more.

She sighs. “What about you?” she asks, leaning her head on my shoulder.

“What do you mean?” I frown.

“Well, you know how I found my great love of art,” she says. “You told me the other day that being a cop was all you ever wanted to do.”

I nod slowly, not sure where she’s headed with this line of questioning. “That’s true.”

“How did that come about?” she asks. “What made you fall in love with police work?”

Instantly, I feel the anger course through me as images of my parents fighting bombard my mind’s eye and my jaw tightens.
Calm down, Pierce. She’s not asking for your entire life story. She’s just trying to get to know you, that’s all.
I take a couple of slow, deep breaths, trying to act as if I haven’t been thrown by her question but, I don’t think she buys it. She looks up at me with a slight frown and I give her a small smile to try and reassure her.

“I, uh … I got to know a lot of the cops on the Seattle Police Department when I was a kid.” My voice is low and hesitant, but I try to keep it as even as I can. “I thought they were like … superheroes or something. I wanted to be just like them.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” she says smiling up at me. “How did you get to know them?”

Her question is so simple and she’s looking at me with such innocence. I swallow nervously and sigh. “They were at my house quite a bit,” I say quietly as the anger mixes with fear. I don’t want to tell her all this shit tonight. Not now; not yet.

“Oh.” She looks puzzled. “Why were they at your house? Was your dad an officer too?” she asks lightly, making a very logical assumption.

“No.” I shake my head at her. “My old man was a mechanic. He owned his own garage.” I can hear the edge in my voice and my heart is about to beat out of my chest. I know that she can feel my discomfort too; she has to. But she plays along, asking an easier question.

“Is that where you learned all about cars and how to restore them?” she asks, smiling at me sweetly. I know she’s trying her best to lighten the quickly darkening atmosphere in the room. She wants me to relax again, and I want that too.
Rein it in, Pierce. They’re just harmless questions. Nothing to get angry over. She just wants to get to know you, the same way you want to get to know her!

I nod slowly. “Yes it is. I spent a lot of time in that garage. When I was younger, it was my job to sweep and clean up the place, put all the tools away where they belonged. But as I got older, I was allowed to watch and help out some.”

She smiles at me, and I can tell from her expression that she’s happy I shared that with her, but she really wants to ask about why the police were at our house. “I bet you learned a lot there,” she says softly.

“Yeah, I did,” I answer truthfully.

She’s silent for several minutes and I know her mind is working overtime. And I know that I should say something but honestly, I just want this conversation to end.

“You said your dad
was
a mechanic,” she continues hesitantly. “Past tense. Is he still alive?”

My heart rate spikes and my hand, that’s been resting on her waist, fists involuntarily. I can feel my whole body tense up and I think Sam is frightened. She looks at me with the same scared, wide-eyed expression that she held when I had the meltdown at dinner a couple of hours ago.
Breathe, Pierce! Push past it. Don’t scare this girl. She trusts you.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying desperately to rein in the anger. I manage to shake my head at her question. “No. He’s dead.” I can taste the bile in my throat at my words and I know that statement came out bitterly.

She’s lost. The expression on her face tells me that she has no idea what to say or how to reach me. It’s just as well. Maybe now she’ll let this conversation go.

“I’m sorry, Josh,” she says quietly. Then, after a short pause, “How old were you when he died?”

I close my eyes tightly, trying not to see the horrifying images of that night as they crash inevitably into my brain, but it’s no use. “Fourteen,” I manage with some difficulty.
Please, God, make her stop!

“That’s so young,” she says softly. “It must have been so hard for you.”

You’ve got no fucking clue, baby!
She also has no idea of the turmoil she’s putting me through at the moment. I have to make this stop. “Would you mind if we changed the subject, Samantha?” I say abruptly, shifting uncomfortably beside her.