Styles of Expressionism H.S

24. Indiana

/folespoir (tumblr)/

My heart felt like a jackhammer in my chest. He must've been joking, teasing. There was nothing special about me, certainly not for him to draw. I saw how he tore up my picture the first time and tossed it away.

"Harry, I don't kn—"

"You need to hold still, sweetheart. I just want to show you something."

I bit into my lip to contain myself. What was happening right now?

"But, I only just—"

"Shh," he murmured, adjusting himself in the seat. "Please. Hold still for me."

I settled down slightly, being so taken aback that I didn't know how to react other than to comply. His gaze pierced into my side. My skin burnt there, tingling and sensitive under his stare.

He sighed to himself in some kind of relief as he worked over the page. "I have a little proposal that I want you to think about." His inner thigh pressed to my lower back as he moved even closer. I inhaled sharply through my nose.

"You need a job and I need an art subject to paint," he muttered, "I think the universe is telling us something here."

"The universe?" I mumbled, frowning at the wall.

"Yes, the universe. It's sending a sign." He sat up and dropped the pencil to the table. I turned toward him immediately.

"I think you've gone mad, Harry," I said, making out that wild look in his eyes as he ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. My vision dropped down his tattooed chest, then soaring up to the hair that washed over the side of his face.

He looked up from the journal that was concealed from me and smiled. "I haven't gone mad. You've just only realised it now."

I didn't even know how to respond to that. I found myself giggling slightly (the nerves).

"Here," he said, a while afterward. He offered me the closed journal as he leaned toward me, his chest looming over my shoulder. His knee was still pressed to my back. I inched forward slightly as I opened the journal to the page that he had left his pencil in, where he had drawn me.

I stopped watching him out of the corner of my eye. My head tilted to the side, my fingers reaching up to brush over the girl's face. I was constantly blown away by his talent. He seemed to be showing me a little more each time.

Only, I felt as though it wasn't me he had drawn. He had romanticised me.

"If I had a subject, I could paint with water paints on canvas. And if this guy likes them he'll buy them off for thousands. I'm prepared to pay you half of the profits."

"That sounds way too good to be true, Harry. Why would you give me half for just sitting there?"

"Because it'll be more than enough for the both of us. I thought you'd need the money anyway."

I sighed as I stared over his beautiful art.

"I do need the money, but it's not fair, for one, if you're the person who's actually working your ass off and I do nothing to earn half."

I almost fell out of my chair when he reached for the rim under my leg and turned me around to him. He slid my chair closer, fitting my legs between his. "Well it's like this, what is a writer without a means of releasing his thoughts? And what's a heart if not another for it to love, hm-m?" His fingers suddenly traced through my hair, freezing me in place as his breath slipped down my neck. God, my heart was going to explode against my ribs. "What is an artist without his muse?"

I saw his lips faintly turn up into a smirk above me when he inhaled through his nose. He murmured down to me, "Do you understand, sweetheart?"

I nodded my head softly, focusing my eyes on his chest. His fingertips swept along the side of my burning cheeks before he cradled my jaw and turned my face up to his. "Go back to that restaurant today. Ask if they'll let you back in. If they agree, it simply wasn't meant to happen. But if they can't hire you, my offer is still open."

"Okay," I whispered, being afraid that if I spoke too loud he might hear me.

He slowly kissed over my lips, causing my eyes to flutter shut. His mouth was faintly minty. I gave in and my hands glided up his warm chest, feeling over his biceps. His palms lowered to my thighs and he squeezed them lightly before sliding his hands up, kicking at my gut.

I pulled back at the feeling. His eyes shot open again when I stumbled off the stool and filled my lungs to clear my jumbled head.

"I'll think about it," I said, setting his journal back to the counter with shaky hands.

His hands fell into his lap and he wet his pink lips. I noticed the rise and fall of his chest was faster than usual. Mine was too.

He was dangerously good at getting me to feel rather than think. I liked to think.

"Wait, these paintings aren't nude, are they?" I made my way over to my backpack, relieved that I was getting space from him.

I looked over my shoulder when all I heard was silence. "Harry?"

"We can start off slow." He set his eyes on me carefully. "Like what we've done before."

A/N

Styles of Expressionism reached #456 in fanfiction. Whoop whoop.

Because of how cool you guys are, I've decided to upload the first chapter of a new story I've been working on! I don't know if you're going to like it as much as I do, it's got like a hippie, beachy kind of vibe. It's in my works, so go check it out. The title is 'Deep Water' (tg it's short right). The name might change at a later stage. I'll decide before I start the story for real.

But this book is still the top priority. I get so much motivation from your votes and comments, keep it up. xxx

Okay, so... What is your favourite hobby/pastime?