“How do I want you? Umm . . . I want you . . . all over me, actually,” I teased as I reached for a thin physics workbook on his desk and used it to prop up the piece of paper Hunter gave me.

Hunter narrowed his eyes then eagerly jumped off the bed, his c**k bouncing as he walked over to my side, a seductive smile on his lips. My pulse leaped. As often as I’d seen Hunter without clothes over the past twenty-four hours, I was certain I’d never get tired of seeing him naked. He was too beautiful.

“I was just joking,” I said with a smirk. I playfully slapped his semi-erect c**k by my shoulder making it wobble back and forth. “I mean, I do want you all over me . . . but after I finish this drawing.”

“Of course,” he said, grinning. He left my side and settled back on the bed. “So what kind of pose do you want?”

I thought about all the pictures hanging on the wall in Bigg’s Gym where the fighters had the same aggressive pose. I had enough drawings of Hunter looking intimidating. I wanted to sketch the vulnerable side of him, the side I’d only seen recently. “Why don’t you choose a comfortable position. Sitting or laying. It’s up to you, whatever’s relaxing enough that you can hold it for like twenty minutes.”

He smiled. “Okay.” He shifted around on the bed, trying out different positions. Eventually, he settled into a dramatic laying pose with his finger outstretched toward me. One knee was raised while the other leg lay on its side, and his outstretched left arm supported him from the bed.

Even under the bedroom’s soft lighting, the sharp lines of his naked body contrasted boldly with the smooth sheets beneath him. I’d always drawn parts of Hunter from memory—his hammer tattoo, his face—but now I had him as a live subject. All of him. An excitement swelled inside of me as I began to scan the length of his exposed figure.

My gaze started from his large feet and my pulse began beating faster as I moved toward those powerful legs that were used to drive vicious punches against his opponents. My breath hitched at the sight of his savage c**k draped lazily over the side of one thigh. I felt my thighs become heated as I thought about how the expert use of that one part of him could pull mind-shattering orgasms from my body. My gaze snagged on his pelvis and I bit my lip, following the hard lines up to his trim hips and then to his pack of ab muscles that were so cut they appeared flexed even when I knew he was relaxed. They looked so yummy that I wanted to lick them slowly all the way from the bottom to base of his pecs. His chest was composed of two chiseled slabs of flesh, expanding and contracting with each of his calm breaths. I reached his face and was mesmerized by those dark gray eyes filled with depth and mystery. Behind those irises hid a past that I didn’t know about. What was it like to have drug-addict parents? A thread of doubt twisted through me. Could I really capture the essence of Hunter in a drawing?

He smiled at me. “How’s this?”

“Umm . . . that’s a classic pose from the Sistine Chapel.” I giggled, recalling the fresco painting titled The Creation of Adam. “Unfortunately, my name’s not Michelangelo and this isn’t the 1500s.”

He narrowed his eyebrows. “Michelangelo? I was going for the scene from E.T. with the glowy-healing finger.”

I giggled again. “Ah, I see. How about we try something less dramatic? Something more natural. I want to see the Hunter in his natural element.”

“Hmm . . .” His body remained in the same pose but he rested his right elbow on his one raised knee and put his forefinger to his lip in thought. “Lemme think about it.”

“There that’s it! Hold that if you can.”

He turned toward me. “Huh? You like this?” He tilted his head to examine himself.

“Yeah! Don’t move!”

He knitted his brows. “What’s so special about this position?”

“I think it suits you well. It’s kind of like you’re exposed and vulnerable . . . but not fully since you still have that one knee up. You also look relaxed but also concerned—like the weight of the world is on your mind. It seems like a natural pose. Hmm it’s still missing something though . . .” I picked up one of his gray hoodies from the floor and threw it to him. “Here put this on. Leave it unzipped so I can see your six pack but put the hood up.”

With his brow raised skeptically, he caught the hoodie with one hand and carefully put it on while maintaining his position; the hoodie was the only thing he was wearing. He left the sweater unzipped like I’d asked, leaving his chest and abs deliciously exposed. His c**k was still draped over his thigh carelessly.

“How does this look?” he asked.

“That’s perfect,” I hummed, feeling a thrill from the added sexiness the sweater brought to the pose. “Now just hold that while I work.”

I began drawing him starting with the basic contours of his body then refined the lines with small details here and there—the round curve of his shoulders, the slight jutting of his developed obliques.

“You keep doing that and we’re not gonna finish this drawing,” he said.

Breaking out of my intense concentration, I lifted my head from the paper. “Doing what?”

“Biting your bottom lip like that. If you keep doing that, we’re gonna have to work off some tension.”

I glanced at his leg and saw his c**k becoming unabashedly erect.

I smiled pleasantly, returning my focus to the drawing to avoid seeing the lust in his eyes that I knew was there. The throbbing between my legs made me unsure whether I’d be able to resist him if I saw his hunger for me. “I’m trying, Hunter.” I grumbled. “It’s difficult though. I’m just getting really into this drawing.”

“I can see that. Your tits are so hard right now. It’s all I can think about. How can I lay still when I know they’re so suckable.”

My smile widened. “Patience, my dear Hunter. I’ll be finished soon.”

Once I completed the shading on his body, I began working on the details of his face. It was difficult to capture his eyes just right. I kept looking at his eyes, comparing him to what I had drawn, but something was always off. It took every ounce of concentration, but I finally finished the drawing. Releasing a satisfied exhalation, I put down my pencil and fingered him over. He eagerly hopped off the bed and returned to my side.

I handed him the completed drawing and waited for his reaction. “This is amazing.” he said, his voice intimately low and filled with admiration.

“Well, the figure is you after all, Mr. Humble,” I teased.

“No, aside from that . . . I’ve never seen anything like this before. Somehow you’ve captured every little detail about me. How did you do it?”

I pointed at the picture in between his hands. “Well, first your body was a challenge. There were a lot of subtle contours and a wide range of hard and soft shadows. Most people aren’t even close to being as muscular as you so they generally have a lot of light shadows and simple lines. Your lines and shadows were much more complex.”

He nodded, listening to my words and scanning the picture carefully.

I directed his attention to particular spots on his torso. “You’ve also got all these scars, bumps, and bruises on your skin that I take you got from fighting. Some of them are more faded and some are fresher. I spent a lot of effort trying to capture each of them.” I recalled Aunt Caroline telling me before that the scars we have—both on the inside as well as on the outside—are part of what makes us who we are. I wondered at how Hunter had changed after receiving each of his scars.