Power Drilled (Roommates, #8)
Stephanie Brother
1
PENNY
The naked man looked directly at me the third time I dropped my pencil. My cheeks turned bright red—well, brighter red—as I slid off the stool, crouched down, and picked the pencil up. My face was so warm as I settled back in front of my canvas that I almost started fanning myself, but then I realized that the nude model would think it was because of him.
Which, of course, it was.
Flipping my hair out of my eyes, I focused on the half-drawn sketch in front of me. It was easier to look at the well-muscled torso on the paper than at the real deal. But this wasn’t a class about drawing from memory. I was supposed to study the gorgeous man whether I wanted to or not.
And boy, did I want to.
But before my gaze returned to the stunning sight in front of me, I peeked to my right and left. None of my fellow students were blushing. None of them had dropped their pencil three times though a woman on the other side of the room knocked over a water bottle when the model took off his robe.
“Good start, Penny.”
I jumped at the sound of my art teacher’s voice and nearly lost my grip on the stupid pencil—again. But in my defense, I didn’t have much experience drawing men in general, let alone naked ones. And now another man was standing at my side, examining my work.
My face was likely to stay flushed from now until 2029.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
Carl took another glance at my sketch and then smiled slightly. “It’s okay to draw all of him, you know.”
“I know.”
I’d certainly been looking at all of the Adonis-like model, but so far, I’d only drawn the lines for his head, arms, and chest.
Carl looked like he was trying not to let his smile get any broader. “Jackson’s only here for one night. Might as well make the most of this opportunity.” He moved away, but I could still hear the echo of the amusement in his voice. It was easy for him to find this funny. He’d probably sketched hundreds of nude models whereas this was my first.
But what a way to start.
Taking a deep breath, I let my gaze return to the model. My lips parted with a small gasp. Jackson was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. He would’ve been handsome even if he were clothed from head to toe, but he wasn’t. Far from it.
He was on a platform that was about the height of the seat of a chair. He lounged on his side, his knees slightly bent, his hand on his hip, and his gaze aimed this way.
Though the others had their easels set up in a circle, it was me he was facing, and me he was looking at. Which made it disconcerting to look straight back at him… especially when I suspected he could tell I wasn’t looking at his face.
Though his face was certainly stunning in its own right. His icy blue eyes were a bright contrast to his tan skin. Tan all over, I couldn’t help but notice, so unless he’d spent the winter sunbathing naked, it was probably his natural skin tone.
The corner of his mouth was twisted upward as he held my gaze. I knew why I was looking at him—any woman would want to, whether they were in an art class or not—but I couldn’t figure out why he was looking at me. Surely it was just because I was in his eyeline. But so were the people on either side of me.
His hair was dark brown with a few lighter highlights, and it stuck up in little gravity-defying spikes even though his head rested on his hand.
Jackson’s brow arched, as if daring me to swing my gaze to the left. I sure as hell wanted to. It was time to draw the gentle curve of his hip, the hard muscles of his thigh, and all the way down to his feet—plus a few parts along the way.
It was those parts I was most worried about sketching. The model, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned at all. A thin trail of hair south of his navel led to an impressive cock that was resting on his thigh. It wasn’t hard, but it was still big. It almost made me wonder if this model had been chosen so that it would be visible enough for us to sketch. And boy, was it.
I glanced up—only forty-five minutes left of class. I needed to switch into a higher gear. As Carl had said, this guy was here for one night only. I doubted I’d get an opportunity like this again.
I’d signed up for this art class as a way to regroup. I was between jobs. My boyfriend had dumped me. I had no idea what to do next, but I’d always been interested in art. Now, with this amazing man displaying every inch of his amazing body, I wanted my sketch to do justice to his incredibly ripped body.
Holding my pencil almost parallel to the paper, I sketched the lines of his hip, thighs, and calves. Then his feet. But those were things I could draw every day, if I wanted to. The rest of him wasn’t.
I stared at his cock as if trying to memorize it, but really, I was trying to figure out how to start sketching. Should I draw the length first? Or focus on the head? And how on Earth was I going to handle the thick vein on top? I studied it so long that I almost forgot it was attached to a real person. When I glanced up at Jackson’s face, there was a slight smirk on his face and a gleam in his eye. He knew exactly what part of him I’d been examining.
Me, and pretty much everyone else on my side of the room, I reminded myself. Which made me wonder what kind of view the people sitting across from me had. Too bad I couldn’t think of an excuse to walk over there and see if his backside was as drool worthy as his front.