Twi-Fic Flashfic
Genre: Romance
Character(s): Embry & Unnamed Female (NOT OC)
Word Count: 546
Suggested Listening: "Fire Breather" by Laurel
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: So, the female is NOT an OC even though she remains unnamed in this fic. More of this story is posted on Tricky Raven in my group, A Body of Work by jarms, including the revelation of the female lead. At some point, this will turn into a multi-chap, and when it does, I'll post it on FFn. BUT, until then, this is the only installment found here. ;)
Lined in Charcoal
The silk robe slips off her shoulder—its tie loosely bound at her waist—and she's instructed to remove the garment from her nude body. The class averts their eyes to give her some semblance of privacy, busying themselves—arranging acrylics, pastels, watercolors…whatever their preference.
But not him. He simply stares.
Black, shaggy hair partially obscures his eyes—dark eyes the color of midnight oil…deep, bottomless wells that barely conceal the tortured past of their owner. Those have always been the type of men that draw her in—the ones with a history she can get lost in for hours.
The ones with a story to tell.
And the tribal tattoo peeking out beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt confirms that if nothing else, he has a story to tell.
Dropping the robe, it puddles around her feet, and she watches the faintest smirk flash across his lips—a stolen second of appreciation keeps the display from turning obscene. Gripping the pencil, his deft movements glide across the sketch pad before him, his focus volleying between her body and his work.
She closes her eyes—the fire held in his gaze too intense—but she can still sense the burn when he looks upon her flesh. She instinctively knows which of her curves he's imprinting onto the paper, the way his thumb smudges the harsh lines over the swell of her hip when he copies her image, because in some indescribable way, she can literally feel it. She can feel his finger feathering the charcoal on her inner thigh as he works her image into a realistic portrait on the page.
But the sensations rushing through her body…
Every single time he touches the sketch, she comes alive in the exact place he roams. Her body, a treasure trove; his hands, unlocking the secrets.
She's exposed… Vulnerable… On display for him.
For only him.
The soft click of a closing door and a cool breeze gives relief to the heat that's had her trapped for the last half hour. Opening her eyes, her heart falters.
He's gone.
Left in his chair is the sketch pad, and she's lured to the space he occupied. Slowly making her way, ignoring the protests of the other "artists" still working, she picks up the most exquisite drawing she's ever seen. Somehow this man, with his tortured past and intense stare, reached inside her soul and pulled out the beautiful parts. He didn't leave all the ugly and broken pieces behind—because they are there, too—but that's not what he highlighted. The ugly and broken are not immediately apparent when she looks at the art.
An engine screams to life in the parking lot, and she jerks to look out the window.
She didn't think it was possible to be any more attracted to this man, but the black motorcycle rumbling between his legs vibrates between hers, strengthening their physical bond. Watching him turn onto the road shrouded by towering pines, she hears a howl silence the sounds of nature that had been permeating through the thin window panes all afternoon.
Glancing back at the sketch, she notices he signed the drawing on the bottom right—next to a tiny, tribal, wolf head is the name Embry.
A soft smile blankets her lips. She'll find her wolf. She'll find her Embry.
*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;)