DRAWN (21 page)

          When I’m done pouring tea for him, I ask, “May I go now, Yuki-sama?”

          “Not yet.”

          Did I really expect him to say otherwise?

          “Look at me,
Katerina.
”

          Oh, shite.

          Hearing him say my name like that makes my nose itch. I think I’m going to have a blasted nosebleed---

          Yuki’s voice turns silky. “Did you hear what I said?”

          I slowly lift my gaze – and sputter and gasp at the same time.

          Figurative nosebleed it is.

          Yuki is wearing a traditional
kimono,
the silky cerulean sleeves flowing around his wrists like dancing water as he moves to take the cup of tea from the table. When he bends forward, the sides of his
kimono
separates just a bit, enough to reveal a wider V of smooth tanned skin. It’s a very special part of a guy’s body in the eyes of a
mangaka
, a critical factor that can elevate a male character in any
shoujo manga
to
bishounen
status.

          While I’m not sure if Yuki knows that, I’m pretty certain he knows exactly how I’d feel when I see him in traditional Japanese attire.

          I fall on my butt with a cry, and Yuki explodes in laughter.

          “Unfair! You
knew
how much I’d love to see you in that
kimono
!”

          “Yup.” He smiles cheerfully. “And your underwear’s showing,
senpai
.”

          I hastily get to my feet. It’s the
only
way to hide my bum. “Won’t you ever run out of ways to torture me?” Sometimes, it seems like Yuki would make a much better
mangaka
than I will. He’s just too bloody imaginative when it comes to, well---

          I bite back a sigh.

          Every day, Yuki just gives me another bloody reason to fall in love with him.

          “Come and sit here,
senpai
.” He pats his lap, an innocent look on his face.

          “NO.”

          “If you do, I’d pose long enough for you to draw me.”

          Blast it. He knows the quickest way to a
mangaka
’s heart.

          “Let me change first,” I hedge.

          “
Senpai
, sit here please. Now.”

          Here we bloody go again.

          I carefully lower myself to his lap, trying to pull down a skirt that’s always been meant to expose instead of cover. I try to keep still, but it’s hard when I feel something under me that’s
not
still.

          “Why can’t I get enough of you,
senpai
?”

          I wish I can ask him the same thing so I can make sure I have it forever.

Yuki startles me by taking the rubber snap holding my hair up. As my hair cascades down my shoulders, he touches the side of my face like it’s made of the finest glass.

          “Yuki.” I whisper his name because it’s all can I do. Yet inside my heart I secretly imagine it’s those three forbidden words I’m saying.

          “Close your eyes,
senpai
,” he says just before he starts kissing me, all over. Yuki starts with my hair, trailing down my face, touching the corner of my lips with his own, before retracing a familiar trail down my neck and on the skin just above the bodice.

His kisses linger there and I groan when he rips out the fabric, and I’m suddenly half-naked.

“
Yuki.
” But I can’t say anymore because he’s kissing me there. When I feel, I hear, and oh, bloody hell, how I
feel
his lips suck, his teeth graze, I can’t help arching in his arms, my body curving like Cupid’s bow.

As his hands shape my body, Yuki keeps sucking, there, on my shoulders, on my thighs, on my neck, and it’s driving me wilder than I’ve ever felt.

My heart stops beating as Yuki lowers me to the floor, only to speed up when he covers my body with his. The feel of his entire body pinning me down makes me heady, more so because my idiotic heart is going gaga over him. Unable to get enough of the feel of Yuki’s hard body, I pull him close, nails scraping his back, even as I arch against him.

Yuki slides his hands under my bum, and this time I know what I have to do without him having to say the words. I wrap my legs around Yuki while pulling him closer to me. He shifts between my legs, and a whimper slips past my lips.

          Yuki looks down at me, and the pain-pleasure expression on his face is
exactly
what I imagined that very first day our lives became hopelessly entangled.

          I can’t help it. I tighten my legs around Yuki, digging my fingers into his shoulders as I grind myself against him. I almost wish I can plead with Yuki to be done with it - and just make me his. Knowing that I’m in love with him just makes every moment like this more special, more irresistible, more everything.

          Yuki groans. “
Senpai
.”

          The sound of it pushes me further to the edge. Knowing that I’m the one who made Yuki groan, knowing that Yuki feels good because of me - the feelings they create inside me are just –
incredible.

          We rock against each other, feeding the hunger inside us and doing our best to make the friction between our bodies grow and grow until both of us are out of our minds, so much so that we don’t care we’re not going all the way.

          Heavy, throaty pants, punctuated by earthy grunts, bounce around the living room, and I know that later or tomorrow – every time I’d remember this night I’m going to blush about it.

          “I want to do this together,
senpai
,” Yuki grits out. It’s all the warning I get before he slams his body down, grinding his into my very center. I scream as the friction that’s been driving me insane turns into a conflagration of liquid heat. The last thing I see before I lose myself is Yuki throwing his head back, exactly the way I’ve seen him do so in the video.

          It’s enough to make me shudder anew, a second wave of pleasure striking my body.

          “
Senpai,
again?” It’s my first time to hear Yuki so shocked, but not so shocked that his body doesn’t respond. His whole body shudders even as he starts moving again, rubbing himself against my body with almost uncontrolled movements, his hands cupping me, squeezing in rhythm with his thrusts.

Everything becomes wilder, harder, faster.

          I moan as my body flares up in pleasure. Above me Yuki shudders one last time just as he takes my lips in a kiss that only intensifies and prolongs the waves of pleasure that haven’t stopped electrifying every inch of me.

          We don’t make it back to Yuki’s bedroom. When I wake up the next day, Yuki is smiling angelically, freshly showered, already dressed and baby blues gleaming. “Good morning,
senpai
.”

          Bloody, bloody, bloody hell!

          I can only stare up at Yuki, dazed but completely understanding why he wanted me to sleep the night before I leave for Miami with Jace.

          The way I’m feeling right now, one look is all it would take for everyone to know exactly what I’ve been doing – never mind what I
didn’t
really do – with Yuki.

“So, I’m guessing you did a lot of whatever it is that you do with Himura in the interest of improving your work.” It has taken 150 minutes of awkward silence throughout the car ride to Miami before Jace, Shelley, and I can look at each other’s faces without any one of us getting embarrassed, 180 minutes before Shelley tells me in a very pained voice to turn up the collars of my blouse because my hickey is showing, and 300 minutes before Jace finally cracks his first joke.

          “Piss. Off.”

I am never, ever, ever going to bloody forgive Yuki bloody Alexei Himura for this.

          Jace guffaws. “Seriously, when I saw you this morning, you were totally
wrecked
.”

          Even Shelley cracks a smile.

          “Don’t encourage him,” I protest even as heat spreads across my cheek like wildfire, my
mangaka
mind having no problems at all imagining how I looked at Shelley and Jace earlier. It’s probably worse than my reflection on the full-length mirror in Yuki’s bathroom. My brain can tell my eyes to lie about what it’s seeing, but I obviously don’t have truth-bending control over the other two.

          “Oh, man,” he groans, slapping his knee in his mirth. “And when Shelley spotted the hickey---”

          Pretending a fashion plate like Jace – dressed in some kind of shiny blazer and skinny jeans – doesn’t exist is difficult, but I do my best. I take a look around, another feeling of wonder coming over me at the throngs of people crowding larger-than-life book exhibits, queuing for signed copies, and having their photos taken with this famous author and that. What really makes everything surreal is the
noise
, with the oohs and aahs over newly revealed book covers, starstruck squeals from diehard fans, and mumbling and pacing writers practicing their pitches. I make sure to study the last ones since I’ve a feeling I’ll be one of them tomorrow, with Shelley having registered me to pitch to several editors on Sunday morning.

          The Literary Trade Fair of Miami, held annually at the Miami Beach Convention Center, is the only one of its kind in the world. It works like a job fair and trade exhibit combined for literary artists. That means aspiring magazine columnists, poets, novelists, and
mangaka
like me get a shot at attracting the eye of major publishing houses. An anonymous self-published millionaire also foots the traveling expenses of all invited editors as incentive for publishing houses to participate.

         
Turnouts for LTFM are massive, with tickets sold out frequently within a week because it’s
not
just a trade fair. I mean, that’s the excuse you give to your accountant or your kids. What most people come out here for is the unofficial beachside after-conference party, with free-flowing booze and lit folks gone wild. I’ve heard about agents and – gasp – clients hooking up, and editors and interns having not-so-secret one night stands. Or so the delicious rumors in the blogosphere say. I can’t really tell for sure since it’s the first time for Jace and me to attend this kind of event.

          Jace is still
pissing me off
talking. “And don’t get me started on your shirt, wearing it inside out. You two lovebirds couldn’t resist just one last quickie---”

          “I DIDN’T HAVE SEX!”

          It takes me a moment to understand I’m the reason there’s a bit of hushed silence as people throw us curious glances. I think I, umm, accidentally shrieked the words out.

          “Well, I never!” the mid-fifties turban-wearing lady next to me says, throwing me a scandalized glance before walking away.

          It’s déjà vu of the very worst kind, blast it. 

          Jace starts to speak, but he shuts up at Shelley’s quelling look. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, Katerina,” she says, a little too blandly that I look at her suspiciously. Well, I actually have to look
up
since Shelley’s wearing sky-high heels which, combined with her figure-hugging black spaghetti-strap dress, makes her look more like she’s the one in need of an agent – for fashion models.

          Shelley’s normally cool eyes are twinkling in laughter.

          I groan. “You’re both the same.”

          Jace lets loose the laughter he’s unsuccessfully tried to keep back while Shelley smiles, even as she pats my arm comfortingly. “Sometime in the future, you’re going to look back on this day and tell yourself that little episode helped me develop more as a
mangaka
.”

          Maybe I will but not in this world.

          Shelley pulls out two folded pieces of printouts from her tiny beaded handbag – one look at it and I’ve a feeling that Shelley’s also used us an excuse to sneak out from her daily work at the agency.

          “So, here are your schedules,” she says. “I don’t care what you do for the rest of the weekend as long as you attend those dialogues. And of course, don’t forget you’d be pitching tomorrow!”

          I quickly skim the list, cringing when I glimpse dreadful, terrifying words like “Storyline Workshop” and “Seminar on Plotting”. Those seminars would probably have me writing or, worse,
reading.

          Pictures paint a thousand words, right? Well, my brain’s so used to pictures that it just doesn’t see the point of having to go through millions of words when you can use one short strip to explain the same idea. Numbers are pretty much straightforward like pictures, which is why I’ve Advanced Calculus and Chemistry with Yuki. But the
wordy
subjects like History or – my least favorite – Literature? They make me want to run away the opposite direction, screaming bloody murder. It’s just too bad that Shelley’s one of those wielding the knives. She doesn’t stop harping whenever my grades in English fall in the
meh
range and she kills me every summer with her gigantic reading lists.