"The Indies First Time Writer Challenge" One-Shot Contest
Title: Brightly Lit
Pen name: Zajaclina
Primary Players: Rosalie and Emmett
Word Count: 14,749
Disclaimer: All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer, this is just me taking them out for an AH playdate.
I can do this.
I can fucking well do this!
I glared at myself in the chipped, rusty, water stained mirror. That's right bitch, I am glaring at you because you can fucking well do this shit!
Right. And mentally swearing at my own reflection is somehow going to help? I sighed deeply then, tugging the silk robe more tightly closed, I hung my head in defeat. I'd just walk into the office and tell them I've had a change of heart. Hell, I'd even tell them my fucking period was early to get out of this shit right now. There was just no way I could do this.
My stomach disagreed. I was already feeling hungry again, and the dry noodles waiting back home were not going to cut it. My two best friends had already been here. Hell, even my brother had done this a couple of times. I glared at the mirror again, and drew myself up to my full height. If little "Bella of the Blush" could pull this off, I most certainly was not about to back down now. And she was not going to hear about this nervous breakdown either. This embarrassment would stay between me and my reflection.
I squared my shoulders, and reached for the change room door handle. My pinkie was twitching. Damned, fucking nervous tic! I wouldn't even be able to file my nails to hide it. I wouldn't be able to hide anything. Maybe that's not hunger; maybe I'm going to be sick. This is completely wrong, but my options are pretty fucking limited. I glared at my pinkie, there was nothing I could do now, except walk out there, and just get it over with.
I turned the knob sharply, wrenching the door open and taking a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkened room. I raised my chin, glaring around as I strode to the middle of the room. At least with the lighting I wouldn't have to see any of their faces. I stepped onto the raised dais in the middle, and eyed the oh-so-artfully draped chaise longue. That sheet had better fucking well have been freshly laundered!
"Ah, Miss Hale. Excellent. You're right on time." What. The. Fuck? I raised one eyebrow at the man who had addressed me; who was this pretentious ass trying to be? "I realize you were expecting Professor Volturi, but he had another commitment arise." Arise? What century was he hiding from? "I'm his TA, Edward Cullen." He held out his hand for me to shake, but I just glared at it as I gave him the once over. This was why Bella kept doing these classes? Tall enough, I suppose, but that oh-so-casual bed head screamed metro sexual…at best. While he was fit, I preferred my men with more muscle. He pulled his hand back, and ran it through his hair, trying to act like rearranging the perfect sex hair had been his intention all along. Same clothes, different closet, buddy.
"Whatever." My head snapped up in the direction of a snort from the class. The dais was brightly lit, while the rest of the room's lighting was muted by comparison. I glared in the right direction anyway, and the amused snicker was quickly hidden by a nervous cough. "How do we do this?" Artboy fucking blushed; no way in hell was I making his life easy. "I get the naked part. Hair up? Hair down? Standing up? Lying down? Up against the wall?" I smirked at the last one. Nobody needed to know I stole that from Les Mis. I'd certainly never admit to it.
"Damn, that is fucking hot!" My head whipped back around to the classroom. First, he snorts? And now he's breaking out the sexist Neanderthal comments? This Pigman was already getting on my nerves. I narrowed my eyes in another glare, lifting my chin as the awkward tension with the TA was broken. The Neanderthal's next comment was a quiet whisper, "So fucking hot."
"Actually, Miss Hale, if we could begin with your hair up, and a semi-reclined posture for the first pose, that should do nicely." I twisted my hair up, and clipped it in place, eying the sheet dubiously the whole time. There was no way I trusted that to be clean. I sat down on the middle of the chaise, and quickly untied the crimson silk robe. Sliding the fabric off my shoulders and down my arms, I arranged it under me as I brought my legs up. The next few minutes were spent adjusting my pose, at the TA's direction, until the effect was right, and I was comfortable enough to stay still for approximately forty-five minutes. I sighed deeply, fixing my eyes on a point out above the art students, their quiet rustlings signalling they were getting down to work. I was officially a nude model now. How the fuck had my life come to this?
I knew exactly where to put the blame, but I also knew where I chose to put it instead.
Royce King the Whatever-eth was the latest iteration in a long line of inbred American pseudo-royalty. Who really cares if his family was still wealthy during the Great Depression? It didn't make him a good person, or a smart person. It didn't even make him a miserable, fucking pathetic excuse for a human being; he was just lucky that way. And I had just been too blind to see it.
My parents had pushed me my whole life, and I had pushed back. They had plans for my life, but as I got older, I started having ideas of my own. At fifteen, mother tried to convince me to get an agent and try my hand at acting. I decided to start hanging out at junkyards and body shops, learning how cars went together, and just how well I could strip down an engine. What followed was a battle to turn me into "a proper young lady." I learned how to dress well and fashionably, but since I was tall, the delicate frills of a petite frame were not the right fit. Instead, I went for vixen; bold, openly sexy without being trashy, and just a hint of warrior. If everyone was going to call me an Amazon, even though they didn't think I heard the whispers, then I might as well look like one. I was introduced to all the right people, and invited to all the right parties. And at the end of those parties, I would ask all the right people to drop me off at the loudest, roughest, least appropriate bar I could find.
That was how I met Royce. Royce was one of the right people, but that night, he was at the wrong bar, looking more like a loveable stray than a pedigree holder. He was taller than me, even in my heels, which was always a good start. He was blonde, not that it made a difference, and had blue eyes. But what got me where the dimples. The perfect teeth screamed of years of orthodontia, but I'd never heard of a plastic surgeon putting in perfect dimples.
He was too good to be true; we all know that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. He was the perfect gentleman my parents wanted to retire on. He drank like a fish and swore like a sailor when we went out with real people.
Then came the shop. I had big plans of running my own auto repair and body shop someday. I'd taken every small engine repair course I could find in high school, and moved on to an auto mechanic school after that. While looking for a shop to apprentice at, I started taking business classes through night school, hoping to find a day job that would get me the real experience I needed. Royce was connected. Royce knew a guy, and with my training, I was in.
Or so I thought.
As it turned out, Royce knew a guy who ran the chop shop for him, so he could keep his hands, and mine, clean. I wasn't allowed to work on any of the cars that came in, legally or otherwise. I was expected to dress like a whore, act dumb, and distract the police when they inevitably showed up looking for stolen cars. I wouldn't have minded too much, if I had only been allowed to get inside some of the engines that rolled through there.
My parents were thrilled. I had found a society man. He'd found me a job they thought I should like. He was starting to about talk marriage and a family. My parents had no idea what he was really like, but, then again, neither did I.
I flexed my muscles as subtly as I could, being careful not to shift my position too much. My ass was starting to get numb, and my pinkie was twitching again. Fucking pinkie. Of course it would twitch now, thinking about Royce and all of the shit he had caused in my life. I wondered how much longer I had to stay like this, I really needed to stretch. I looked around for Artboy aka the TA, hoping to catch his eye. I could hear him moving around, commenting on various works, but he was not in my field of view yet. I heaved a deep sigh.
"Just fifteen more minutes Miss Hale, then you can take a break before the next pose." Edward came into sight, tugging his button down shirt into place, again, and brushing off his Dockers. Any man this concerned with his clothing had to be seriously committed to his closet, and I was going to have to be the bitch to break that to Bella.
"Fine," I muttered quietly, as he moved into the vicinity of Pigman's easel. It could be worse. After Royce, it could be a lot worse.
"Nice work, Em. But, well, the human form isn't usually quite so…architectural. Maybe you can try loosening things up in the next pose. You did say you wanted to try something different, after all." I barely repressed a snort. Pigman went by "M"? What was he? Some hip-hop wannabe poser? And clearly familiar with Artboy, the girly man. Guess the sexist comments were his own little land of denial, not that I cared. My brother Jasper was the only man I'd truly trusted in months now. I wasn't looking to get involved with anyone, or in anything, again anytime soon.
I'd gone home from the shop one night to get cleaned up for one of my society dates with Royce. Not that I'd ever gotten dirty, but I sure as hell felt filthy after a day of being eye-fucked. I was just starting to get dressed when Royce had called; asking me to meet him at the shop before we had to go endure whatever self congratulatory circle jerk was passing for a charity gala tonight. He sounded excited, and Royce never let his emotions show like that.
I could smell the marijuana and alcohol before I walked into the garage; apparently, Royce and his cronies were celebrating. My jaw dropped when I saw at least fifteen high-end, vintage collector cars crowding the chop shop. They'd found their way into a high security private garage, and cleaned it out. All five of the guys were clearly both drunk and stoned, including Royce. I fired off a quick text to Jasper, because the situation looked like it could go from bad to seriously fucked up really fast. Royce managed to get between me and the exit just as I sent my text.
Things could have been a lot worse for me. As it was, I had sprained my ankle, Royce managed to dislocate my shoulder, and one of his goons had broken several bones in my left hand. I had been cornered, and Royce had just finished with me when the police kicked down the door, Jasper hot on their heels. I had been so grateful that nobody else had a chance with me that I didn't even care about my brother seeing the state I was in.
Of course, I had cooperated fully with the police, but the King family needed a bookkeeper just to keep track of all the Rochester civil servants they had bought and paid for. The charges against Royce weren't going to stick with so many people on the family payroll. But, he never made it to trial, and not for the expected reasons either. Royce King the Whatever-eth was murdered in his cell one night. The only person not surprised was Jasper. That was how we ended up on the other side of the country. My parents were convinced I had overreacted and talked Jasper into meddling on my behalf. They had no idea that we had moved to Seattle.
Jasper had taken an articling job at a law firm. Combined with the money we had emptied out from our bank accounts, we had enough to rent a small apartment, and enrol in a few courses each to finish our education. Jasper was going to be great as a lawyer, he had a way of getting people to see, and agree with his side of things. I, however, had a harder time contributing to our income.
If I had been born shorter, less curvy, more tomboy in appearance as well as occupational preference, I might have been able to get into an apprenticeship. But nobody wanted me for anything but eye candy, anywhere. Some places wouldn't even consider me, because all they saw was what they saw. I was a threat to the status quo, I was the woman who would sleep her way past seniority rules, and I was not taken seriously. I got odd bits of work, a little waitressing, a little bartending, but it never lasted. The first time some fucking drunk tried to get a little too close and personal always led to the same choice; leave or face charges. At least Jazz understood when the jobs fell through. He never blamed me when I couldn't add to our dwindling finances.
Alice and Bella, the only two friends I'd managed to make since moving, didn't understand why I didn't take the same option some of the other part-time, cash-strapped girls. They both claimed they weren't brave enough to dance in a strip club, but they seemed to think I had the right attitude to keep men in line. I couldn't even think about "using the pole to support myself," as some of the girls called it. Being mostly naked with a lot of drunken men pawing at me was not among my employment options. I wouldn't last one night.
My stupid fucking pinkie was still twitching. A souvenir of that last night with Royce. I guess I should be thankful that all the damage had been done to my left side. The shoulder still ached occasionally, but that damn twitch was fucking annoying.
"Alright, Miss Hale, you may take a break now. Feel free to wander around and look at the work the students are doing." Alice, Bella and Jazz had all told me about this part. Being allowed to look at what the students were drawing was a way to show the models there was nothing sketchy going on. Sure, they were drawing you naked, but that didn't give them the right to concentrate too closely on personal areas, ass, pussy, tits, and face. I sat up and pulled my robe tightly around me. I hadn't understood the comments about the face being too personal, until I was actually sitting here. This wasn't a portrait class after all, if they spent too much time on my face, what was to keep them from going stalker? I quickly made my way to the washroom, because I did not want to break my next pose for that reason. That might be enough to make me blush.
Most of the students had made their way out to the hall. I could see them through the door, hovering around the snack machines, looking like some twisted emo/goth version of an office water cooler meeting.
I began wandering around, looking at each easel in turn. The sketches were quite diverse, and I remembered that the evening modelling sessions were often mixed level. Some people had done drawings that looked almost like an anatomy text; others seemed to focus on the contrast of light and shadow. Some were pencil, some charcoal, and a few had used paints. I knew nothing of art, beyond what I liked, and an appreciation of the lines of a well made car, but I could tell there was a wide range of talent and style in the room. Thankfully, nobody seemed to be making any spank and wank material, or anything that could be run through a facial recognition database.
I continued on through the class, pausing to stretch every time I looked at a sketch. Slowly, students started to filter back in, and that was when I began to feel a little creeped out. It was like I wasn't there. Even when they checked a detail on their drawing, they wouldn't look at me; they would look up to the dais, squinting as if to see me in memory. Students walked past me, diverted around me, all without truly looking at me. I repressed a shiver, squared my shoulders, and continued through the room, looking at no one, since no one looked at me. This was what made being a nude model in an art class different from stripping for me. There was no threat of being touched, nothing overtly sexual; I was just a body, I could be any body. I was used to being stared at, leered at even, as though I were an object, not a real human being; something surreal and unnatural, that could only be looked at, but never touched. This was different; I was still untouchable, but also invisible. I wondered if Pigman would ignore me the same way as the rest.
I suddenly remembered the TA's comment to "M," and decided I wanted to see what looked so "architectural" about me. I quickly made my way to that section of the room, pleased to see he must still be out in the hall, possibly filling his face at a trough.
I almost laughed when I saw his sketch, but repressed it quickly enough that it came out as a snort. It looked like a blueprint! I looked like a blueprint! It really did look like Pigman had tried to draw me like he was drawing up plans for a building. I could see the sketched lines of a skeletal structure, and notes along the sides about what "ideal" human proportions ought to be.
"Seriously Bro, stop yanking at your clothes! You look like you're about to rip that shirt open and flash some old lady to see if you can make her run away screaming!" I heard Pigman walking back in with Artboy, I wondered idly who was the bitch as Pigman walked up to his easel. I snorted at the thought. I doubted the mammoth specimen of pure muscle man before me would ever be anyone's bitch. Though he was also wearing dress clothes, just like his friend. Too bad about that closet.
He huffed at me; fucking huffed like a little girl who couldn't get daddy to buy her a new dolly. "Sorry my work doesn't meet your standards, Miss Hale, but some of us are trying to improve ourselves." He flipped to a new sheet as Artboy slid past me to check on the other students. "I work as an architect, so blueprints are what I know; what I've studied. I'm taking this course to try being more creative, to get a more organic feel to my designs." So it was a blueprint. And I'd offended him. And he was taking it out on me? Clearly, Pigman needed a lesson in manners.
"Firstly, that noise had nothing to do with your drawing. Secondly, my artistic expertise extends to pin striping and flames on SUV's and muscle cars, so who would I be to judge anyone else's work?" I hissed at him quietly, aware of the hush in the classroom. I was getting into the full swing of my rant now, and this Neanderthal didn't know enough to try to stop me while he could. "Thirdly, the TA may feel obliged to refer to me as Miss Hale, but if you are ever again lucky enough to have me speak to you, I expect you to call me Rosalie!" Wait. What? Who the fuck said that? And what was that bitch doing with my body?
I wasn't the only one stunned, but Pigman recovered before I did. "Emmett McCarty." He stuck his hand out for me to shake, which I did, still in too much shock to realize what I was doing. "Nice to meet you, Rose!" I would have corrected him. I should have corrected him; this oaf needed to be taught a few lessons. But then, his face broke out in a broad grin. Well fuck me sideways and shoot me now! Dimples. Perfect, deep, symmetrical, dimples. It never ended well for me when the dimples got involved.
I was saved by Artboy, probably worried that his boyfriend might be getting some crazy notions of going straight. "Miss Hale? Most of the students are back now, so we really should move on to the next pose if we're going to get three done tonight." As I moved back to the dais, I noticed Artboy rolling his eyes, which earned a shrug and a grin from Dimples Mc-Fuck-me-hard. What? A girl can change her opinion. It was just too bad about that damned closet!
For the second pose I was sitting up, leaning onto my left arm, with my right crossed in front of me so I could shift my weight from my left hand on the chaise to my right hand on my thigh to keep from stiffening up. It wasn't myself getting stiff I was thinking of though. My ankles were crossed, and tucked slightly to my right, and I was looking down at my left hand. I had been asked to let my hair down, but clip it at the nape of my neck so some would hang down my back, and some off to the side. It was a soft, romantic look, but I could already feel the tension in my back. With students all around, I had to face a different section of the class. Some students shuffled around to new positions, maybe looking for an angle they liked, or maybe trying to focus on a troublesome body part to improve their work. It wasn't really my concern. I was their living, breathing, mannequin for the night, and it would be a paycheque at the end of the night. I'd be able to buy a few decent groceries, enough for the week if I shopped carefully. And in the morning, I would go back out and try to find a real job, like Jasper, something I wanted to do.
That had been the real problem with Royce; what I wanted. I put the blame on him, and in several cases it was well deserved, but the real problem had been me, and what I wanted. Royce was a way to please everyone, I thought. Just like everything else I had done for so long, I found a way to appease my parents and flip them off at the same time. I was like that with everyone; Jasper was the only one who saw through me. Jazz always seemed to know what I was really feeling to see why I was doing things. All the boys who threw themselves at me never really saw me. They only saw what I looked like, and if I talked to them, it was like they had won a prize. To everyone on the outside, it must have looked like I had quite the procession of boyfriends. But it was always the same. Boy sees girl. Boy sees friends admiring girl. Boy pursues girl to prove dominance over friends. Boy drags girl to all the right places to be seen. I hated being a fucking accessory!
And so, I was cruel to them. They never cared enough to ask about me, even the first few, who I did try to get to know. None of them wanted to know Rose. They wanted to be seen with Rosalie because Rosalie completed the outfit, and proved to their friends that the best man had won the prize. But if things actually got physical, they always froze up. They were all convinced that I must have more experience with older, richer, better men. They were all afraid they wouldn't measure up to the image they were trying to use me to complete. And so, I played with them. I would set best friends against each other, and walk away with their enemy. Brothers would fight for me, and I would move to an only child, claiming I couldn't handle the conflict. And god help the girl who dared to piss me off. Her boyfriend was mine, and she could only ever watch as I stole him away, only to leave him a few weeks later, broken and bleeding emotionally, too fucking damaged to even beg forgiveness. I didn't care about any of them, I had plans, and they were simply entertaining diversions.
The way I saw things, the battle of the sexes had never been fair, so why should I give up my best weapon? I knew Jasper disapproved, but he never said anything. Sex was my weapon, but it was also my wall. I used my looks to hurt people, and to chase them away. Any man intimidated by my appearance wasn't worth my time. And the men who only cared about my body weren't either. Those ones I used, if their looks met my standards, the same way they used me. No expectations, no hurt feelings. Until I found someone who I thought wanted my mind as much as my body. Until I met Royce.
Maybe Royce was my karmic punishment. All those boys thought I liked them, and I left them broken, just like a spoiled child with too many toys. Royce had definitely left me broken. All I could stare at was my fucking pinkie, twitching with my pulse. I hadn't even tried to date since then. I'd finally seen how ugly people could really be; how ugly I had been. Nobody really wanted me, nobody needed me. And I certainly didn't need anyone, or want anyone.
Dimples Mc-Fuck-me-hard begged to differ. Oh, now that would be a sight. Emmett McCarty, on his knees, on all fours, at my feet, looking up at me with his perfect dimples, begging me to let him touch me. I tensed one thigh, then the other, but I wasn't going to get any relief up here from the places my thoughts were taking me. He was taller then Artboy, and at least half again as broad through the shoulders. I wouldn't look out of place beside him, like I had with so many of the other men I'd been with. From the brief glimpse I'd had before he broke out those lickable dimples, he was well muscled. He must hit the gym a lot; since there is no way you get those muscles sitting at a desk with blueprints.
At least now I knew it was "Em, short for Emmett," and not "M is what my homies and my bitches call me." Em, Emmett, Emmy, oh god, yes, right there Emmy-bear! Seriously? I was so going to hell for this, because I was pretty sure even I would die of embarrassment if I let myself get aroused while naked in the middle of a class full of art students. Hmm, Emmett wasn't really an art student; he said he was an architect, so he was clearly older, and taking some extra classes like me. I wonder where he went to school before this class. Had he studied architecture here, or had he moved here for work, and decided to take a few classes then? I bet he graduated imma cum loudly, bet he could make me… Stop it Rosalie! This is not helping! I glared down at my fucking twitching pinkie again, shifting my weight to relieve the strain in my arm.
The worst thing about this nude modelling deal was the fact that I was sitting here with nothing to do but think, and thinking was only going to get me in trouble tonight. I decided to listen in on the students, hoping I could distract myself so I wouldn't turn this class into amateur porn night on campus. The background music was some mix of classical and new age. It wasn't really my taste, but it was better than the whiny, emo shit I had been expecting. The sounds of pencils and charcoal on paper scratched and whispered a background texture to the sound. There was the usual shifting, shuffling, quiet throat clearing of any classroom filled with concentrating students.
I concentrated on the TA's whispers to various students as he moved around the room. My back was mostly to Dimples Mc-Fuck-me-hard, but I could tell Artboy would be getting to his favourite little boyfriend soon. "Just ten more minutes, Miss Hale." I shifted my weight again; knowing that I would be able to stretch soon only made the stiff muscles ache more in protest.
I listened to a few more generic comments before I heard what I had been waiting for. "That's looking better, Emmett. Work with the shapes and proportions you see, don't worry about what the ideal is. Bodies aren't buildings; they're not going to be perfect."
"Could've fooled me, Bro." That wasn't quite a leer in his voice; it sounded more like…awe? That was unexpected.
"Umm, Emmett? Seriously?" What? Don't like your boyfriend admiring the female form, Artboy?
"What? It's not my fault all you emo art types wear too many layers to notice how cold it is in here!" I could clearly hear the suppressed mirth in his voice. What the hell was that all about? It wasn't even remotely cold in here; they kept the heat cranked for the models' comfort.
"It's not cold in here, Em." You tell him, Artboy. But then, why would he make that comment? Oh no! Oh please, mother fucking Christ in heaven, not that! Anything but that! I slid my eyes carefully away from my fucking twitching pinkie down to my chest. Of course, Dimples Mc-Fuck-me-hard would be the one to notice how worked up my dirty mind was getting me. I actually felt myself start to blush. Great Rose, make it even more obvious that you're up here, naked, thinking sexy thoughts.
I heard the muted thwack that inevitably meant someone had gotten a well deserved smack to the back of the head, followed by a muttered curse. "Asshat!" Edward hissed. "This isn't some sleazy strip joint! You'll have to leave if you make the model uncomfortable! Show a little fucking respect! I know that Esme raised us both with better manners than that." He continued to rant on about an apology at the break, and it being my choice if Emmett got to stay or not, but I had stopped giving the conversation my full attention. Somebody named Esme had raised them both. They seemed very familiar with each other, because they were family. They weren't a couple, so there was a chance, and a very good one from his comments that Dimples Mc-Fuck-me-hard was straight! Be still my throbbing clit!
I sucked in a sharp breath, and shifted slightly as I tried to gather my thoughts. It wouldn't be smart to read too much into this. Edward Cullen, Emmett McCarty. Two different last names still left a lot of questions as to whether or not they were real family, or brothers from another mother…with benefits. The idea of those two men growing up best friends then becoming lovers was just so very wrong. Almost as bad as the thought that Dimples might play for the all-boys team. That would be a fucking crime against vaginaty! So what if that wasn't a real word? It's not like it would be a crime against all humanity if he was keen for the peen, just the female half.
"Alright Miss Hale, you may take a break; no more than fifteen minutes if you please." Suddenly he's mister formal again? Maybe he didn't realize I could hear every word of the verbal smack down he just gave Emmett. I barely heard the quiet hiss that followed, "You go fucking apologize to her right now, and hope she accepts or you won't be coming back to finish the night!"
I stood up and stretched my arms over my head, completely forgetting my robe in the desire to just move. I was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath, and some quiet muttering. "…wrong fucking impression… apologize… pitching a fucking tent…" I turned and picked up my robe to see Emmett yank a battered leather jacket in front of him before storming out of the classroom. "I said, later, Eddie!" I repressed an undignified snort as I slid my robe back on. That nickname seemed like it was guaranteed to irk the pretentious ass, and sure enough, he was running his hands roughly through his hair, yanking on it with each pass. He looked quickly up at me, a polite, professional mask falling into place on his features as I finished covering myself.
"I really must apologize for Emmett, Miss Hale. He's always been a bit…forward." He tugged his cuffs back towards his wrists again. "I will understand completely if you do not wish him to be present for the remainder of the class." A grimace crossed his features, "He may be my brother, but that was uncalled for." I smirked down at him. Perfect. His brother. And now, I had an opening to snoop.
"Apologies really shouldn't be given second hand, you know," I made my voice as cold as I could. People were more likely to slip up and talk too much if they were nervous. "Even if it does come from a family member. Although," I paused, as though just realizing something, "you two have different last names, which truly makes me doubt the brother part of your statement." I raised an eyebrow, daring him to question my disbelief of the relation and the associated apology.
His green eyes shot back up to mine, narrowing in suspicion. "Adopted," he said curtly, not specifying who had been adopted, or when. "I'll be certain he apologizes to you personally, Miss Hale." Artboy stormed out of the room, no doubt to look for his brother, who was having problems…camping. Once again, I went back into the change room, this time taking a minute to check my makeup. If Dimples Mc-Fuck-me-hard was forward, as his adoptive brother implied, then maybe it was time to consider breaking my dry spell. Like they always say, if you get thrown off the horse, get back up and ride the cowboy…or some shit like that. I checked to be certain I hadn't gotten any lipstick on my teeth, and walked back out into the muted student area of the classroom. There was only one easel I was interested in seeing this time.
I looked around, pleased to find that nobody was back yet. That would make it less obvious that I was only looking at Emmett's work. I could see the difference immediately. Where the first drawing had been sharp, precise lines done in pencil, this one seemed to have been drawn with a large piece of charcoal. The focus was all on the shading, and the contrasts of light and dark. The slight side view was just enough so that he had clearly had a profile view of one nipple, and had drawn what he had seen. I could hardly get upset, considering it had been dirty thoughts of him that had gotten me to that state. I was surprised to see just how feminine the drawing looked, considering that it was mostly a side and back view. I had a hard time seeing myself in this drawing. While I knew I was considered attractive, this figure somehow seemed more graceful, softer, and more vulnerable than I tended to think of myself.
I heard quiet footsteps behind me, but continued to look at the drawing. "Rose? I mean, Rosalie? Miss Hale?" I smiled slightly, turning to look up at Emmett through my lashes; because I could look up at him. I had little practice in flirting recently, and no desire to practice before tonight. I was pleased to hear his breath catch, and watched as a small, nervous smile began to tug at his lips. "Honestly, I wasn't trying to be some kind of perv, I just got caught up in what I was drawing, and didn't stop to think that it might be," he paused, searching for the right word. He lifted his left hand to the back of his neck, ducking his head; a full smile broke out as he did so,"well, I guess rude works well enough." He gave a small laugh, causing those gorgeous dimples to put in a full appearance. "I was just giving my little brother the gears when he called me out on it. He's just so fucking uptight about tonight since that shithead prof bailed at the last minute to go chasing after some new talent. I didn't think I was loud enough that you would hear me." His gaze locked onto mine, and his next words rang with an odd sincerity. "Honestly, I was only trying to mess with Eddie. I mean, clearly, you are fucking hot, but I wasn't trying to disrespect you." His head shot forward to the sound of another thwack as his brother walked by him.
"Smooth, Em. Next time, try wiping up the drool before telling the woman you're not salivating over her." Artboy moved further into the room, scanning easels as he went. Nobody else had yet returned. Emmett looked sheepish for a moment, but his smile quickly turned mischievous. Just when I thought those fucking dimples couldn't get any sexier! This last pose was going to be torture with that impish grin in my head. I'd never been one to fantasize about being tied up, or down, but I wouldn't argue with the wicked fun those dimples were promising right now.
"At least I've got the balls to tell a girl when I'm interested. Have yours dropped yet, Eddie?" Artboy stiffened. "I'm pretty sure if you don't man up soon somebody else will snatch up your beautiful swan." I scoffed as Edward's whole body tensed. I could make it easy on the poor sucker, and let him know Bella was definitely interested, if I thought he was straight. And if I didn't think Bella would try to kill me for it. And if I didn't know for a fact that Alice would help; for such a tiny thing she really could be a frightening little monster. "Honestly Bro, it's not like I don't notice, she just seems more like a kid sister to me, but not to everyone."
I hadn't thought it was possible for the TA to look any more on edge than he already was, but I swear he started to fucking growl. "Not the time for this, Emmett." Dimples laughed, an unrepressed, booming sound, and Edward flipped him off without even turning his back. "I still haven't heard if Miss Hale is going to allow you to finish tonight's class." With that, he stormed off to the supply closet at the back of the room, muttering to himself, "…fucking Aro… new talent… don't need this shit…"
Emmett turned to look at me again, his expression changing back from amused to chagrin. "I really shouldn't give him such a hard time, but he's just such a fucking easy target. And I really am sorry if I upset you, I just tend to be pretty direct, you know? Think it, say it, do it, face the consequences." He smiled at me again, an open, trusting smile. "So…can I stay? I think I was starting to get the idea, and think less in terms of structural integrity. It'd really suck to not finish my first art class with a nude model." He winked at me, and I felt my legs turn to rubber.
I shifted my weight to hide the effect he was having on my body, and crossed my arms in front of my chest for the same reason. I shrugged casually, "I guess. It's my first class too, and I'm sure I haven't been as easy to work with as a more experienced model. Is that why Assward's being so sullen?" I smirked at my own clever play on Artboy's name.
"Assward Sullen! That is fucking perfect! Oh, Rosie, I think I love you!" What? "You've barely even met him, but you've got his number!" Dimples was laughing hard enough that a few tears were leaking out of his eyes; it hadn't been that funny. He wiped the tears away, and his eyes briefly became very intense, "Bet you've got mine, too."
I did the only thing I could think of; I shot him down. "Right," I scoffed, "because that's exactly the sort of pick-up line one ought to use on a girl who you've been staring at naked for over an hour and a half." I shook my head in disgust. "I guess it beats stripping as far as lewd comments go, but between you and your brother, it hasn't been the most comfortable evening for me." I paused, watching Emmett fumble around for words, "What's the deal with that anyway? You have different last names, and he said something about adopted, wouldn't you both have the same last name if you there was adoption involved?"
"What? Oh, that." I clearly had him off balance, which suited me just fine. Men were easier to deal with if you kept them confused and on their toes. "Edward was younger when he was adopted, and well, he had his reasons for taking on the Cullen name. I was older, and I'm proud of who my parents were, as people. I asked if I could keep my last name, and Carlisle and Esme were both cool with it." He shrugged, "It gets questioned a fair bit, and it's not that I don't love them like my birth parents, I just didn't feel the need to try and forget my old ones." His voice dropped as more students came in, signalling class would be starting soon, "Everyone's got history, so I try not to judge anyone based on theirs, just like I wouldn't want to be judged on mine."
I was fucking speechless. Rosalie Hale was never speechless. "That's a decent way to look at things." That's the best you've got, Rose? You've been out of the game too long, girl! I shrugged my head back towards the dais, "Um, looks like we'll be starting again soon. I should get up there and get ready for the next ass-numbing pose." I smirked, "I never would have guessed just sitting on your ass could be so hard on your body." I smiled ruefully as I turned back to the centre of the classroom.
"What I wouldn't give to massage the numb out of that ass!" I wasn't sure I had really heard the comment, until I looked back at Emmett, who was innocently setting up some paints and brushes. Far too innocently. Those dimples of his betrayed the grin he was suppressing. It was one of the many things I loved about dimples; you can't really hide a smile, the dimples will always give you away. I could only hope this next pose would let me study Dimples Mc-Fuck-me-hard as carefully as he seemed to be studying me.
"Alright, Miss Hale," right, because apparently Edward feels the need to be professional to make up for his brother, "just one last pose for the night. Let's see if we can get everyone some new angles to work with."
Once more, I sat on the chaise, and removed my silk robe, letting it rest under me. I felt vaguely disappointed when I was instructed to put my feet up towards the head of the chaise, as this would put me on another side view to Emmett. I had to remove the clip from my hair entirely for the final pose, letting it fall wherever it would. I was instructed to bring my knees up, and then tuck one leg so it crossed underneath my other knee, effectively blocking the money shot. "Now, if you could please, lean forward and rest both wrists on your knee, one on top of the other." As before, Edward circled me while adjusting the pose, checking to be sure everyone had something interesting to draw, but that nobody had anything too interesting to draw. I did as I was asked, hoping this pose wouldn't produce quite as much strain as the last, but I could already feel it in my hip, and my ass would definitely be numb, again. "Now, just rest your head on top of your wrists, you can turn to whatever side you find more comfortable."
I didn't know about comfortable, but I did know that if I turned to my left, I would be looking straight at one Emmett McCarty, current owner of my tits, and twitcher of my clit. Fuck! I seriously need to get laid, well and soon. So, of course, being the intelligent young woman I am, I turned to my left, and gave Mc-Fuck-me-hard a slow smile and a small wink. The difference in lighting between the platform and the rest of the room was far less of an issue if you worked on focussing on one person. I watched Emmett's eyes widen briefly, and saw his Adam's apple bob as he gulped audibly. I clearly saw an impish sparkle make its way into his eyes as he picked up his paintbrush. He was trying to hide his smile, but those dimples would never lie to me.
Once again, students settled down to work, and I tried to keep as still as possible, without letting my body cramp up while doing so. I was really fucking glad I hadn't gotten the call for a full class pose for my first time. Alice had been a bloody wreck after her first full class pose. I smiled a little more at the memory. Alice was a whirlwind, always in motion even when she was sitting still. I could just picture her, trying to be patient as some hapless TA had to make a tape outline of her position, while trying not to actually touch her at the same time. I imagined her frustration trying to get back into position after a break. She had ranted for a week that she would never due a full class pose again.
I pulled myself back out of my thoughts to look around again. Emmett's face looked both curious and confused. I could only imagine the expressions that had been crossing my face for the last few minutes. I gave him a small smile, and watched him shrug before swirling more paint onto his brush. He really seemed serious about trying new things. I watched as his gaze flickered up to me, then back to his easel. The tip of his tongue poked out one corner of his mouth as he began moving the brush in long strokes. Slowly, he began moving his tongue back and forth over his bottom lip; it was as if he was moving his tongue in time with his brush in concentration. Every time he took more paint onto his brush his tongue would dart back into his mouth, only to come out again and repeat the process when brush touched paper. No, not paper I realized; this time, he was using a canvas, I could see the edge of the frame around the easel.
I found myself truly looking at Emmett for the first time. Sure, I'd noticed his size, and those immaculate dimples, and there was nothing wrong with either of those things, but it wasn't like I had anything else to do right now anyway. His hair was dark; either dark brown or black, the lighting made it difficult to tell, and it was definitely curly. He had it cut pretty short, most likely to keep the curls under control. His skin was somewhat tanned, not a fake orange tan, and not the deep tan of someone who spent hours working on it. It was a healthy looking tan, which spoke of hours outside, probably being too active to reapply sunscreen as often as he should have. His face was open, friendly and honest. I watched as his tongue flitted out again, and startled myself as I realized I had been mimicking the motion.
I sucked my tongue sharply back into my mouth, and saw Emmett smirk knowingly at me. I matched his smirk with one of my own. He clearly didn't mind me looking, and it gave me something to think about besides just how flat and numb my backside was going to be at the end of the night. Maybe I'd take him up on his offer to massage it. It had almost been a year; surely I had recovered enough by now to let a man really touch me again? I knew that mindfucking harpy of a shrink, Victoria, probably wouldn't think so, but she also didn't agree with my opinion that I didn't need her help any longer. Even if tonight led to nothing more than a little flirting, it really was time to get my life together and get back out there.
The only problem with deciding to flirt while you're posing nude in a room full of art students…scratch that; there were several problems. The biggest problem with deciding to flirt with one of the students…no, that wasn't accurate either; the biggest problem was the whole class knowing you were aroused. My current problem with having decided to drive Dimples Mc-Fuck-me-hard into a frenzy of desire, was that I couldn't fucking move! I clearly had not thought this through very well. I'd never had to work this hard to bring a man to his knees before. Usually, if I needed to bring a man to his knees, I could just get down on mine. I felt my breathing pick up at the thought of slowly licking my way up Emmett's long, thick cock. It had been far too long, and I could only imagine how he would taste. Of course, I could also be setting myself up for a very large disappointment. As I dropped my eyes slowly down to his groin, I couldn't help but lick my lips, ever so slightly.
Sadly, the easel and canvas combined to block my desired view, and my bottom lip pouted out slightly. Just then, Emmet shifted back somewhat, and reached down to adjust himself, quite openly. I said a silent thanks to whatever beings granted the wishes of horny women, for the view, and also for the fact that Mc-Fuck-me-hard's dress pants concealed far less than jeans would have. I could only think he hadn't had time to change, as I saw no other reason to wear gabardine instead of denim in an art class. There was clearly no way that I would be disappointed once I got those pants off of him. I hadn't heard Emmett or his brother mention anything about a girlfriend, so I could only hope that I had no worries on that front. I wasn't thinking of sex with him as a possibility any longer; it was a fact that simply hadn't happened yet.
I was still admiring the view, and wondering what had Dimples so worked up, not that I was complaining, when he reached down again. Dress pants aren't that constricting, handsome. But, he wasn't adjusting himself. Very slowly, he ran his left hand up his covered length and back down again, up, then down again. My eyes followed the motion, was he really…did he just? I snapped my eyes back up to find him staring intently at me. He smirked and winked at me, because really, what else could we do in this situation?
Now that was an interesting question; what else could I do in this situation? Emmett seemed to have found a balance between painting me, and showing me just how much he was enjoying the subject matter. I could feel that fucking pinkie twitch again, reminding me how close my hands were to my face in this final pose. I knew exactly what to do now; I would just have to be very careful to not be caught. Then again, Emmett didn't seem too concerned with the thought that anybody, his brother included, could easily see him stroking himself. I noticed his pace pick up slightly, and flattered myself thinking that it was as a result of the wicked grin I felt spreading across my face. As far as I could tell, he still hadn't stopped painting, looked like Mc-Fuck-me-hard was pretty good at multitasking, and was possibly ambidextrous. His face was looking a bit strained though. Did he realize his brother might catch him and kick his masturbating ass out of the classroom? Or maybe he was afraid of what I might do to retaliate for his teasing.
I shifted my weight carefully, just enough so that the base of my right thumb was just below my mouth. I scanned quickly to see if anyone else was watching, before locking my gaze with Emmett's. My earlier pep talk ran through my head again. I can fucking well do this! I ran my tongue slowly up one side of my thumb, and down the other, never taking my eyes away from Emmett. He had gone completely still, one hand still at his crotch, the other stuck halfway between the paint and the canvas, his mouth hanging open slightly as he watched me. I brought my tongue back up my thumb, arching it back into my mouth as I went. I swirled around the tip of my thumb, before sucking it gently in between my lips. Emmett seemed to shake himself out of his daze, but his attention never fully returned to his painting.
I pulled my thumb further into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks as I did. I still hadn't heard any of the students comment on my little show, or the TA unleashing his girly wrath on his big brother, so I felt safe for the moment. I began moving my thumb gently in and out of my mouth, partly to avoid notice, and partly because my nails had gotten longer than I usually kept them and were quite sharp. I knew that what I was doing was a very poor substitute for what I really wanted to be doing, so I allowed my mind to wander, but my eyes never left Emmett. If I managed to make events play out the way I wanted them to, Dimples Mc-Fuck-me-hard would be living up to his name tonight.
I let my eyes slide mostly closed, unwilling to lose the contact with Emmett, but wanting at the same time to let the rest of the class slip from my mind a little. I tried to imagine where this night would end, certainly not the rundown apartment I shared with my brother, and not his place if he shared with his brother. A hotel then, a nice one, not some sleazy motel with police tape on half the doors. I arched my eyebrows at his impressive concentration; he was stroking himself a bit more roughly now, but somehow he was still working on his painting. Keeping my thumb in my mouth, I let my tongue slip out, and circle the base once before resuming my simulated suction.
I had no idea how I would talk to him once class was done. I couldn't picture how we would end up going to a hotel tonight, or which hotel, or how we would get there. I did know exactly what I wanted to do with him once we got inside a room though. That shirt would be the first thing to go, I have mastered the skill of undoing buttons with my teeth, and I could almost picture Emmett's face as I worked my way down that white dress shirt. I gave my thumb a few quick nips as I thought about it, and was rewarded with a low groan, which hastily turned into a cleared throat.
I pulled my thumb completely out of my mouth, smiled brightly, and returned to my plans. I would work my way back up his body, running my hands along the abs I was sure were hiding under his business casual clothes. I'd stop at his pecs, tracing my fingers along, taking a few nips and sucks at his nipples along the way. I didn't even have to think about it now, in my mind my tongue was working his body not my own, my fingers were on him not running lightly along my own forearm. Focussing on Emmett, I let the rest of the class slip from my mind.
My hands slid up to his shoulders, slipping under his shirt. Kissing my way slowly up to his neck, I enjoyed the erratic, shallow rhythm of his breathing. Inching his shirt down his arms, his muscles tensed and released, struggling to choose between his impatience and his desire to see where I would lead him. I brushed my lips lightly over his, and felt his control crumble. I smiled as he reached up, and yanked the shirt down sharply, trapping his hands in the still buttoned cuffs of the inside out sleeves. "It's not your turn yet."
I took a step back to admire his upper body, keeping one hand on his chest. I trailed my finger up over his shoulder, stepping around him for a better look at his torso. His jaw was clenched, his eyes mostly closed. "Please, Rose," he hissed.
"Soon." I placed a kiss between his shoulder blades. "Very soon." Starting from the midpoint of his back I licked a line up to the nape of his neck, planting small, soft kisses there. "You've already seen all of me, now it's my turn." Finding that perfect spot where neck meets shoulder, I bit down just hard enough to elicit a groan. I traced the lines of his back alternating between my fingers and tongue, up one side, down the other, learning his form. Emmett started to shake as I kissed the small of his back, reaching around to undo his belt. He whimpered softly as I undid the button and began lowering the zipper.
His pants slid easily down past his hips, and dropped around his ankles. "Commando? Very nice." And yes, more dimples; everywhere a body could have a dimple, his were perfect. I cupped his ass as he tried to shift one foot out of his pants. "Oh, no. You had three hours to see me naked; unable to move even to stretch." Tugging on his shirt pulled his hands behind his back. "It's only fair that I get the same chance. You can already move more than I could." I ran my hand up his back into his hair and pulled his head back gently. "You do want things to be fair, don't you?" His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard before nodding.
I walked slowly around him once, appraising, and circled back to stand in front of him. "Can you feel what it was like for me? Staying so still, knowing every line of my body was being studied? Being the only one in the room not fully clothed?" His cock twitched, and I heard his breath catch. "Kick the shoes and pants off, but keep your hands where they are." Emmett licked his lips. He kept his eyes on me as he carefully worked at following my instructions.
"I do believe in fair play," I purred, brushing my fingers along the neckline of my sweater. He stumbled slightly as his eyes snapped to follow my fingers. My hands moved to where my sweater was tied closed, slowly working the knot open. "You seem to have forgotten something," I chided, prompting Emmett to resume working his shoes off with his feet so he could get his pants off. I slid my sweater off, revealing my red lace bra. He didn't stop removing his own clothing, stumbling slightly as he got his first leg free, but keeping his hands behind him.
My shoes were easy to kick off while I popped open the button on my jeans. Emmett's arms were tensing and flexing as he watched me. He'd managed to get his pants off, and I wondered if he realized I'd brought his hands together behind his back to make sure he could undo the only buttons that were keeping him in his shirt. Smiling lazily, my eyes raked over his body as I worked my zipper down. "I should make you stay just like that," my thumbs hooked into my belt loops and I started shimmying out of my jeans, "but I just don't have that much patience."
Emmett had gone perfectly still, but as I mentioned my own eagerness, his arms began to flex again. He'd be free of that shirt soon. Emmett's expression was slightly panicked when I stepped out of my clothing, backing away from him. I smirked as a broad grin broke across his face, confirming that he was free of his improvised bonds, though he had yet to let the shirt fall. Kicking my clothes out of the way, I closed the distance between us. We were both too wound up to make it to a bed.
I took another step towards Emmett, watching him watch me. Kicking his clothes aside as well, I was surprised that he was still holding the shirt, and had not yet moved. My hands rested lightly on his chest.
"You're a very good listener," I lowered myself to my knees, running my hands down to his thighs as I went. "Good behaviour should be rewarded." My tongue ran up the underside of his shaft, stopping to suck lightly on the soft spot right below the head. He groaned as I licked around under his head before sucking it into my mouth. Finally the shirt hit the floor!
"Fuck, Rose," his hands grabbed my arms just below my shoulder, and he pulled me up from my knees. "Not like that," his hands moved up from my shoulders to cup my face. "That was fucking hot, but I'm going to do this right." His thumbs ran back and forth over my cheekbones as he leaned in and brushed his lips over mine, taking his time to build to deeper kisses. It was sweet. It was gentle. It had been almost a whole fucking year!
All my patience was gone as I took control, pushing my tongue into his mouth at the same time grabbing his ass and pulling his hips against mine. He tensed briefly before sliding one hand to undo the catch at my back. As he removed the bra, I broke our kiss and pulled my upper body back keeping our hips joined. My hands moved one at a time to finish taking off my bra, returning quickly with a firm squeeze to each cheek.
Emmett cupped my breasts smiling like a kid who found his whole list under the tree on Christmas morning. His thumbs rubbed circles around and over my nipples, and I giggled as I thought of how many hours he'd probably spent manipulating thumb sticks on video game controllers in the same fashion.
He quirked an eyebrow at me, "What's so funny?"
I leaned forward to lick one of his dimples, and continued by kissing my way back to his ear. "I have been dying to do that all night. Those dimples have been driving me fucking insane."
"God, Rose." He shuddered as he began kissing along my neck at a fevered pace. "I'm trying really fucking hard to be a gentleman." His next words were lost as he sucked an earlobe between his lips and began nibbling.
As I reached up to push down gently on his shoulders, a brief look of confusion crossed his face, but he quickly complied continuing to lick and suck at my skin as he sank to his knees before me. "We're not quite even yet," I whispered. His eyes lowered to my red lace panties.
I tugged gently at the short curls on Emmett's head as he skimmed his tongue around my bellybutton, dipping in briefly, before sucking at the surrounding skin. His hands slid under my panties at the sides, massaging as he worked them down. His hands came back to the tops of my thighs as the fabric slipped to the ground.
"Sit down." He gulped, but sat quickly on the carpet, his legs stretched in front of him. He watched as I stepped over, straddling him. Sitting down slowly, I was careful to brush my pussy along the length of his erection. His head fell back with a loud gasp before he wrapped his arms around me, pulling my chest tight against his. Fisting his hands in my hair he pulled back gently exposing my neck to him.
His gentle kisses along my neck were a sharp contrast to his tight grip on my body. "So damn soft," he murmured, "I love this spot, right here." He sucked lightly right behind and below my earlobe, nuzzling in closer and nipping lightly.
"Me too," I breathed, lifting my hips to slide along his length once more. My hips tipped forward, and I felt him twitch as he neared my entrance.
"Please, Rose, please?" His voice shook with the strain of holding back. I answered him wordlessly, twisting my hips until he slipped inside. He was huge, and it had been far too long. My muscles tensed involuntarily as I started to remember the last time, and then willed myself to relax. Emmett was panting against my neck, shaking, but otherwise still. He was letting me lead.
Smiling as I relaxed enough to slide further down onto his shaft, "You thought I had some other reason for getting you alone and naked?" His hips bucked forward, but he quickly lowered himself with a small whine. We both groaned as I finished taking him inside me. "I was thinking about this all night," I whispered.
"Me too," he chuckled. He raised his face from my neck, and stared into my eyes as I began a slow, steady rhythm. Too soon, I felt my abdomen begin to tighten, but from the look on his face, I could tell Emmett was having a similar problem.
I pushed gently on his shoulders, "Lie back." He complied, lowering his torso until he was lying flat on the floor. He smirked as I watched every flex of his abs while he lowered himself without using his hands which were once again occupied with my breasts.
"Such perfect fucking tits, how was I supposed to resist them?" he asked.
Leaning back, I braced my hands on his thighs for balance and as our angle changed. "I didn't ask you to." He hissed as I increased my pace, and soon he was thrusting up to meet me. I leaned forward, placing my hands over his; showing him the way I needed to be touched. He bent his knees, bracing his feet on the floor to allow him to plunge into me more deeply.
Our breath was coming in sharp pants and moans now. "I fucking love you showing me what you want Rose." I whimpered in response to his words. My body trembled as my release closed in. He lowered one hand to my clit, and he began rubbing tight circles. My head fell back as I came with a low, keening moan, clenching around his length as he continued to pump into me. "So. Fucking. Hot!" He pulled my hips tight against his as he came with an incoherent shout.
Panting and gasping, I let myself fall forward onto his chest. My fingers traced lazy patterns as we both tried to calm our breathing.
I was jolted from my fantasy by an unexpectedly loud voice. "Alright, Miss Hale, we're done for the evening." Shit, was it really that late already? Edward didn't sound pissed so I at least had not been caught. The stress of the evening was clear on Emmett's face as he shifted behind his easel. His expression was so openly hungry that I didn't know if I'd be able to control myself.
I practically ran into the change room. I needed to get dressed and back out there quickly. Artboy would have to stay to pay me, one of the perks of working for Professor Volturi was cash payment at the end of the class, but nothing said Dimples had to hang around with his little brother. I pulled on my panties and bra, wishing I had worn my best push up instead. Right, Rose. Because he hasn't seen you naked for the last three hours. Somebody needed to stuff a sock in that bitch – or a cock.
I yanked on my jeans, lamenting that I hadn't worn a skirt, and slipped on the soft red wraparound sweater, adjusting the neckline for best cleavage. I threw all my things into my knockoff designer bag, and tossed it over my shoulder. I gave my hair and makeup only a quick check before darting back to the door. Three hours ago I had spent twenty minutes arguing with that mirror about not walking through this door. I glanced down at my left hand I as grasped the door handle; fucking pinkie…was not twitching. No nervous tic manifestation. I can fucking well do this!
I squared my shoulders and threw my head back, because nothing in the world was going to wipe the shit eating grin off my face right now. I pulled the door open, and stepped into the classroom. Luckily, very few students were still there. Luckier still, Mc-Fuck-Me-Hard was beaming his dimples at me the second I walked through the door. Not that I was looking for him, or anything.
"I think you really made some good progress tonight, Em, this has a far more organic feel than your first work tonight." Perfect. If Artboy was looking at his brother's painting, I had an excuse to go over there.
"Hey, Edward," I rounded the easel and stopped short, speechless, again. Artboy had stripped off his button-down, and tossed on a black leather vest which he had left open. Everywhere I looked there were tattoos. A lot of tribals, at first glance, but I didn't want to give the wrong impression by looking too closely.
Thankfully Emmett's voice broke me out of my stunned observation. "What did I tell you, Eddie?" He started laughing, "I knew you were all about shocking the ladies! Damn good thing my Rosie here doesn't seem like the type to run screaming!"
I reached up and smacked the back of Emmett's head. "Your Rosie? First, I belong to nobody but myself. Second, my name is Rosalie, Rose if I consider you a friend. Third, maybe I like his ink and wanted a closer look." I looked over at Edward who was barely containing his laughter, and gave him a wink to let him know I was just hassling his brother with the last part. I like my men strong, but caveman possessive was not going to get me out of my pants. I wasn't a damsel in distress to be rescued.
"Damn, woman!" He rubbed the back of his head, wincing slightly. "You don't take shit from anyone, do you?" He grinned broadly, and his brother rolled his eyes, clearly anticipating Emmett's next move. "If ink is your kink," he quickly unbuttoned his shirt, and damned if my imagination hadn't done him some great injustices. Yanking his arms out of his sleeves, he turned to show off the extensive tribal sidepiece that curved up onto his shoulder blade, but more importantly, down onto the front of his hip. "You like?" I had no clue how much more vivid my fantasy could have been if I'd known about that beauty.
"Classy, Emmett." Edward rolled his eyes, again. Was that some medical condition? "I'm just going to go finish changing and get Miss Hale her payment. Try not to get yourself into any more trouble than usual."
Rather than wondering just how far down his hip Emmett's tattoo went, I walked around to get a look at his painting. I was pretty sure it wouldn't be much to look at, given his distracted state. "Wow." I couldn't believe that I was looking at me. The painting was all different shades of red, pink, peach, rose, and various golds for my hair. There were no hard lines, it was all curves, feathered shading blending one colour into the next, with no harsh planes or angles. It was stunning and sensual without looking pornographic.
I felt Emmett move behind me, and his breath stirred my hair as he leaned into my ear. "Inspiring subject matter, I imagined I was actually touching you, following your curves with my hand…" He straightened abruptly as Edward walked back into the room. The Dockers had been replaced with low slung battered jeans, and he was barefoot carrying his shoes in one hand, and an envelope in the other. The floor can't be that bad if the TA is barefoot, no great loss on forgetting the slippers. Apparently my brain was stuck in neutral, and focusing on random facts. Dimples had admitted he was fantasizing about touching me while he painted, and I was obsessing over forgotten footwear.
I saw Emmett move further back, out of the corner of my eye, towards his bag. Edward held the envelope out to me.
"Here you go Miss Hale. Once again, I'd like to apologize that Professor Volturi wasn't here," he smirked, "because mine is the most sincere apology you will get of the two." I took my payment robotically, still caught in the depths of the painting. "Hey, Em? Are you coming out tonight?" I looked over to Emmett for his response to this invitation, and was mildly disappointed to see he seemed to have found a muscle shirt in his bag. I had been enjoying the tattoo.
"Not tonight man. I have an early morning meeting with a client, which means I should pretend to sleep tonight." He shrugged on his jacket, and hoisted his bag over his shoulder. "I had to park halfway across campus, you?"
Edward smirked. "Great thing about a bike is that I don't need much space. I'm just out back." I noticed absently that he had his shoes on now, and also appeared ready to leave. The night was ending and I hadn't even gotten Emmett's number, at least I could get some groceries. I sighed at the highlight of my social calendar.
That was all it took to get Emmett's attention back to me. "Look, it's pretty late. While I'm sure you could kick any guy's ass if they tried something, Esme did raise me with some manners." He nodded in Edward's direction, and was succinctly flipped off. "Stellar manners, as you can see. So, can I walk you to your car?"
I smiled wryly as I answered. "Public transportation for me, there's a stop not far from here." I hadn't even been able to keep up with the upkeep on my '82 Firebird when Jasper and I moved, let alone make the repairs I wanted. My baby had been an early casualty of our financial situation. I sighed deeply as I recalled having to sell my car only a few short months after I got it.
"I feel the same way about public transit." I smirked, realizing Emmett had misinterpreted my sigh. "Why don't you let me drive you home?" My eyes shot up quickly, and fuck me sideways if the dimples weren't back. I'd probably let him take me just about anywhere with those perfect dimples.
Edward cleared his throat from the door, where he had started turning off lights in preparation for locking up. "I believe we discussed appropriate behaviour more than once tonight, Emmett…" Stay out of it, Eddie!
"Stay out of it, Eddie!" My thoughts exactly! "The class is done, she's been paid which means she is no longer the model. I am simply offering a beautiful woman a better way home than climbing onto some bus where miserable fuckers like me," he winked, "only drunk, would probably try to cop a feel. Isn't it polite to make sure she gets home, instead of spending the night in jail for ripping some pervert's balls off and shoving them down his throat?" He blinked innocently, his blue eyes and proper school boy voice at odds with his words. I started to wonder if I had kicked his ass in any of the bars I'd worked in, as he clearly knew how I would handle any grabby pricks.
I shrugged as I walked out the door. "Why not? The worst that can happen is that I lay you out cold and leave you bleeding in the parking lot." I turned, walking backwards as I watched Emmett's stunned expression while Edward shoved him from the art room. "People always think someone takes a big risk getting into a stranger's car; I say the bigger risk is letting a stranger in." I winked as I turned to walk forward again.
"She may just want to tie you up somewhere and make you beg for mercy."
Where the hell did that come from? I hadn't been this bold since before I met Royce. "She may also think it more than a little fucking rude that you keep talking about me like I'm not here."
I heard the two arguing about who had the worse manners as I kept walking towards the exit. Edward was the first to apologize. He ran ahead of me, turning to walk backwards as he spoke. "I am honestly sorry for speaking about you, rather than to you. I've gotten used to a certain distance being expected with models, and I fell back on the habit. Sorry." He shrugged, "Emmett's a good guy, but if he gives you any problems, just call the office and leave a message for me." He turned back around, "Have a good night, Miss Hale," and walked out of the building.
"Yeah, so, that was pretty rude." Emmett came up beside me, his head ducked down and one hand at the back of his neck again. "Umm, I didn't mean anything like that, you know, being paid and talking like you weren't there, and…"
"Well, I didn't think you meant anything quite that bad until now." I stormed out the door, heading straight for my stop. Always trust your gut Rose, Dimples Mc-Fuck-me-hard really is a Pigman! Even when I was fantasizing about him on that brightly lit dais, I hadn't felt this dirty. Logically, I knew there was very little difference between what I had done and working a strip club. Logic had shit to do with how I was feeling right now though. Yes, I had made money by being naked in front of people, but no, I hadn't once felt like there was anything cheap about it before Emmett's implications. I heard him running to catch up with me, and picked up my pace, determined to get to my stop without having to look at him again.
When I felt his hand on my left shoulder, my reaction was pure instinct. I grabbed his wrist with my left hand to help my balance, and pivoted. I brought my right fist up in an uppercut to his jaw at the same time my knee made contact with his groin. His half-strangled grunted howl of pain was immensely satisfying as I watched him crumple to the ground. I stood over him, gathering my thoughts to launch another tirade.
"Fuck! I totally deserved that! Are we even yet, or did you want to kick me too?" Even though his face was screwed up in pain, I could still see the dimples as he fought to smile. You are so fucked, Rose! Don't have to tell me twice, bitch. I smiled slightly, and held out my hand to help him up.
"I'm just a bit touchy about this whole thing," I stated, helping him to his feet.
He smiled, as much as he could around his pained grimace. "Like I said, I deserved it. Edward jokes that he doesn't know how I can walk at all with both feet always stuffed in my mouth." He reluctantly tried to release my hand, but I only held on tighter. "Does this mean I can drive you home to apologize for being an ass?" I simply nodded as he reached down to grab his bag. "Why so touchy anyway? Unless asking is gonna earn me another junk hit, in which case, forget I said anything. But really, it's not like you have any reason to be embarrassed with your body."
I shook my head. "That's just the problem, my body. I went through school as an auto mechanic. Give me half a chance and I can make any engine sing, and I dabble in a little body work too." I looked over to see the exact same stunned expression I was so used to seeing. "That face right there says it all. Nobody expects this," I gestured up and down my body, "is the body of a woman who loves to tear cars apart and put them back together better than new." I snorted ruefully. "That's why I can't get an apprenticeship anywhere. All the car guys want to stick me in trashy clothing at the counter to distract clients from the fact that they're being over charged." I looked over to see that Emmett really was paying attention to what I was saying, eyes on my face and everything.
"And so, the whole nude model thing…" He trailed off, looking for the right words to not get him castrated.
"It was just a way to earn a few bucks, without actually feeling cheap by having guys pawing you in a strip club."
He closed his eyes and let out a big sigh. "Shit. I'm really sorry Rose. I was trying to be funny, and trying to impress you, and instead I ended up acting just like all those douches that won't let you do what you're good at." He opened his eyes, looking at me again, "I really should start thinking before I talk."
I bumped his shoulder with mine. "What? You want to be like all the other guys who over think every word they say, looking for hidden meaning? Where the fuck is the fun in that?" I smiled up at him. "Besides, it's not like my proverbial foot doesn't spend half it's time in my mouth and the other half up someone's ass!" He started sputtering and laughing, half scandalised, half amused. "That does sound more disgusting than I meant it to, doesn't it?"
He laughed louder, shaking his head. "This is me," he finally gasped out. It was an older Jeep, and had clearly seen some rough use over the years between construction sites and off-roading. Despite it's apparent age, it was in decent shape; all the damage I could see looked cosmetic. Emmett caught me giving it the once over, and puffed his chest out a bit. "I've had it since I got my licence. We used to go camping a lot, so I got the full off-road package to start. I know a guy who does body work, so I let him help reinforce shit, keep it in good shape. Jake's a decent guy, and he doesn't overcharge me." He continued to ramble as I made my way to the passenger side, "Edward thinks he's a bit of a tool, but once you get past him always smelling like a wet dog," I wrinkled my nose," he's alright."
Once we got buckled in, Emmett seemed disappointed that I needed no help with the off-road harness. He asked for directions, "So, where are we headed?" He turned the key, and nothing happened. He tried again, and still nothing. "I just filled up this morning, what the fuck?"
"Pop the hood, Dimples, and I'll take a look." Shit, did I just call him Dimples out loud?
His smirk spoke volumes. "When you ask so nice Rosie, of course I'll let you see what I've got under my hood."
"Most likely a loose connection somewhere, it happens if you spend a lot of time away from asphalt." I covered my embarrassment by getting down to what I did best; making an engine purr. I didn't see anything obvious, but an odd smell tickled my nose. Don't tell me; is it that simple? I yanked out the dipstick to check the oil, and was greeted with the most repulsive display of sludge I had ever seen.
I walked casually to the driver side window, holding the dipstick gingerly. Emmett leaned out, "Did you find the problem?"
I nodded. "Tell me Emmett, when did you last change your oil?" I arched an eyebrow at him, holding up the evidence in front of me.
His eyes widened, and he looked at me in evident confusion. "Umm, are you supposed to change it?"
I quickly covered my laugh. "Yes Emmett, just adding more oil is not good enough." I swatted his arm playfully, "Better call Triple A, this Jeep's not starting anytime soon." Leaning against the Jeep, I watched him climb from the cab, and pull out his cell phone. "So you have some tool that smells like a wet dog doing body work, but clearly, you need someone like me to take care of the engine."
Emmett stopped dialling and lowered his cell. He took a step closer, pinning me between the Jeep and his body. He looked down into my eyes, and his voice was husky, "Rose, it's very clear to me that I need someone exactly like you."
Somehow I knew we weren't talking about the car.
A/N: When I saw the First Time Writer Challenge, with a theme of "First Experiences" I knew I could finally get something out there. I have many stories started, languishing on my computer, simply because I don't want to start a story unless I know where it will go to be able to bring it to completion. Rosalie is one POV that I haven't started, simply because I've never believed her to be as shallow as she is often portrayed. She scares the hell out of me when I think about trying to write her, let alone her POV. I thought a one shot would be the best place to get inside her head for a little bit.
Thanks to Project Team Beta for the correction of many misused commas, semicolons; and new paragraph reminders!
Many thanks to my cousin Anji for reading it over, and convincing me that I can fucking well do this!
A few funny things;
1) I actually did work as a nude model for art classes in university. You have too much time to think, and your mind will wander. Rose's description of walking among the easels while the students ignore her is taken from my own experience.
2) I know what happens when you never change the oil in a car. A friend of my father's, who considered himself a car guy, did this. He went on for hours about the body work, but was shocked when the engine died because he never changed the oil.
3) Yes, I am Canadian. Honour, valour, colour, flavour, favourite are all correct according to my spell checker.
4) Despite this being my first story, I have a ridiculous amount of information on my profile.
I think that's everything. Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it. Review or not; I'm a lurker myself, so I get it!