Even though I should feel like a walking zombie, I don't. I had stayed up all night sketching for Monica, which resulted in me actually sketching Monica once she fell asleep. I drew her, captured all those wonderful features. Not to brag, but the likeness was uncanny. If there's anything I'm truly good at— it's drawing.

She'd made these little whimpers in her sleep that'd made me wonder what she was dreaming about. Could she feel my eyes on her even in her sleep? Did her subconscious know I was sitting there, outlining every seducing detail of her immaculate form after she'd kicked her covers off? From Monica's slumbered responses, I would say yes, yes she most definitely knew.

Sketching is what tore me from that bed last night, kept me from jumping back in it with her throughout it. When she said she wanted my work, my craftsmanship on her body forever, my heart had palpitated unevenly inside of my chest. I had wanted to brand every bit of her skin with my touch before permanently marking it with ink. I chose to do so with soft kisses on her shoulder, neck, jaw, and lips instead.

Those slow kisses had made me want so much more though. So much more than I knew she'd be willing to give. They'd awakened a hunger in me that I knew I couldn't feed. If I'd have stayed on the bed with her a second longer, I would've probably shoved my tongue down her throat and my fingers between her legs.

Sexual thoughts had continuously entered my mind throughout the night as I drew her sleeping form. She'd kicked those covers off and I had a perfect specimen to sketch. Just a t-shirt on and a pair of booty shorts that showed more than they'd covered, I was left enamored.

Once I finished, at about five in the morning, I'd sat back and thought about our last few days. I couldn't help the stupid grin that came across my features as I did. Tomorrow makes one week that I've known Monica. One week felt like an entire year.

How can something that only happened just a few days ago feel like it was so long ago? Because you are fucking infatuated with her. Yeah, I suppose I am.

She stirs on the bed, stretching out her body before slowly opening her eyes. She glances to my bed in confusion and then back at me. "You're right where I left you?" It was more of a question than a statement.

"Indeed, I am." It's cute she thinks she left me here when I'm the one that got up and left her on the bed.

"What time is it?" She yawns and I can't help but yawn as well. Stupid yawn factor.

"It's six."

"Damn we're up early."

"I never slept."

Her brow furrows. "Why not?" I point to my sketch book. She smiles and asks, "can I see?"

Hell no you can't see that I'd been drawing you in your sleep. God, I feel like such a fucking creep now. You should. Yeah, I'm aware.

"It's not ready yet." It's not a lie. Once I set my mind on something I can't stop until it's perfect. And for her first piece, it had to be perfection. Nothing else would suffice. "I'm fucking dog tired though." I scratch the stubble on my face that'd grown over night.

"I'm still sleepy too but humanity calls." She throws her legs over the bed and makes her way to the bathroom.

I eye her bed and then the bathroom door. What is the likelihood that she'd climb into that bed with me in it? You're in your underwear— slim to none. Regardless of my previous thought, I stand up and then climb into her bed.

When the bathroom door opens Monica quirks a brow. "You have your own bed." She points at mine.

I shrug and snuggle deeper into the covers with, "yours is comfier." Which it is because it's still warm and smells like her.

"You're not wrong." She pulls down the blanket and hops in beside me. "So..." She flushes that adorable shade of crimson she always does.

"So?" Those timid green eyes stare at me, surely not knowing what to say. I take the lead, opening my arms to her.

"You want to cuddle?" She eyes me doubtfully.

"If you want to." She bites the inside of her cheek. Shit. Too bold, Boston. Too fucking bold. "I'm sorry. I can get out." I start to get out of the bed in an almost hurried manner.

"No, wait!" Her hand reaches out to grab my bicep. "I'd like to cuddle, very much." She flips around and scoots her back into my front. I wrap a cautious arm around her. Monica doesn't freeze up like I thought she would. No, she actually puts her arm over mine before threading our fingers together. "I actually like this a lot."

I smirk into her hair as I unabashedly inhale her scent. "Yeah, me too. You smell good."

"What do I smell like?"

"That coconut lime shit that they stocked up in the bathroom and you, of course." She doesn't say anything to that, just wriggles herself deeper into my body. I wrap her up inside my arms even tighter before closing my eyes. It takes a while but eventually sleep takes me under.

✩✩✩

I'd woken up with a raging hard-on that Monica feigned didn't exist. She stayed pressed right up against me, it, not letting go of my arm wrapped around her bare waist. Not until I'd pulled it away from her.

Sometime in our sleep her shirt had ridden up, exposing her toned abdomen to me. My hand itched to inch up and wrap around one of her tits, to squeeze the taught peak I knew would meet me. That's why I had to pull away from her, trying to thwart off what was an impending case of serious blue balls.

I'd got up and showered, trying not to stroke myself as I did. That didn't work though. I ended up busting a load as quietly as humanly possible. I was a seriously sad case. I had never needed to jerk-off back home, or ever really. Yet, here I was, needing a good tug every other day because of the sexy novice that'd accompanied me.

After a few cups of coffee and some room service we'd headed out. Most places we went hand in hand, like a couple. When she'd held it out to me as we toured Graceland, I'd automatically taken it. It was an unspoken agreement on her part and mine. Teetering on the line of couplehood and friendship.

"See, I told you." She chuckled out after a few people commented on my resemblance to Elvis. They've done so several times while we've toured the home. It made me want to put a bag over my head. Monica had held back but I can see the imaginary Cheshire Cat grin that wants to plant itself on her face.

"I've never seen so much red." I look up at the large red curtain thing. "It's a bit ridiculous, if you ask me."

"I think it's the perfect opportunity for a picture." She fishes out her phone and goes to snap a selfie with me. "Come here." She pulls me, so I lean down.

"That's a terrible angle." I grab my phone from my pocket. "I got it." In truth, I didn't want to have to ask her for that picture. I wanted my own. I hold my hand out and snap the picture of the two of us.

"Here, let me." A middle-aged woman offered. I hand her my phone and she clicks a few times, the last time I press my lips to the top of her head. "Aren't the two of you just the cutest?" She looks me over again before I take my phone back. "Oh hon, you look a lot like him."

"Who?" Monica asked and I wanted to roll my fucking eyes so hard. She knows exactly who.

"Why Elvis, of course. You've got a keeper there, hon." She gives us a beaming smile and a wink before walking away.

"You hear that? You look like Elllviiis!" She teases poking her finger into my side.

Not caring about that part I add, "did you hear that?"

"What?"

"I'm a keeeeppppeeerr." I reach out and tickle her sides, making her burst out with laughter. That earns us a few harsh glares so I stop. We both chuckle at the onlookers. "I'm starving. I made reservations at this famous barbecue joint."

"What if I don't like barbecue?" She deadpanned. Oh fuck. I probably should've asked. I keep planning everything and not asking her if— "I'm kidding."

"You." I point down to her. She surprises me by standing on her tip-toes to boop my nose.

✩✩✩

Dinner was fabulous. I'd eaten like a ravenous wild animal. Monica watched me with mouth agape as I put in a mass amount of food. She continuously asked me where I put it all. To which I told her if I didn't hit the gym soon she'd see.

We'd gone back to the hotel and taken a nap after our calorie intake, cuddling in her bed together again. She felt good in my arms, small and warm. Then we'd both gotten ready for a night out dancing, on her insistence. I tried to tell her I couldn't dance, not for the life of me, but she'd convinced me to go to this country music club.

Currently, I'm drinking a beer, watching her try to line dance. She's wearing a sparkly dress, short, stopping mid-thigh. She'd accessorized with a pair of black leather cowboy boots, an impulse purchase she'd wanted to make when we were on our way back to the hotel. I bought matching ones just so I could buy them for her.

I look like a fucking tool. Because you're completely taken with the girl stumbling around on the dance floor. That's right. Too. Fucking. Right.

Once the song finishes she heads my way, panting as she does. "Wooo! It's so much fun. You have to come try."

"Nope." I sip my beer.

"Come on." She flutters those big ole' lashes. Those pretty green eyes begging.

"Not happening." Monica grabs the beer out of my hand and takes a long drink. She's already had two. Well now two and a half. "Thirsty girl tonight." She wraps her arms around my neck, face coming dangerously close to mine. Lips right there for the taking.

"Please. Please come dance with me, Boston."

Oh fuuuck me. She's good. Not that good though.

"Alright, I'll dance with you if you kiss me." She automatically pecks my lips. "Not a kiss like that."

"A kiss like what, then?" Her eyes are fluttering and her innocence is so fucking beautiful.

"You know what kind of kiss."

To my surprise she leans forward and claims my lips with hers, kissing me deeply. Her tongue seeks entrance and I happily permit it as I wrap my hands in her wavy hair. I deepen it even more, devouring her lips like a starved man. Her body trembles in mine and a low moan leaves her lips.

Fuck I wish we were not in public.

"Y'all need to get a dang room." A female voice quipped as it walked by as if to prove my point.

Monica freezes and after a moment she starts to pull away. I let my hands untangle from her hair and fall to her waist. God, she's a trembling fucking mess. Her arms unwind from my neck, eyes looking completely lust-filled. Lust-filled and embarrassed.

"Shh," I cup her cheek with the palm of my hand, "don't look like that." I bump her nose with mine. "You enjoyed it, right?" She nods, still breathless. "Then that's all that matters, remember?"

"I can't believe I just did that. In front of all these people."

"It was fucking hot, Mon." Her cheeks flare. "Tell me," I try to hold back smirk, "how wet are you right now?"

"Boston!" She smacks my chest and tries pushing away from me but I don't let her get out of my arms. "You owe me a dance."

Ah fuck. What'd I get myself into?

A/N:
Triple update week!?
Yes. You're welcome.
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