Chapter 10: Keep Drawing

By ten at night I had the whole top of Davenport Crown on the drafting table.

The table stood at the end of the long room, against the glass, tilted under a lamp.

I wore Leighton's white shirt and a pair of knickers, and I drew the ring of glass that would catch the sun on the water.

Bryce's office had put out a statement that afternoon.

It said Hartigan Tower's chief of design, Sabine Richter, was developing a new tower for the waterfront.

I had read it once, laughed, and put the phone face down.

Leighton came up behind my stool without a sound.

I knew him by his breath.

"Don't stop," he said. "Keep drawing."

His hand slid under the hem of the shirt and up my bare thigh.

My pencil slipped.

"Leighton."

"Keep drawing, Margo. Make the line straight."

I tried.

His fingers climbed higher, slowly.

I drew a long arc along the ruler while he stroked a slow circle over the lace between my legs.

My breath came out in a stutter.

The line wobbled and broke.

He pushed the lace aside and drew one slick finger through me, up and back, and I dropped the pencil.

"That's a bad line," he said against my ear.

"You're a bad influence."

"I'm a good influence. I'm the reason you're wet."

"Leighton."

"Pick up the pencil."

I picked it up with a hand that shook.

He slid two fingers inside me from behind, slowly, to the knuckle, and held them there.

I bit down on the end of the pencil.

"Draw the next panel," he said. "I'll wait."

"You're evil."

"I'm patient."

He curled his fingers, just once, and I made a mark on the paper.

"Fuck the drawing," I said, and threw the pencil across the room.

He laughed, low and delighted, and drew his fingers out of me.

"Not on the stool," I said, breathless. "On the rug. In front of the glass."

"Whatever you want."

"I want to taste you while you taste me."

His hand stopped on my thigh.

"Say that again."

"You heard me. Lie down."

He lay down on the rug in front of the window with his head on a cushion, and I stood over him.