Dakota stared directly at Curtis's chest.
She couldn't help it—she swallowed hard.
Dakota had long been fascinated by Curtis's body, but it was more than just attraction. It was the kind of interest an artist had in a masterpiece.
Her hand slid inside.
She quickly pulled his shirt all the way off.
Boldly, she pressed her palms against his chest, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she gave his muscles a playful squeeze.
Curtis couldn't hold back a low groan, his breath hitching.
He was still so... helplessly weak when it came to her.
Drunk Dakota had no idea of the chaos she was causing. She leaned in closer, her eyes twinkling with a dangerous mix of playfulness and desire.
"Abs boy."
"..."
Curtis narrowed his eyes, giving her a sidelong glance.
It had been a long time since he'd heard that nickname.
Dakota poked his abs lightly with her finger. "Can you be my model tonight?"
Curtis felt like he was completely bewitched by Dakota.
The man who could make millions with just the snap of a finger in the business world was now absurdly agreeing to be her model for the night.
He even let her strip off the rest of his clothes, throwing himself onto the couch they had already messed up together.
Dakota was really into it, acting all professional.
It was hard to tell if she was truly drunk or just playing around.
She went to fetch her easel, diligently bringing along her paints and all the tools she needed for her "art."
Her creative space was set.
Dakota tapped the end of her brush on her cheek, studying Curtis with laser focus for a few moments.
Every so often, she'd run over to him, cheekily jump onto his lap, and messily feel around his abs, as if she were doing some in-depth research on her subject.
Once she had seen and felt enough,
Dakota finally picked up her brush and began.
Curtis was pretty sure she had to be truly drunk.
Yet the way she concentrated on her painting was so meticulous, it almost gave the illusion that she was sober.
Dakota had been eyeing Curtis's body for a while now.
She had been dying to make him her model, wanting to create a sculpture-like drawing of his abs to see if she could capture that perfect texture.
Of course, the temperature wouldn't be there.
And the softness and firmness wouldn't match.
But maybe the curves and contours could satisfy some part of her inner artistic... cravings.
Dakota seriously started sketching Curtis.
Curtis didn't bother to resist. He lounged lazily on the couch, casually letting her gaze upon his body while also taking the time to admire her focus as she worked.
Dakota began by outlining the shape.
Then she switched tools.
But drunken Dakota wasn't as skilled as her sober self. Every now and then, her hand would falter, especially when she was holding the carving tool.
Each time her hand slipped, Curtis's heart would skip a beat.
Every time she nearly nicked her own hand, he would jump up, instinctively reaching for her wrist.
But Dakota would glare at him, a little annoyed.
"Curtis," she said with utmost seriousness, though her cheeks were still flushed with that telltale drunken blush. "Can you at least act like a proper model? Stop moving."
Curtis sighed resignedly.
He furrowed his brow slightly, watching her hand clutching the carving tool. "Then can you be a little more careful? I'd rather not have you cut yourself, Mrs. Pineda."
Dakota didn't bother responding to him.
Or maybe it was because drunk Dakota was completely absorbed in her world of drawing Curtis's perfect abs.
She picked up the carving tool again, intent on finishing her masterpiece.
Curtis never could have guessed.
What left him breathless wasn't the fact that he was sitting there, half-naked and at her mercy, but the constant fear of her accidentally cutting her own hand.
But later, Dakota got tired of drawing.
Maybe it was the alcohol kicking in stronger.
Curtis noticed her grip on the carving knife weakening, and it seemed she wasn't focused on drawing anymore, her head drooping as she stared at the canvas.
Before the carving knife in Dakota's hand could fall, Curtis got up and supported her hand.
Then he carefully removed the knife and placed it aside, pulling her into his arms with a gentle tug, "Tired?"
Dakota lifted her gaze to look at Curtis.
It was unclear if she recognized him, but she leaned into his embrace, "Mmm."
Curtis let out a helpless chuckle.
He brushed the hair from her face and kissed the top of her head, "Sleep?"
The person in his arms didn't respond for a while.
When Curtis lifted her face again, he saw that Dakota's eyes were closed, the fairy-like lashes from the engagement party still clinging to her eyelids, casting a small shadow.
He knew Dakota had had quite a bit to drink today.
She had expended a lot of energy at the engagement party and then spent a long time working on the relief drawing.
But her tiredness relieved him. At least he no longer needed to worry about her cutting herself with the carving knife.
Curtis didn't wake her.
He bent down and gently lifted Dakota into a horizontal carry, stepping steadily up the stairs and placing her on the soft bed in the master bedroom.
Dakota seemed to be deeply asleep.
She trusted Curtis completely and didn't wake up during the process.
Her breathing was steady.
Only when she settled into the bed did she nuzzle into the pillow to find a comfortable spot.
Curtis sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her.
"Dakota," he whispered her name, knowing she wouldn't respond but not needing her to.
Dakota lay there peacefully on her side.
Curtis reached out, tucking her hair behind her ear, "Can you be mine this New Year?"
He leaned in closer.
Even though Dakota was asleep and unresponsive, he couldn't help but play with her hair, "I'll take you to see the real, grandest fireworks display."
