Page 83 of Secret Baby for My Brother's Best Friends

I raise my eyebrow. Rather than being bothered, I'm intrigued. What sexual thing could he possibly want to do that we haven’t tried yet? BDSM? Shibari?

I'm ready for anything.

“Okay,” I say as my mind runs through the possibilities. He takes me by the hand, leading me down the stairs, and my heart pounds out of my chest.

Each footstep is pronounced in the hollow silence. A stray thought hits me that this would likely be a great horror movie plot. The woman goes on a wonderful date with a mysterious man, where she feels an unmistakable, inexplicable connection. He takes her home to his basement, then he hits her over the head with a book and keeps her in a cage for strange human experimentation or something of that sort. I probably should be scared right now, but I'm not.

I trust him.

Which is dangerous. I barely know the man, and for all I know, he could be just as bad as the guy in the horror movies.

Yet, I walk with him anyway, only to appear within...

A veritable mess.

Seriously.

Sculptures and paintings line every surface, world carvings and clay molds scattered with no rhyme or reason other than the fact that they've chosen to populate that space.

It’s a studio.

An art studio where every space is covered in art or art-making equipment. I stare at it, trailing my hands over the woodwork, without speaking. One of them is the face of a child smiling and laughing.

Then I see the boy standing next to an older woman. I see one for Jake and another for Adam. And then there were random sculptures. An old man. An old woman. A sparrow. A ball.

He's silent as I complete my perusal, but I feel him start to get more and more nervous as I get to the corner shelf where all the sculptures are covered.

"What's over here?" I ask with a teasing smile.

"See for yourself," he says.

I reach out and lift the sheet.

Then, I gasp.

It's me.

Dozens of sculptures of me, in clay and wood. My face is smiling. My face clearly squeezed in orgasm with my eyes rolling back.

I blush seeing it, instantly shy. But I have to admit that there's something erotic about it too. About seeing it like this

I glance at him, where he's standing nervously to the side watching me, almost like he's expecting me to either curse him out or call him a creep. And maybe I should. Maybe this is creepy.

In that case, I must be a creep apologist because all I can think of is how sweet it is that he got every detail of my face correct, the pointy tips of my ears, the crease in my cheek, even the fact that one eye is slightly smaller than the other.

He must have studied my face extensively in order to do that, and I did catch him watching me a few times while we were having sex, his regard an intense study of my reactions.

Now I know why. Even the things I'm insecure about, he's managed to render them in a way that they almost look beautiful.

He clears his throat. "What do you think?"

"I think...." There are no words to describe how I truly feel, but I settle on, "I think this is one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever done for me."

He exhales a breath of relief. "Beautiful? Not crazy?"

"A little crazy," I smile to soften the barb. "But maybe I'm a little crazy."

He beams.