Rafayel engrossed himself in his work, attempting to create a new piece. He does not normally draw humans, but he is now sketching one. It was you lying on your side, a scene etched in his memory and now depicted in a sketch. You were sleeping with nothing else on your skin, and the liquid evidence of your union drips against the flesh between your thighs. An image after you two made love for the first time.

When you wake up from your nap, you immediately get up and take a shower. When you got out of the bathroom, you looked through the door to see if he was working in his studio. You couldn't help but look at the sketch he was working on, so you went out the door. He stops drawing when he senses your presence. After all, a fish can detect even the smallest ripples.

He rotates around from the stool and faces you while seated, the pencil tucked behind his ear. Seeing you with nothing but a single piece of towel nearly drove him wild; sketching you had already stimulated his desire since he began to lift his hand to bring that memory to life through his work of art, and you only made it worse by walking out looking like that. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to come close right now," he continued, his attention never leaving you. His gaze trails down your legs, as you move towards him, holding the towel to keep it from coming off.

When you get close enough to see his unfinished sketch, he gives you a full five minutes. The next sound was a zipper, and then he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you out of that nuisance, leading you to sit on his lap with your back against his chest as he spreads you open, sliding you down, and all he could feel was your warmth greeting him, his other hand working to ease the sensitive nub while he makes an upward gesture of his hips, pushing just a few inches deeper.

"Do you like my sketch? Do you remember when was that?" He whispers against your cheek, breathing heavily, his voice low, and his grip on your thigh tight enough to keep you from falling.