Peacock Boyfriend: Anatoly (special preview)

I take a step back and glare.

“Yes!” Anatoly chuckles. “That look! That spite! It does things to me.”

“Gross,” I scoff out. “Keep your things to yourself if you just brought me up here to talk to me like a pig!” 

Anatoly regains composure and he smirks. “Dealt with a lot of pigs, have you?” He shakes his head. “I do not intend to sully myself with such mud unless it is at the spa and I can immerse myself in it.” He tilts his head this way and that. 

“I have much bigger plans for you other than just ogling you and dirty talking.” His red eyes glance back into mine. “I have such plans for you!”

My lip curls up and I take another step back. “Like what?”

“This new line doesn’t suit you,” he sighs. “No, no. Far too dainty for you. You have muscle and character, you have things a person wants to grab hold of. You’re going to be my muse for my next collection.”

I go slack for a minute and look at him. “Muse?” I scoff. “Me?”

“You’re so perfect it’s rude,” he croons. “The spite and anger inside you, it suits my visions so well.” He moves over to his desk and produces a sketch pad from it. “Take a look. I was inspired by horror films of the 60’s and the 70’s. Women tortured and scared to death, brought to the edge and forced to claw their way out with their own primal yearnings. Their sexuality has been taken from them and used against them, but my designs will give it all back to these women. Rendered powerless and returned to chaos.”

I give him a cautious and curious look. “Sounds rather ambitious for panties.” I take the sketchbook, but he yanks it away from me.

“It is more than panties, girl!” He snarls at me. “You buy panties in bulk at the grocery store! What I create is something else.”

I squint at him. “You think you can buy underwear at the grocery store.”

Anatoly shakes the sketchpad at me. “My designs and all my hard work are more than a barrier between your nethers and the world. They are much more than that. They are confidence and desire, they are made as armor for the wearer.”

“Armor?” I ask as he places the sketchbook back into my hands. I look through the pages, seeing dark and strange sketches. They remind me of ghost stories and haunted castles, they elicit a feeling of hearing voices in the shadows, or screams as the ocean crashes onto the shore. I hate how much I actually enjoy this eerie sensation.