Joey Drew Novels & Stories

For the reason alone, that I won’t be getting this golden chance again. I glance over my shoulder and see Joey sitting on the bed, diligently working on a puzzle of a bird. He’s been oddly cooperative since we left Vector’s mansion, hardly saying a word or throwing any tantrums like most kids his age would occasionally do. I walk over and sit down beside him. He looks up at me and smiles. “Are you hungry, Lizzy?” I shake my head. “No. Are you?” “No. But it’s Saturday.” It takes me a moment to realize what he is suggesting. I smile and kiss his forehead. “Of course. I’ll be right back. You stay in the room, don’t go anywhere, okay?”

Tristan was right about one thing, this was far more exciting than scenery. - Tristan - I had no idea what I was doing. My hands were black with charcoal and I have no idea what I drew, but it certainly didn’t look like John. I looked over at Joey’s work. Her hands were barely stained, the charcoal delicately balanced in her fingers as she made long strokes across her canvas. Every breath she took caused her plump breasts to rise and fall above her corset, and her long neck was soft and delicate, beautifully framed by loose golden curls that had fallen down gently brushing her shoulders.