CHAPTER 1
~Danny~
“GOD, I WANT you, Danny,” Simone whispers into my ear. She licks just below it before sliding down over my jaw and biting me.
My hold tightens around her hips, steadying her. I should have seen the bite coming. They all do it, assuming they have to do something extreme to be sexy, to get my attention. Like every other time it happens, I pull back and run my fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck, then tighten my grip.
She gasps and digs her nails into my shoulders while the innocence she’s trying to portray in her eyes fails under the skepticism found in mine. Our bodies are pressed together and heated, the fan not strong enough to cool us down.
Tilting her head back, I kiss the divot at the bottom of her neck, then lick from base to chin, taking my sweet time. Simone’s back arches, pushing her breasts against my chest and she moans in pleasure.
“That is so hot. Keep it up,” a voice intrudes.
Simone sighs, irritated, and pulls away. I turn to the photographer’s assistant standing at the edge of the set just as Simone reveals her frustration by leaning back and swinging her leg over me to stand up. Leisurely, my gaze slides up her lean legs. She’s taller than most women and the heels she’s wearing add another good five inches. Appreciating her physique, I smile and recline back with my hands behind my head while watching her adjust the strings at her hips. Her head snaps up and her eyes narrow on the assistant off set. “If you want us to keep it up, then shut up next time.” She storms off, her shoes clacking loudly against the gray cement floor.
Knowing an angry model needs time, I sit up, and ask, “How much time do we have?”
Everyone is well aware that the mood has changed on the set. Worry creases the assistant’s brow when he answers, “I think, umm… five or ten minutes.”
The guy’s anxiety rolls like waves crashing around me. Feeling bad for him, I reassure, “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine. Just give her a few minutes to cool down.”
“Thanks.” He smiles though it’s weak. “Are you doing all right?”
I smile genuinely while standing up. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” When I start to walk, the knit boxer briefs I’m wearing for the shoot tighten uncomfortably, so I stop to adjust. They’re a size too small, so I grab my cock and shift. “Actually, I could use a larger size. These are cutting off my blood circulation down here.”
Before the assistant can respond, two women suddenly appear from the darkened side of the large loft. A cute, petite blonde offers, “Let me take a look. Maybe I can help.” She’s bold, not shy like I would have guessed from the librarian look she’s chosen.
The other lady—taller with some gray strands running through her dark hair—seems new to the modeling world. She stands there staring below my waist, and by the way she’s ogling me, I’m guessing she might be new to naked men in general. Maybe she’s never worked on an underwear campaign before. She clears her throat and finds her voice. “They fit around the waist so I can add more material, if you’d like? But I’ll need them to do that.”
Bypassing the first offer, I accept the second. This is my job. I’m a pro, a model, and used to being naked in front of strangers, so I drop my drawers. I bend down to get them, and when I stand back up I’m greeted with two mouths hanging wide open. “Ladies, you’re gonna make me feel shy,” I tease. I’m not shy at all.
Lifting their chins until both their mouths are closed, I chuckle as they continue to stare unabashedly. The taller woman says, “Oh you have nothing to be shy about.”
“Absolutely nothing,” the blonde adds insistently.
“Thanks,” I reply, my voice it’s usual charm. I hand the boxers to the lady and walk off set to grab my robe. When I slip it on, Becs from wardrobe approaches and says, “I can add some room in there for you. I’ll have them back in ten minutes.”
“I already gave them to the seamstress.”
“What seamstress?” she asks.
“The one over there.” When I turn to the set, they’ve vanished. Scanning the loft from one side to the other, the two women are nowhere to be found. “She was just here with a blonde lady.” Perplexed I scan again. “I have no idea where they went.”
Becs rolls her eyes, shakes her head, and sighs loudly. “Good grief. Not again.” Turning on her heels, she yells out, “Security. We’ve had another breach.” With her eyes narrowed on my waist, she adds, “Tighten the belt. You don’t want anyone selling a photo of your frank ‘n beans to the highest bidder.” Her mood lightening, she smiles and shrugs. “Or maybe you do. I’ll get your next wardrobe change—”
I laugh but point to my privates. “Extra roomy.”
Becs waves her hand in the air while walking off. “Yeah. Yeah. I got it.”
I make my way to craft services where I find Simone eating what appears to be her third Snickers by the wrappers littering the table next to her. “Do they have fruit today?”
She speaks with a full mouth. “Down at the other end of the table.”
The photographer’s assistant announces, “Five minutes.”
Eyeing her as she shoves the last of the candy bar into her mouth, then makes what I guess is the universal sign for vomiting with her finger, I try to hold my lecture for another time. When she disappears down the hall, I understand the stress she’s under. The modeling world is competitive. One pound over the other girl and a model can lose the job. Simone desires to keep working, to stay on top of her game, but I’ve never found gaunt sexy. When the camera adds ten pounds, I get why they do it.
Grabbing an apple, I eat while walking back to the set. Becs is there and hands me a pair of customized black briefs, extra fabric finely sewn into the middle. “Let’s get these on and see how they look.”
I pull them on under my robe before untying the belt to let her take a closer look. She bends and eyes my dick, making me smile. When she stands up, she clasps her hands together. “Yep, looks good.”
“Thanks,” I reply smugly. What? I’m human. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Becs’s attempts at playing it cool are undermined when her cheeks pink. “I don’t date models, Danny.”
“Who said anything about dating?” I wink playfully.
“That’s exactly why I don’t date models,” she replies, not able to hide the cute blush. Watching her walk away, I notice the pep in her step and hope I made her day a little more enjoyable.
After three-pointing the apple core into the wastebasket, I mentally celebrate scoring with a self-satisfied smile while returning to the bed and waiting.
When Simone returns, she sits next to me. Her body is tense, her hands have a slight shake, and she’s paler than before. As makeup rushes over and starts touching her up, I whisper, “You okay?”
She stares down at the floor while they apply more powder. “Fine.”
I’ve known Simone for a few years. Not quite twenty-four, her career is going strong, but sometimes she’s moody. I think it’s the constant lack of food, so I offer, “Wanna grab a bite after?”
The makeup lady leaves and Simone looks up. Touching my cheeks, she says, “You’re always so sweet, but you know I don’t really eat, much less out at restaurants in front of others.”
“I was hoping you’d break your rule for me.”
She smiles, and sounds hopeful. “I’ll break mine if you break yours. Why won’t you sleep with models?”
“I’ve slept with many models.”
“Then why haven’t we ever slept together?”
With a cocked eyebrow, I point out, “You were too young.” Taking advantage of young girls isn’t my thing. A lot of male models go through these girls with abandon, but by the time I hit my upper twenties, there was no appeal in dating a girl barely legal to drink just because she was hot. Now that I’m in my early thirties, I don’t want a girl. I want a woman. “And as you pointed out, we’re friends.”
A gleam enters her eyes when she laughs, leaning back on the bed. “That’s right. You were the first to ever turn me down. The only, in fact. Why are you so good, Danny Weston, when being bad is so much more fun?”
Memories flash through my mind like a spinning Rolodex. “I’ve done a lot of bad, and nothing worked out. Maybe a little good will suit me better.”
Maneuvering her body, she wraps her legs around me, and drags her nails very lightly down my chest, careful to not leave a mark. Moving close enough to kiss, she whispers, “Well, if good doesn’t work out for you, come find me.”
The photographer shows up and without noticing the intimacy, starts filling us in on the angles he wants to complete the shoot. “We’re not going to use the bra in this set. You two will be blurred in the background, but I want side breast and shadows. Covered nipples, but that’s all I want hidden. Intimate, desire, like in pre-sex. Give me foreplay. I want kissing but no tongues showing. Simone, his scent is driving you wild and you can’t keep your hands off him.” He turns around and shouts, “Prepare for the close-up of the cologne bottle. Whoever has been spraying my studio with that shit is fired.”
When he leaves, Simone’s lips quirk into mischievousness, ignoring his rant. “Foreplay. Pre-sex.” She reaches around, her breasts pushed out, and unclasps her bra. Bare before me, she directs her eyes on mine. “We can do that, right, Danny?”
Keeping my eyes on hers, I don’t deviate lower. “I think I’ll manage.”
From the sidelines, the photographer instructs, “Touch her breasts.” When I do, he adds, “So hot. Keep going.”
Two hours later, Simone lies on the bed, her gaze is lowered, her body exposed without care. I try to stand, but she stops me by grabbing my waistband and tugging. “Maybe I’ll see you again soon.”
“Yeah, maybe we’ll be booked together again. See you around, Simone.”
“See you around.”
Fifteen minutes later, I walk out pulling my T-shirt down over my head. “Hey, Becs, I’m late meeting the guys. Got anything I can snag from the shoot to wear?”
“I’ve spoiled you in the past, but you know you’re not supposed to take anything. We have to turn in our expenses and return all of the clothes.” She takes a navy blue button-down shirt from the rack and hands it to me. “So don’t get caught. Wear it like you already own it.”
I tug the shirt off and swiftly slip on the other. “Thanks.” I kiss her on the cheek as I button up.
Good-humoredly, she shoves me away. “Go, handsome. Get out of here and have some fun.”
Shining my million-dollar smile, I reply, “You’re the best.”
“Always the charmer, Danny.”
“You know it.”
“I think I see you on a shoot next week anyway, so go.”
“If you miss me in the meantime, you’ve got my number.” While heading for the door, I waggle my eyebrows.
“Oh, I have your number all right. Go, ya big flirt. Go find someone who will fall for that line.”
“What about these abs and my sparkling personality?” I rub my abs to tease. “No love for these?”
With her hand on her hip, she continues to play along. “Those abs are easy to fall for.”
“Ouch. Nothing for my personality?”
“Go!”
Laughing, I sneak out before I get caught with the shirt. “See you next week.”
“See you then, playboy.”
Checking the time, it’s just gone ten. I jog to my Jeep, which is parked down the block. Dinner with the friends has long passed. I’ll catch hell for missing it… like I always do. I rev the engine to life and take off so I can catch them for the second half of tonight’s festivities.
Tempted to drive home instead, I turn on the radio to mentally amp up for the night. I have a feeling tonight will be the same as Wednesday and the Sunday before that. I’m ready for something different, a change in scenery, a change in company, something or someone that makes me excited to go out.
Silver lining: every night is a new opportunity, every day, a second chance to make things right.
I arrive at the club and toss my keys to the valet, who gives me a welcoming nod. “Dan Man.”
“When did you start working here, James?”
“Last week. The hotel canned me for taking a lady for a ride in a Ferrari.”
“Did you at least score points with the lady?”
The valet smiles and purses his lips. “You know it.”
“Way to go, but I imagine the owner of the Ferrari wasn’t too happy.”
“He was more upset about me borrowing his car than his wife blowing me. My boss didn’t like that either.”
Bursting out laughing, I fist bump him. “Oh shit. Well, take care of the Jeep. No joyrides.”
“You got it, bro.” Just before he hops in, he calls to me, “Good luck and have fun.”
“I intend to.”