PART ONE
This gig had started like any other…but it moved to awkward really fast. “Ivy, take off your bra, please.”
Long story short—I was a grad student and, even though I earned a little bit of money teaching classes, let me tell you there’s a reason why they call your earnings a stipend. It’s a mere pittance, rather than an actual salary for the work you do. And I get it. I really do. You have to have someone overseeing your work—or, at least, that’s the point of it all. The idea is that you’re also learning.
But it wasn’t enough to pay for housing and food and all the things I loved and wanted. Clothes were my thing, but cosmetics and toiletries, fragrances, hair care products, music, books, my car—those were also things I liked and believed I needed. Sure, I could have gotten by with less, but when you’re in school as long as I’d been and you just wanted to start adulting already, you did what you had to do. I already had two roommates to share the expenses, too, so that helped.
So I had my stipend and I also worked a few hours every morning at a nearby coffee shop. The tips were nice. Between my stipend and fifteen hours a week at the coffee shop, my basic needs were covered.
My fun money, though…that came from the local modeling gigs I did. It all started when I was still an undergrad. One of my friends opened a shop on Etsy to sell her jewelry, and she needed a hand model. She’d been selling a few things already, but she believed (and who was I to argue?) that having a human model increased her sales exponentially. At first, I was modeling bracelets, but soon I was covered in necklaces and earrings. She paid me more for my time than an hour at the coffee shop.
When her business took off, she moved back home with only one semester left to finish her degree. But my work as a local model didn’t dry up. She’d passed my name on to another friend with an Etsy shop. This lady made hand-knitted sweaters—and she told me I had a model’s body.
She also paid me a little better.
Unlike my first gig, this girl had done her homework. We signed a rudimentary contract and I signed a release, giving her permission to use my image and to not expect further compensation once I’d been paid for a shoot.
I saw the potential.
I’d just applied and been accepted for grad school by then, and so modeling was still just a side thing for me, but I saw it as a way to keep the money flowing. I started putting little free and low-cost ads in the student newspaper and the town’s weekly free shopping guide. I also started networking through social media and, before I knew it, I had two or three gigs a week. Had I wanted, I could have stopped working at the coffee shop altogether, but I instead forced myself to start socking money away. After all, I was going to have to pursue a PhD when all was said and done, and those student loans were going to kick my ass. A nest egg sounded like a great plan. I was modeling for all kinds of local businesses, from furniture stores to pizza places, eBay vintage sales and more Etsy shops—you name it—and word about me spread quickly. My face was selling local products and businesses, from the tractor/ farm store in town with pricy saddles to the local candy maker who had a huge fall sale on fudge. My face was getting recognized around town, so you could say I was even almost in demand.
So the first time a guy called and asked if I’d be interested in posing for a book cover, I jumped at the chance—especially since he offered more than my usual going rate. This guy’s name was Greg, and I didn’t know it at the time, but that was his thing. He was an indie photographer and he not only sold pictures online for other purposes, but his main source of income was selling photos for self-published authors’ book covers. The first time I worked with Greg, about eight months earlier, I’d had to get comfortable fairly quickly. I was clothed, but he had me try on some scantier clothing—lingerie—for a few of the shots. He took some photos of me by myself but he mainly took shots of me and a really cute guy—an undergrad, a senior who played football, who was in amazing shape and planned to coach the sport at whatever high school hired him in the near future. So it felt awkward at first but I realized fairly quickly that we were all professionals. We all wanted the pictures to look amazing because, after all, if someone bought an exclusive shot (which, Greg told me, could sell for anywhere from two to five hundred bucks a piece), he had a satisfied and, he hoped, returning customer, and the more pictures that showed up on covers, the more business he got. A good many book designers had begun working with him because Greg’s shots were different—and, I realized when I perused his website one evening, hotter than hell.
Even I looked hot.
But, after a while, it became second nature. It was easy enough to strip down to my underwear (yes, I bought expensive designer underwear especially for working with Greg after my first few outings) and gaze lustily into the “hero’s” eyes, placing my paws on his chest or back, draping myself on him. And it didn’t feel strange having his hands all over me, either. After all, it was only business.
I hadn’t thought much about it, but I learned along the way that I was considered pretty and Greg told me I had a great body and should consider modeling as a career.
Ummm…no.
While I had nothing against models, I preferred thinking over doing. In fact, during some of those gigs, I was plotting out essays in my head, doing all the hardest work while pretending to be enjoying a chicken fried steak at the local BBQ restaurant or acting lusty in the arms of some weight-lifting guy. But even though I didn’t see it as a permanent career, I did want to make the most of it. I bought a gym membership and worked out every other evening before sitting down to do homework. I dated on occasion but nothing serious—and I wasn’t ready. Even though I’d met some good guys in grad classes, none of them really flipped a switch. Neither did the guys I modeled with or any of the men in suits who came in for lattes every morning during my shift.
I really had become all work and no play.
But I was happy enough. I went out once in a while with my roommates, too, so it wasn’t like my social life suffered. Besides, there’d be more time for it once I was teaching college as a profession. For now, I had a lot of irons in the fire and I was actually having fun—and making enough money by this point that I was comfortable.
Life was good, as they say.
It was early April when Greg called me for another shoot. Greg’s book cover business had continued to grow and he had super successful indie authors requesting specific models and images. He had a new male model, a guy whose day job was in business. I found that odd and couldn’t wait to hear his story, but Greg had had a request to have the two of us together in a very specific pose. “I’ll pay you more than the usual,” he’d promised, asking for two hours of my time.
I would have done it for the usual fee, but for a bonus? “Just tell me when.”
* * *
I arrived at Greg’s studio a few minutes early. He had an old garage on the end of town, one I suspected had housed a car dealership long before I was born. The front end had huge windows, one on the front that he left free and clear with no ornamentation. In fact, the only place his info was found was on the door itself, just above the bar that served as a handle. In gold script, it said Greg Smithey, Photographer, Entrepreneur, Artiste. Very Greg. Underneath had the words Available via appointment, followed by his phone number. There was no Open sign or hours of operation, but I knew from years of working with him that the door would be unlocked until our shooting session began, so I pushed on the door and entered.
In the front, it looked like a small business. There was a door off to the side that housed a tiny office but I was standing in a snug lobby area. When I’d first met Greg, there had been movable partitions separating the waiting area from the one where the work happened, but he’d recently had walls built and painted an off-white color. There were a couple of chairs and a tall plant beside them, but I couldn’t tell if the plant was real or fake. It was a strange looking tree and every time I stood in that space, I pondered its state. This time, I was moving over to touch the soil it was potted in to try to find out once and for all when Greg appeared in the doorway. “Ivy. Come on back. Shane’s already here.”
Apparently, I wasn’t the only early bird.
I followed him into the back where all the magic happened. The front section was a variety of screens and props and lights on poles. The back area—where the garage door still hung but had since been drywalled over (visible from the outside, though)—had bigger “set pieces,” for lack of a better word. There was a bed, two sofas, a variety of chairs, a motorcycle, and all sorts of other large props, half of which I’d posed with or on, as well as a shelving unit crammed full of smaller props, like handcuffs, masks, and other items I was sure had been used for at least one book cover, but nothing I’d seen. There was also a small area in the corner with a mirror and makeup table as well as a screen for changing outfits. Greg had already told me that, after we finished the requested shoot, we were going to do some other shots as well. He usually made more money off the extra shots that were available on his website than he did from the ones done on demand and, since we models were paid by the hour, he might as well get his money’s worth.
I was wearing a denim jacket, red camisole underneath, jeans, and black boots, per his shooting request, with my makeup and hair done to perfection. He said, “I told you we’ll be shooting outside first, right?”
“No.”
He grinned and shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose like he often did. “Eh. Sorry. We’re just gonna do it on the east side of the building.” Where the garage door was? Okay. “There are several places we can do it but the light right now is perfect, so I want to get started. Oh, by the way,” he said as I felt my mouth filling with saliva while my eyes took in the hot guy standing nearby, “this is Shane.”
Shane was…wow. He was tall. For the shoot, he wore a black leather jacket with a gray t-shirt underneath, black combat boots, and jeans that fit just right—not too snug, not too loose, but my imagination went wild. The man had short black hair and a light beard and mustache. He was smiling but his dark eyebrows had a brooding quality. I learned quickly that, when his face was at rest, he looked like he was contemplating heavy thoughts…a face that was perfect for a guy modeling to be a romantic hero.
I couldn’t find any words in my throat or my head, but I heard Greg’s voice as though it were echoing in a cave. “Shane, this is Ivy.”
Shane extended his hand to me, one that looked warm and strong, and I slipped my tinier one inside his. I managed with a “Nice to meet you.” I hoped I looked as calm as I was managing to act.
His smile grew larger as the left corner of his lip turned up more than the right. “Pleasure’s mine.”
I felt a grin grow on my face as my inner flirt revved up. But I had to behave. This was business. No goofing around. And Greg took care of that anyway. “Got your paperwork over here, guys.” We followed him to a small table. I glanced over it but it was the usual—an agreement that he could use and sell my images and today’s pay would be my only compensation, et cetera, et cetera. Shane spent a little more time on the contract but signed shortly after.
“Daylight’s burning, guys. Let’s go.” Greg already had a camera and tripod in hand and stood at the doorway. Shane held out a hand, offering for me to go first, and we walked outside. The sun seemed bright after only a couple of minutes in the back of his studio, so I blinked a couple of times as my eyes adjusted. We walked around to the side of the building where the sidewalk was now in partial shade, so Greg’s shots would benefit from sunlight, but it would be indirect.
Greg never told models exactly what shot he was looking for—if, in fact, he or the author had something very specific in mind—but he always wound up getting what he wanted. Sometimes, it felt like he was doing “warmup” shots, just having us do a few less intimidating ones while we models grew more comfortable with each other. Once in a while, I might have wanted him to get on with it, but I was paid by the hour, not the shot…so it was up to him how he wanted to spend that time.
He took a few pictures of us in standard poses with standard facial expressions, but he wasn’t quite happy with the way the photos were turning out. While he was fiddling with the camera and we were at his mercy waiting, I decided to break the ice with my fellow model. This guy I was posing with was so damned hot, it had taken every last nerve to act cool and calm. Getting to know him as a person would take the pressure off. Besides, I never knew which models I might work with again, so it didn’t hurt to be friendly. “So what do you do when you’re not gracing the cover of a book?”
Shane flashed his white teeth, safe for the moment, because Greg was immersed in his camera. “I’m an account manager.” I nodded with a slight smile and raised my eyebrows, letting him know I was impressed. “A junior account manager. And I hate it.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“What do you do?”
“Okay, guys, I need you to move just a few inches to the right.”
The shoot was back underway and Greg began taking more pictures. I wanted to answer Shane’s question, but I also knew my face—my lips and my eyes—wouldn’t look right if I were animated and talking about myself. Another quick expression let my partner know my mouth would be shut for a while.
A few minutes later, though, and Greg had us move a few feet so we were in front of the garage door that seemed so out of place on the building but would work well as a background. Greg had told me once that he’d considered painting it a cream color to match the rest of the exterior and changed his mind when he realized it could be a great backdrop. Nowadays, his main concern was keeping the graffiti off. As he adjusted the camera, I asked Shane, “So, junior or not, account manager sounds pretty important.”
“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? It’s not, though. But I’m committed for a while.”
Greg started giving directions again and we got back into “character.” “Shane, can you lose the jacket for a minute?”
“Yeah, sure.” The tall man next to me did as asked, dropping the jacket to the sidewalk behind him. And if I’d thought I’d been smitten before, I’d had no idea. Half of his biceps peeked out of the sleeves of that gray shirt and I felt my throat constrict. To say the guy did a good job maintaining his body would be like saying Everest is a big mountain. Both statements were true but didn’t quite communicate the scope.
As if Greg had read my mind, he said, “Okay, Shane, pull her into an embrace. I need you guys to look like you have a deep, undying love, and this is the last time you’ll ever see each other.”
I loved the man’s directions. He could have been generic—“act like you love each other”—but, instead, his instruction put a specific emotion in my head I wanted to capture on my face. Shane didn’t hesitate. I was in his arms pressed into his body before I had a second to consider how to do it.
First…let me assure you I don’t believe it love at first sight. That notion is bullshit. Lust? Yes. You usually know, like I did with Shane, if you think someone’s attractive right off the bat. But there was something about his eyes—the sincerity, the warmth—that made me feel something…
Something close to an emotion I shouldn’t have been feeling.
And it was immediate. There, in his arms at the moment, I felt my breath dissipate, and that was okay. I suspected we had the exact shot Greg needed, because I believed Shane’s face. Had he brought his lips to mine at that moment, I would have responded, and it would have felt as natural as the sun coming up in the east.
In that position, my hands were pressed against his pecs, confirming what I’d already known. The man was in stellar shape. His muscles were firm underneath the fabric, and as I allowed myself to appreciate that sensation, I was able to draw air into my lungs once more.
But why was my heart beating so rapidly in my chest?
As if by instinct, as I could hear the little clicks of Greg’s camera and I knew he was getting the shots he needed, I let my left “upstage” hand slide up Shane’s chest toward his neck. If this scenario had been real, it would have been something I’d do, so I was just going to let myself do what felt natural until Greg told me to stop.
But he didn’t. Instead, I heard the occasional “Good” or “Yeah, that’s it,” encouraging me to continue. I searched Shane’s eyes, playing my role to the hilt, as my fingers touched his neck. In his embrace, the real world just kind of seemed to stop. My body felt nothing but his, not even the sidewalk underneath my feet or the spring breeze against my cheek or through my hair; I couldn’t smell blossoms in the air, only his masculine cologne wafting into my nostrils, making me a feel a deep hunger I’d never known before, in spite of the fact that I’d had my fair share of boyfriends and lusty emotions. He was all I could see and Greg’s voice was all I could hear, but my right hand against his chest felt his heart beating and the rest of my body became keenly aware of the fact that the two of us seemed to fit together pretty well, clothing or not.
So it wasn’t love at first sight…but it was safe to say I was fully smitten with the man holding me.
I don’t know how much time passed as we finished the outside part of the shoot, but I was enamored for the remainder, appreciating every little detail of that man. My jacket came off at some point too, and I could tell by Greg’s pondering near the end that he was debating if he wanted us to take our tops off. The town might not have cared, but I think Greg finally decided that realism was key—and most people refrain from lewd activities in public, at least in the light of day.
When Greg announced that we were heading back inside, Shane and I picked up our jackets and began following him. Greg was deep in thought when Shane asked me, “So what do you do for a living?”
I let out a small chuckle. “This is my most lucrative activity, but I’m a barista at The Coffee Stop.” As he nodded, I added, “And I’m a grad student…working on my doctorate.”
He raised his eyebrows, and I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or incredulous, but it was then that he held the door open for me. “What’s your area of study?”
This was where I lost most people. “English.”
“Yeah? So what are you working on?”
I wasn’t exactly sure what he was asking, so I simply said, “PhD.”
Then I knew he was at least a little bit fascinated. “So what all is there to study for a PhD in English?”
Oh, man, could I go on and on about that subject, effectively boring the shit out of anyone nearby, but I was going to try to keep it simple. I started to respond when Greg said, “All right, guys. I’ve still got you for two hours. We’re going to take some intimate shots in front of the screen. For that, Ivy, I’ll need you to remove your shirt.” That wasn’t an unexpected request nor was it difficult. I’d done many shots in bra and panties before—with Greg—and I’d grown used to it. If Shane were any kind of professional, he’d be accustomed to it as well.
But this was entirely new to him. Like a gentleman, he turned his head while I walked over to the corner, draping my jacket on the chair and then my shirt over the screen. While I was in the midst of that, though, I heard Greg say, “And same with you, Shane. Lose the shirt.”
Shane walked closer to where I stood, but I could tell that he was making a careful effort to not look at me.
I wouldn’t have minded. And, truth be told, I couldn’t wait to see what he looked like underneath the fabric, either. Greg was setting everything up and I knew it would only be a matter of a minute, but poor Shane. He didn’t look or act nervous; I just got the vibe that he was. As someone who’d been there before, I wanted to break the ice once more. I just needed to get his attention, keep him distracted.
“Did you say outside you hate your job?”
He finally looked over at me, making eye contact. The look on his face was one of resignation. “Yep. It’s true. I got an MBA and found out pretty quickly that it’s not for me.” He cleared his throat. “They’re not my people.” I found that concept interesting and wondered exactly what he meant. “So I hope you know for sure what you’re getting into—with your degree. All that time, all those student loans just kind of lock you in. Starting out your life doing something you loathe isn’t the way to go.”
Wow. I liked this guy more and more with every sentence that came out of his mouth. Maybe it was a leap, but I got from his words an underlying sensitivity that most men I’d met before didn’t have, not on the surface anyway—it wasn’t necessarily kindness, but awareness. I wanted to ask him a thousand questions then—and I had even more than that in reserve. As I geared up to begin the onslaught, Greg interrupted my thoughts once more, reminding me of the purpose for the meeting in the first place. “Okay, guys, I need you under the lights.”
We walked over to the space and inside I congratulated myself on successfully taking Shane’s mind off our partial nudity. I’d managed to forget that myself, but once we faced each other at Greg’s request, my eyes couldn’t help but scour his skin. Yes, he had a lovely body—tight and toned without much hair—but it was the hidden ink that made my jaw drop. There wasn’t a drop on his arms, meaning he could get away with wearing a button-down shirt for business and even roll up the sleeves, but that hadn’t stopped him from indulging in artistic expression.
His entire chest and part of his abdomen were tattooed. Absolutely beautiful. And I would have loved time to examine them, much as I’d wanted to probe his mind moments earlier, but I instead had to succumb to his embrace.
Several shots later, Greg asked us to give him a moment and he walked off into the other room. I was dying to ask Shane about his tattoos and his whole damn life, but one question in particular begged to be asked. “So how’d you wind up here?”
He smiled then, that perfect, captivating expression lighting up his features. “I play basketball for fun—to kind of burn off the steam of the week, you know? I was just shooting baskets with a buddy of mine a couple of weeks ago, waiting for the rest of the guys, and I’d said something about being tied to a job I dislike.” Almost as an aside, he said, “I must talk about it a lot.” Shane grinned and then continued. “John told me about Greg, that he’s always looking for guys in shape who are willing to take off their shirt and show a little muscle—mostly for book covers, but for other stuff. He told me it might be a great way to earn some extra cash to throw at my student loans while I figured out what I really wanted to do with my life. I was skeptical at first, but—”
Greg came back in the room with a black footstool, announcing, “Okay, ready.” In seconds, he was next to us. “Shane, I need you facing forward, toward the camera.” While he obeyed, Greg plopped the footstool behind him and told me, “I need you here, Ivy, and I’m going to have your hands snaking around his body for several poses.”
No problem. I got up on the stool and I still wasn’t as tall as Shane, but I was a lot closer. No tats on his back, but he was young like I—he had plenty of time to decorate the rest, and until he left the job he hated, he’d have to leave his arms untouched.
The rest of the hour went quickly as we struck various poses for Greg—face to face, a close embrace. Shirts back on, then with jackets, slowly stripping down again. By the beginning of our second hour, I was in my underwear—the black floral lace bra and panties that would pair well with anything. We also changed location within the room various times so that we were in front of different screens with different lighting, but the poses were standard, nothing out of the ordinary, and both Shane and I, I think, were becoming comfortable and relaxed with one another.
That is, until Greg said, “Ivy, take off your bra, please.”
My body tensed up and I felt the hairs on my arms stand on end. I froze, like a rabbit hoping its predator wouldn’t see it quivering next to the bush and go away. But I knew, rationally, that I couldn’t just ignore his request—I had to either refuse or comply. Even negotiation was a possibility.
As I sucked in a breath of air trying to figure out what to do (taking off the bra would have been too simple, I guess), Greg said, “I know I’ve never had you topless before, but I want to assure you, Ivy, it’s purely professional. I’ve seen a lot of the more risqué covers with partial nudity and some of them sell really well—and I think I could take some beautiful pictures.” He took a deep breath before adding, “I promise you that your nipples won’t end up on a cover—but I don’t want to Photoshop your bra straps out. I want it to look natural.”
I could see the sincerity in his eyes. He had a vision and he was asking me to see it through with him. Add to it Greg had never broken a promise to me. I had no reason not to trust him. And Shane? Well, I was on the fence there. There were pros and cons to this scenario. At least when I’d been wearing my slightly padded bra, Shane wasn’t able to feel my nipples, erect from the cool air in the large room, digging into his chest or back. Granted, as we’d been moving around, the temperature hadn’t been as noticeable and I’d warmed up a bit, but I knew my nipples would become alert once more when I removed my bra.
But surely the men would make all effort to avert their eyes…make it at least appear like they weren’t staring, right? And, bottom line, I was getting paid for this. Paid well. It would take me two weeks, tips and all, to make what I was going to earn during this two-hour shoot. Before I could nod my assent, Greg said, “I have no problems paying you extra, because I realize this is more than you signed up for. It’s just…you’re the perfect model for what I have in mind.”
Like anyone else, I respond to flattery. Yeah, he could have done better in that department, but it was enough. I nodded my head and took a deep breath before reaching around my back. Greg was all business again, returning to his tripod. I sensed more than saw Shane. He had stepped back a little, in effect, trying to give me a little privacy, as much as someone can give another person out in the open.
The bra loosened its grip around my ribs and I slid it down my arms. My nipples noticed the cool air immediately and responded in kind. I tossed the bra toward the dressing area, and my first inclination was to cover myself up with my arms…but I resisted. Now I just wanted to get on with it.
And Greg must have known that. “Okay, first shot. Shane, I need you behind Ivy. Ivy, I want your back up against his front.” Greg examined the scene, a clinical expression on his face, before he said, “Ivy, you’re going to reach up and behind and put your hands around his neck.” I forced myself to comply. It had to be quick and precise, because if I hesitated, I would stop. Down deep, I knew that. So up went my arms and, after I intertwined my fingers behind his neck, I noticed my elbows naturally curving out away from my head. Nipples erect? Yes. But this time, something strange was happening and, rather than fight it, I chose to go with the flow. I could fight it the whole way and be miserable or I could just ride the waves and see where I landed.
“Shane, I want you to cup her breasts.” Holy shit. This was getting real. Like I had, Shane moved quickly. Maybe he was feeling the urge to cover me up, too, and I wouldn’t have doubted it, because he’d felt like a gentleman in the hour we’d already worked together. He had that good guy feel, and I was going to trust in it.
His warm hands felt like heaven against my cool breasts, but—more than that—my nipples digging into his palm felt…arousing. Oh, that wasn’t good. But going with the flow, right?
Fortunately, Greg kept barking orders and that helped me stay grounded to a degree. “Ivy, turn your head. Give me the look of foreplay, guys.”
I wasn’t sure what the hell he wanted exactly, but I could turn my head, no problem. He began snapping pictures then and asking us to make slight adjustments. I obeyed, of course, but I could no longer deny that this pose was…well, it was hot.
No. It was making me hot.
It could have been cold and professional, but I got the sense that Shane was feeling it, too. No, I didn’t feel his cock hardening behind me. There was nothing physical that I could put my finger on that made me feel like he, too, was getting revved up. Or maybe there was. Maybe it was the sensual way he touched me. He could have been cold and quick as his hands moved over my body; instead, he felt aware and careful. Yes, it could have been that he was simply trying to be courteous and respectful, but I chose to listen to my instincts—and they were telling me that this whole thing was a turn on for us both.
That also meant I was being unprofessional as hell, and I hoped it didn’t show, but I couldn’t resist letting myself enjoy my baser desires. So what if my back arched a centimeter so that my nipples dug into his warm, sensuous hands? What did it matter if I no longer had to act to achieve the facial expressions Greg was looking for?
It was time to change poses. Maybe because we’d been compliant so far, Greg decided to take full advantage, and he put us in every single pose he could imagine. The next shot, he had me turn around so that Shane and I were facing each other. In spite of the fact that I found the guy to be insanely hot, that position felt awkward as hell at first. Fortunately, I think Greg sensed that and eased us into it. The biggest problem, of course, was making sure my nipples didn’t show. Provocative and suggestive were great for romance and erotica book covers; pornographic, even if just the tiny bit, was usually considered taboo. Greg muttered something about not wanting to waste a shot he knew would never sell so, while he could have indiscriminately snapped away, he didn’t. He had us pose in ways that hid my naughtiest of parts while still hinting at titillation (so to speak) all along.
There were a lot of shots of my back and side, oftentimes from an angle so my face was involved in some way. After having us gazing and courting each other with our eyes, he then had us move into what would look like the throes of passion, so we got closer, our bodies touching each other more. It was at this point that I no longer felt the coolness of the air, because our body heat was keeping me plenty warm.
“Turn your neck a little, Ivy. Shane, I want you to kiss her there. Make it look like foreplay, guys. This needs to be hot.”
Once more, I felt a little awkward—until his lips hit my neck. In all the shoots I’d ever done before, the men I’d posed with faked the kisses when they could. I didn’t take it personally and it actually kept a little distance there, but Shane was actually kissing my neck. The nipples that had relaxed and warmed now grew pointy again in response, and when they brushed up against his hot skin, I knew he had to notice.
I knew for certain when he changed his technique.
Maybe he’d only been doing as told but then sensed I was responding, because he slowed down then, tasting my skin, and it felt as though he were actually seducing me, really trying to get me warmed up for a romp in the sheets. I had no control of the way my nails dug into his back then; it was all I could do to keep my throat silent. And as I adjusted my head for him to continue, I felt my panties grow a little damp. I was relieved that I was wearing black lace, because it would be harder for them to tell if it got out of control. And the pointy nipples I could blame on exposure to cooler temperatures.
“Okay, let’s try a kiss, guys.”
Was he serious?
That was all the questioning I did, though, because it was getting to the point where it almost felt like a threesome, like Greg was leading us to the actual event and was party to it. It was then that I looked up at Shane, into his beautiful dark green eyes, the light coming from somewhere behind me up against that black screen, and I drowned in his gaze. I anticipated his lips touching mine just as I would have the first kiss on a flirty date that I’d sensed was going somewhere. My body tensed up as I felt my lips part just a slit and my head tilted to invite him in.
Naturally, my eyes closed as his lips got within a couple of millimeters, enough that I could feel the warmth emanating from them, could feel his breath against my skin. His hand on my back felt hot and my insides quivered, turning to jelly, while my muscles grew taut with anticipation.
The kiss was sweet and innocent, just our lips touching, and he moved slowly. I could hear the shutter of Greg’s expensive camera clicking until he said, “Lift your leg, Ivy. Shane, grab it just underneath the knee and hold it to your hip, as if you’re going to push her into the wall and start grinding.”
Holy hell.
Needless to say, as the scene progressed—and I imagined that very scenario—the kiss got a little steamier. He kept his tongue out of the action, although I wouldn’t have minded it, but there was no helping the saliva exchange as our lips got a little looser, softer, warmer, and I was pretty sure he was starting to feel the same desire I was. My body was betraying me, and if he’d pushed me against the wall (that didn’t actually exist behind me anyway), he would have felt the dampness in my panties. There was no way I could know for certain that he was experiencing the same furious desire, because his jeans didn’t show any bulging or throbbing—not that I had a chance to look. And, besides, the denim might have been snug enough to keep him contained.
Greg just let us go at that point as Shane did pull me closer for a few moments, and I could sense the kiss was about to deepen when our photographer announced, “Great. Time to switch. Ivy, I need you facing the camera again—and how about we have you standing on the stool for this shot?” Shane turned around and fetched it from its place just a few feet away while Greg continued. “Shane, you’re going to be right behind her again, only this time, I need your entire arm covering her breasts.” In seconds, we were in position, both of us looking straight ahead at the man giving us direction. “Ivy, put your arm over his so that your hand is over his and then turn your head the other way.” As I obeyed, he then said, “Now, Shane, move your other hand to her belly, just over her panties, as if you’re going to make your way in there.” Oh, shit. Another gush as my horny mind imagined the thought. “Ivy, put your other arm on his.” He stood back. “Good. Now, Shane, this position might seem a little weird, but I want you to kiss her now. I’ve seen really hot covers like that.” It wasn’t awkward at all, though, as Shane adjusted his body so he wasn’t exactly behind me. I looked at him for just a second before he brought his mouth on me, and his pupils told me this was no game to him, either. If we kept this up much longer, we might just let Greg film us fucking, because I didn’t know that I’d be able to stand it anymore.
Greg pulled me out of the moment and we paused for just a second as he adjusted my hair so that the fullness of my breast (nipple covered) was in full view. I noticed that the nipple of my other breast was barely covered by Shane’s arm. But I hardly cared anymore.
“Open mouth, guys.”
Yeah…only this time, his tongue did enter mine. It was slow, but it was probably the most sensual kiss I’d ever experienced. And with his arm covering one breast and his hand cupped over the other, the fingertips of his opposite hand tickling the top of my panties, holding me tightly, I thought I was going to explode. Had he bent me over the nearby stool and ripped my panties off to enter me, I wouldn’t have protested. I couldn’t remember ever feeling this aroused by any intimate contact…but I was, and it was getting harder and harder to not respond to the animal inside me. I remained professional, though—no moaning, no grinding, just doing whatever Greg told us to do.
“Amazing,” I heard him say. “One more set of shots and I think we’ll call it a day.” Part of me inside was disappointed that we were almost done, but more of me felt relief, because I didn’t know how long I could keep this up. “For this, Ivy, I want you kissing and licking down Shane’s chest and stomach and then down on your knees in front of him.” Ah, more foreplay activities, but at least there was no more direction stimulation.
But when Shane let go of me so I could do that, it felt like he gave my breast one last squeeze—or was that my imagination? I decided it was, because I was completely out of control internally. I did as our photographer boss requested and, once he was ready to begin shooting, my hands were placed on Shane’s torso as my tongue drew a line down the center of his flawless skin. Holy shit. It would take a lifetime to forget the taste of his skin coupled with the spicy smell of his cologne. His musculature was firm beneath my touch, making me wonder how much he worked out. I’d never dated a guy with muscles like this and I imagined it would be fun letting my fingers dance all over his body. But, I reminded myself, his body was not mine to play with.
“Now, Ivy, on your knees, and I want your fingers on his waistband—pretend like you’re unbuttoning his jeans.”
Oh…prelude to a blowjob. Would I even want to see all these pictures afterward? A fleeting thought rushed through my brain that maybe now would be the time to start reading romance novels, because then I’d get to see more pictures like this. Well, maybe after I earned my last degree. I didn’t have much time to read for fun. In fact, doing photo shoots was about the extent of my fun—but they would all pale in comparison to this one.
As I laced my fingers underneath his waistband, my head slightly tilted toward the camera, I imagined I saw a response in that bulge stuffed in his jeans. Or it could have been all in my head. “Shane, grab her hair in your fist. Look forceful.”
Jesus. I was done then. My panties couldn’t get any wetter.
But then, just like that, it was over. “Great job, guys. Meet me out front when you’re dressed and I’ll pay you.”
Suddenly, exposed under the harsh lights and no longer in character, I felt slutty. There was really no reason why, but I couldn’t shake that feeling. Half of my brain felt shameful but the other felt empowered, and I wasn’t sure how to reconcile the two. Instead of worrying about it, I looked around for my bra and hurried to put it on, and that helped. Shane was quiet, too, maybe feeling as odd as I did, and Greg was fussing with his equipment. It wasn’t long before I was dressed, though, and the three of us were in the front area of his studio.
“Just a second, guys.” Greg walked into his office, probably to fetch cash out of his safe, and Shane and I stood in the lobby, enjoying the natural light flooding through the windows. In the dark of the studio, it was hard to gauge the passing of day, but it was quite obvious in the lobby. It would be dusk soon, but the way the sun shone outside belied that.
Shane cleared his throat. “Is it always like that?”
I felt a shiver run through my body. That sucked, because I was finally feeling in control of my hormones once more. His tenor voice sent a ripple throughout my entire being, and I began to question if I should even continue modeling for Greg anymore.
I had no idea exactly what Shane was referring to, though, and I was feeling vulnerable. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Intense.”
He’d nailed it. It had been intense if nothing else. That would be easy to answer. “No, not really. I, uh…I’ve never done a shot topless before.”
His voice sounded matter of fact when he said, “You have a good body for it. I can see why he’d want to take advantage of that.”
Why the hell did I feel so confused, so strange? I was grappling with how to respond next when Greg came out, cash in hand. He gave one wad to Shane, the other to me, and said, “I gave you an extra half hour’s pay. You earned it.” Yeah, and he was probably going to make a crazy amount of money on the shots. Not that I blamed him. It was his business. As for taking off the bra, I could have said no. Besides, no nipple shots. And I had to realize this had simply been the perfect storm—hot guy I felt attracted to from the start, super hot poses, first time topless. Next time wouldn’t be so bad. I’d be able to handle it more professionally. And, chances were, I’d never have to work with Shane again. There had only been one time I’d worked with the same guy twice. Greg had a lot of models at his beck and call and he liked to mix things up. It was better for business.
We both thanked him and he said, “I’ll be in touch.” That was pretty much his way of telling us we were dismissed.
In seconds, we were on the sidewalk, and I geared myself up for an awkward goodbye moment, but Shane said, “You wanna go get coffee or something?”
I felt a lump in my throat. Or something. I knew at that moment that if he’d been feeling even half of what I had in there, he now had a shitload of pent-up sexual energy that needed to be expended. It would be easy enough alone with a hand in a bedroom, but why not finish what we’d started?
Except maybe he really did just mean coffee. Either way, I couldn’t decline. “Yeah, sure.”
“Did you drive here?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to ride in my car? I can bring you back afterward.”
I nodded and followed him down the street. I wasn’t sure what kind of vehicle a guy like Shane would drive, so I instead tried to enjoy the fresh cool air and sunshine and not think about it. A few yards down the sidewalk, though, and he turned. I saw the headlights flash as he pointed his fob toward the car and that’s when it sunk in. He might hate his current job, but it obviously paid well. He drove a beautiful silver sporty car and, as I examined it, I saw the circular BMW logo on the hood. Wow. I was excited to see how this thing felt on the road. I started walking toward the passenger side but he beat me to it, opening the door for me. I didn’t know quite how to take that, but it was evident that he viewed me fully as a woman, or else there would have been none of that nonsense.
For some reason, it didn’t bother me with Shane. I slid into the car seat and noticed that the inside still had that new smell cars have when you drive them off the lot. When he got in, he revved up the car and pulled into the street in a matter of seconds. I made a point of looking over at his left hand, more difficult because it was on the opposite side of me, but I had to try. I hadn’t noticed a ring when we were shooting, but I could feel the tension in the car escalating—and I just wanted to make sure I’d done my due diligence. I could have asked, I suppose, but I didn’t know yet if we weren’t just going to have coffee. You didn’t need to be single to grab a cup of Joe with someone who was essentially a coworker.
He pulled up to a stoplight and, knowing there was a coffee shop just three blocks away, I figured that was where we were going. Usually, I went straight to the bank after a shoot, just because I didn’t like to carry that much cash around, but I had a big strapping guy as company. I’d be okay for an hour or two.
His voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “My place is just around the corner. I could just make us coffee.”
Then I knew for certain. Coffee was a mere excuse. I swallowed and considered for two seconds. I could play this game. “Yeah, that sounds fine.” I felt my wet pussy clench in anticipation. But, it turned out, his place wasn’t just around the corner; it was several blocks away, quite a bit farther than the coffee shop—not that I was complaining. He finally pulled off the road into the parking lot of an attractive apartment building.
“This is home.”
I smiled, but words escaped me. I wanted to add levity to the situation by cracking a joke, but I couldn’t think of one, and small talk was impossible as well. Desperation had my nerves frayed, my teeth gritted, my muscles tense. Pretending everything was normal was enough of an act; light conversation wasn’t something I could manage in addition.
Shane met me on the passenger side of the car, but I’d let myself out so he couldn’t play gentleman again. Once more, it was one of those things that was nearly impossible to fake at the moment. Fortunately, he was doing all the talking—perhaps either better in control of himself or more acquainted with faking normal behavior when sexually aroused.
Or, maybe, we really were just going to have coffee. That was a thought and an idea I needed to wrap my mind around. Man, wouldn’t I feel stupid and shocked—and a little disappointed—if he drove me back to my car and I was merely full of coffee?
Not if I prepared myself for it.
As we walked across the parking lot toward the building and I appreciated the cool breeze in the air, noticing that the sun had dipped behind the mountains to the west, I forced myself to accept that coffee might very well be the outcome of this meeting. I knew Shane was new to modeling and maybe he had a lot of questions he wasn’t comfortable asking the photographer. Maybe he wanted to ask someone else who’d been doing it for a while. And coffee was a great way to do that. Plus, if he was watching his money, making it at home was a hell of a lot cheaper than at a shop. More intimate, too.
And snap! My mind wound up back at the place it had been earlier.
We entered a lobby decorated with tall plants, two chairs, and mailboxes across from both elevator doors and the entrance to a stairway. “I’m on the sixth floor,” he said, pressing a button.
“The top floor?”
He nodded. “Great view.”
In less than five seconds, we were in the chrome-and-mirror elevator, and it was hauling us up quickly. When we exited, a couple stepped inside, thanking Shane for holding the door till they entered, and then he led me down the hall. Once we were inside his apartment, my jaw nearly dropped. He might not have liked his day job, but it evidently paid well. Between his gorgeous car and the furnishings in his place, I could tell he wasn’t hurting for money. There was plenty of square footage—spacious for an apartment—and the place was decorated beautifully. We walked through the living area—light cream-colored walls, furniture the color of toffee, and carpeting that was a combination of various colors but somehow pulled the room together, accented with a wide-screen TV on one side of the room and chestnut end tables in two spots.
I still felt a little tense but was calming down as we entered the kitchen area. It too was beautiful but stark. It had the feel of a man who didn’t spend much time at home—too clean, too bare, too perfect.
Maybe that hearkened back to the fact that he was living a life he despised.
Much as I hated to judge, that was the feeling I got. Soon, he was filling up the carafe in the sink. “Do you like your coffee black or with cream and sugar?”
“I like it sweet.”
He nodded as he poured the water in the pot. Shortly afterward, the coffee was brewing, and Shane turned to face me. I was standing near the island next to him, wondering if I should have asked him if there was something I could do to help. My brain wasn’t functioning properly, though. I tried but couldn’t read the expression on his face as he said, “I want to do something else with my life, but I don’t know that modeling is the answer.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think I could handle it.”
I felt a small smile cross my face, relieving the pressure on my brow. “What’s to handle? You just pose when the photographer tells you to pose. Well, and you have to be a bit of an actor, I guess. And maintaining your weight is a good idea.”
“An actor? Were you acting back there?”
Suddenly, the air felt charged. There was an electrical pulse humming through the atmosphere, waiting for me to spill my words. Gravity pulled on me and grew stronger as each second ticked the clock. My answer would be important, but I wasn’t sure why. “What do you mean?”
“In Greg’s studio. Was that an act?”
I wasn’t sure what he was getting at and I was afraid of acknowledging what I thought he might mean. Saliva pooled in my mouth and I swallowed before tilting my head slightly to the side. “Was what an act?”
His brow furrowed as he got a little closer. “See, I’ve never done this kind of thing before. Is it—is it natural to feel a little something for the other person involved?”
I exhaled the breath I’d been holding in my lungs before I spoke. I thought back over the past year and all the shoots I’d had, both with Greg as a book cover model and in other situations where I had played one half of a hetero couple. “No.” I shook my head as if I’d needed to emphasize the word. I’d never felt this way about a man I’d worked with before. There was something about Shane that tripped every trigger and every nerve in my body was aroused, standing on edge with expectation. “It’s not natural.” The light in his eyes waned and I realized that he then thought it was one-sided. Impulsively, I grabbed his hand. “But I felt it, too.”
His pupils grew bigger then, signaling to me that those emotions were still there, just buried deep like I’d tried to do with mine. It had turned out to be next to impossible, though, because as long as he was next to me, my thoughts would go in places they shouldn’t. As I watched him make up his mind through the window of his eyes while anticipating the heat of his kiss, I wondered if I’d be as drawn to him later after I was no longer in his presence.
His lips pressed into mine, soft and warm and slowly at first, but our mutual desperation made it passionate in a matter of seconds. It wasn’t long at all before I felt my heart rate increase as I shoved my fingers into his hair, something I’d been dying to do all day. His hands pressing into my back pulled me close as his lips began to wander down my neck, and I dropped my head to the side, exposing all the flesh there, offering it to him for the taking. He kissed down to my collarbone as I felt his fingers wrap around the jacket I still wore—but not for long. In mere moments, as if we realized it was not only what we wanted to do but what we had to do, we removed both jackets and shirts, tossing them to the tile floor. His hand cupped one of my breasts—still inside the bra—and this time I could tell the difference. While there had been one moment during the shoot where I wondered if he’d crossed a line, I could now sense the intent of his touch. His thumb circled my areola, causing the nipple to stiffen at his touch, and I let my fingers respond, pressing my nails into the hard flesh of his back.
But I wanted to explore new territory, and I let my hands drift around front to the button of his jeans. I played with the waistband a little, letting my fingers dip underneath the denim, teasing the flesh of a spot I hadn’t yet seen, and I could feel his strong palms against my back. Except they weren’t pressing or pushing or digging—I instead felt him holding himself back, as if he were a racehorse at the gate waiting to be cut loose.
In effect, he was that horse.
That thought made me want to put him out of his misery. After all, I’d teased him just an hour or so earlier when, at the shoot, I’d been down on my knees, all but pawing at his member. Now, though, there would be no simulation. And I’d been dying to do it since Greg had suggested it in the pose.
So I unfastened the button and pulled the zipper down with aching slowness as Shane drew my lower lip into his mouth and sucked it—much in the fashion I planned to do with his cock in short order. It was then, as I pulled his jeans apart and wriggled my hand inside, that I felt the strength of his erection. Part of me then wanted to simply yank my own jeans down and ask him to fuck me right then and there, purely in desperation and need.
Instead, I followed through with my plan. I worked my hand into his underwear and ran my fingers along his lovely cock. It pressed into my hand, yearning to breathe free, needing to be loose, and so, with the help of my other hand, I fished it out of his jeans before stroking it twice. His mouth grew hard and almost immobile against mine as I took him prisoner, and he made a breathy sound that was almost inaudible against the sputtering of the coffee pot as it finished its job, but that noise told me I needed to move forward, give him the relief he needed.
I dropped to my knees and, getting my first glimpse at his big boy, I licked the head. Unlike a lot of women I knew, I didn’t mind blowjobs. In fact, I’d found them to be a great sort of foreplay. Hearing and feeling a man respond to the pleasure I gave him revved my own engine, and I could already sense my pussy clenching against itself in anticipation of what I hoped was to come. Yes, there had been a couple of men in my past who’d been worthless after ejaculating in my mouth, but most men were instead grateful and happy and willing to express their gratitude by making sure I enjoyed myself as well. And I wasn’t picky about the how—I left that up to my partner’s imagination. As long as I, too, experienced orgasm, I didn’t care how he did it.
But to the task at hand. I licked the head again before pulling it into my mouth and Shane shoved his fingers in my hair, just as Greg had had him do at the shoot, but this time he pulled my hair into a makeshift ponytail, holding it in his hand against my scalp, as his other hand palmed my head and he hung on for the ride. As I began drawing him in and letting him out, mirroring the motions he’d perform were my mouth instead my pussy, I heard him make another guttural sound before he said, “Oh, yeah, baby. Holy fuck.”
I was on the right track, apparently.
Maybe he was closer than I thought.
I increased the pressure and speed then, bobbing my head back and forth over his thickness, appreciating the feel of his veins against my tongue. When I sensed him pulling on my hair a bit, I didn’t stop until I heard the desperation in his voice. “Stop for a sec. Come here.”
I looked up, his cock still in my mouth, seeing the sincerity in his gaze. I eased him off my tongue before I asked, “Doesn’t that feel good?” Was he insane?
“Amazing, baby.” I didn’t know why, but I was liking the little nickname—hoping he wasn’t calling me baby because he’d forgotten my name.
He hadn’t, had he?
But there was no sense breaking the mood to ask. I’d find out soon enough. I cocked my head as I stood while his hands urged me up, waiting for him to continue his thought. “But I’m not ready to lose it. Not yet.” He placed his hands on my waistband then. “My turn.”
Even if my brain hadn’t registered his words, my pussy had. His mouth pressed into mine as his fingers pulled my jeans apart and then he drove his hands down the back, his hands cupping my ass underneath my panties. Then my muscles clenched once more, aching for his attention. But as he ended his kiss, he shoved my clothing down my legs before sliding his hands up my side and lifting my ass onto the top of the island.
We kissed again as his hands roamed my back before finding the clasp on my bra. He’d seen my breasts before but I wasn’t going to complain if he wanted to give them more attention. My brain wasn’t there and it would only prolong the agony I’d been feeling for hours now…but a little more wouldn’t hurt. As he peeled the bra off my body, though, his fingers merely brushed up against the nipples, teasing, and he began kissing my neck, my collarbone, and then my cleavage on his way down.
I glanced behind me because, even though his place seemed a tad stark, I couldn’t remember what I’d have to contend with if I chose to lie back. Behind me was a knife rack, a standing paper towel holder, and a cutting board. I didn’t want to push them to clear the way for my head, so I placed a hand to my side and behind for leverage so I could lean a little without actually lying down. My other hand was playing with the short hair at the base of his head as his kisses took him past my navel.
His hands brushed over my thighs then as he pushed them into a wider V, and he ran his thumb down my slit. He made a low sound of satisfaction, almost like a growl, before he looked up at me, his brow heavy over his twinkling eyes. He moved his head forward as he brushed his thumb slowly and with intent over my throbbing clit, and a sigh escaped my mouth as the promise of release approached.
I closed my eyes as he drew his tongue over that spot and I tried but failed to scoot my ass a little closer to the edge of the island. I felt like I was suctioned to the top of the counter and I would have had to lift myself up, breaking his tongue away from me—and that was the last thing I wanted. So in my slight discomfort I had to find a way to focus on the pleasure alone.
After a few more tongue strokes, it wasn’t hard to do. I’d closed my eyes and bitten my lip as my breathing deepened, and I felt my body get to that place of imminence, where I knew the orgasm was near. Each delicious stroke of his tongue brought it that much closer. But then he moved his hands to my ass and tried pulling me closer, discovering like I had that it was no easy task. But he slid his hands underneath my bottom and then pulled me closer to him before spreading my legs farther apart. I adjusted the hand I was leaning against and ran my fingers through his hair once more with the other as his tongue renewed its attack on my clit.
Breaking the action, though, he then let his tongue drift lower, and he darted it inside my pussy. He slid two fingers inside before gliding his tongue back up and then he began lashing me with that perfect weapon. A moan rumbled my throat as I felt my thighs begin to quiver and I forced them to stay open while Shane worked his magic on the one spot that mattered right now. In response, he increased the speed and pressure of his tongue against that throbbing spot until my entire world caved in around me, causing explosions in my head, making my entire body give up what it had been holding back. As wave after wave of pleasure pummeled my body, I continued to fight my legs to stay open and take whatever Shane had left to give while I let the rest of myself experience pure delight.
As my orgasm subsided, I realized I’d been quite vocal. Coming to my senses, I opened my eyes and saw the look of satisfaction on his face as he stood. “Are you ready to take me?”
Was I ready? I’d only been dying to feel him inside me for hours. But I was still out of breath and I hoped I could communicate all that with a nod. He reached in the back pocket of the jeans riding loosely around his ass and pulled a condom out of his wallet. Ah…a man who was always prepared. I had to respect that. He tossed the wrapper and wallet to the ground before pushing his jeans and underwear down a bit more. Within seconds, he’d rolled the condom on and sidled up to me, forcing himself inside my yearning body.
My involuntary moans began again, first as a whimper, and I realized I had another orgasm waiting at the ready. If he could just hit all the right spots with his steely cock, I could explode in the pleasure zone again. My entire body was hypersensitive now so it was also responsive to whatever he did down there. A second climax would not be a problem.
“God, you’re so tight.” I heard what sounded almost like a hum in his throat as he held me close, one hand at the base of my back, the other at my neck, just below the hairline. I wrapped my arms around him, sliding my hands inside the back of his jeans so I could squeeze his ass. His length inside me moving rhythmically returned me to that magic place once more, and my thighs began undulating against him as my brain screamed with delight.
“Yeah,” I heard him breathe and then he growled, giving in to an orgasm of his own.
We finished together, and I felt my body begin to cool, my breathing slow, but my heart continued to thud in my chest. His lips were nuzzled against my neck, his face buried in my hair, and part of me expected a moment of tenderness. Why, I didn’t know, because I hadn’t experienced that kind of behavior after animalistic lovemaking…but part of me yearned for that.
I wouldn’t admit it out loud.
He came close. His bearded chin brushed against my cheek as he brought his face close to mine. “I have to tell you something.”
My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. Something about his tone told me this wasn’t that moment of sweetness I’d been yearning for. Oh, shit. Did he have some disease? What the hell would be so important that he’d have to tell me immediately after making love but that he hadn’t felt the need to divulge before?
“I, uh…I have a girlfriend.”
This was supposed to be just a release, just a quick wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. We had our fun and would go our separate ways and that would be it.
So why the hell did that hurt? And what was I going to do next…?