“Your shirt, take it off,” Mistress Strokes says flatly, casually adjusting the lens in one of the dozens of cameras laid in a half-circle. Aidan walks in front of the large white canvas hanging from the wall and, grabbing his shirt, pulls it over his head.

The blue-haired woman goes to the wall, the one opposite to where I’m standing, and fumbles around with the electrical board, flipping up the switches. The overhead light projectors turn on, and Aidan’s ripped muscles gleam under the bright lights. He stretches lazily, his pectorals and washboard abs pushing against his skin and making my heart beat faster. It doesn’t matter how many times I see his naked body… I just can’t get enough.

I look at Mistress Strokes, the photographer, wondering why she isn’t paying any attention to Aidan. I mean, if it were me, I’d be ogling him like crazy. But she’s more concerned with her cameras than with Aidan’s body and, if you ask me that works just fine. I’m not the jealous type, but I prefer to have no competition.

“Alright, show time,” she tells Aidan, hunched behind a camera and peering through the lens. “Let’s do a trial run, you know how this goes,” she continues, this time snapping picture after picture.

My eyes are glued to Aidan now, watching every move of his. He flows from pose to pose gracefully, exposing his muscles from different angles. Even though there’s a serious, don’t-fuck-with-me expression on his face, I can tell he’s glad to be back in the studio. He took to writing pretty easily, but modeling was his bread-and-butter for a long time.

“Alright, good,” Mistress Strokes whispers to herself, going up to her feet and turning to me. “Abby, right?” She turns to me and offers me her hand, a kind smile dawning on her lips. I take her hand, shaking it, and nod. “Big fan,” she admits, her cheeks flushing slightly, and then she clears her throat. “Anyway, how do you want to handle this? Have you decided on a theme?”

“Yeah, the theme has to be scorching hot,” Aidan cuts in, walking over to us with a gait to his step. “There’s going to be a lot of fire in the novel, and we want the cover to reflect that.”

“I see…” Mistress Strokes trails off, looking up at the ceiling deep in thought, a lock of blue hair tumbling down her forehead. She brushes it to the side and tucks it over her ear, narrowing her eyes and looking at the cameras she has set up there.

Still with an expression of deep focus, she saunters over to one of the tripods and yanks the camera off, grabbing it with both hands. “I figure we need to go the intimate route, then,” she whispers, and I’m not sure if she’s talking to us or to herself. She’s looking down at the camera, fumbling with the lens and pressing button after button in quick succession.

I just stare at her completely dumbfounded, having no idea about how a photo session is supposed to go. My publisher always handled this side of the business; all I had to do was put the words down on the page. Lucky for me, Aidan took the reigns here; he knew exactly what he had to say to the photographer, and I agreed with every single word of his. Although, I admit, I have no idea how that’ll translate into a better photo. I figure that scorching hot means Aidan will be revealing a lot more of his crotch.

“Your jacket, take it off,” Mistress Strokes suddenly says, the lens of her camera trained on me.

“Me?” I ask, completely dumbfounded.

“You,” she smiles, lowering her camera. Even though her expression is a serious one most of the time, I can’t help but notice how much prettier she becomes when she smiles. “Your PA’s told me you’re going in a new direction with your books and, judging from what Aidan's told me, it really seems like it… So why is he the only one on the cover?”

I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t find the right words. She’s right but… me? As a model? No way.

“I… I don’t have the clothes to --”

“Forget it,” she tells me, still smiling, and waving at me with one hand. “It’s not about the clothes. It’s about who you are. Embrace it.”

I stare at Mistress Strokes.

“The sex advances the romance in your books, yes?” the Mistress asks me, stepping closer.

I nod.

“And what, do you know about the sex, child?” the elegant blue-haired woman asks me, her eyes piercing into my soul.

“She’s right,” Aidan says, coming up to me and gently laying his hands on my shoulders. He pulls my jacket off and I just let him do it, standing there in my tight blouse. God, I can’t believe I’m going to do this.

Grabbing me by the hand, Aidan leads me to the shooting area and, looking into my eyes, he smiles. “We’re ready,” he says, never taking his eyes off of me. Unblinking, I just look back at him as the noise of the camera shutter fills the whole studio.

“See, it’s easy,” he whispers, sliding his hands down the side of my body. My skin prickles as his fingertips find the naked skin between my blouse and skirt. Before I even know what I’m doing, I grab my blouse by its hemline and pull it over my head, Aidan’s smile turning into a wild grin.

“That’s good. Really good,” I hear Mistress Strokes’ voice as she comes closer to us, the camera’s shutter working more quickly now. Breathing hard, I place my hands on Aidan’s waist and pull him into me, a shiver of excitement going up my spine as I feel his hard-on.

I look at Mistress Strokes, embarrassed, but she just keeps on snapping picture after picture, a big smile on her face. Closing in on us, she goes down on her knees, pointing up with her camera, and that’s when Aidan tangles his fingers in my hair and leans in to kiss me. His free hand goes down to my ass and he grabs a handful, squeezing it.

Instinct taking over me, I let one hand go around his waist and then I flatten the palm of my hand against his crotch, curling my fingers around his cock and feeling it pulse against me.

Moving at the same time, Aidan places one hand just above my right knee and, slowly, runs it up to the hemline of my skirt. He doesn’t stop there, though: he slides his finger over my naked skin and under the fabric of my skirt, going straight for my wet thong. I gasp as I feel his touch on my pussy, and only then do I realize there’s a deafening silence in the studio, the noise of the camera shutter now absent.

I look toward Mistress Strokes just in time to see her lowering her camera, her lips slightly apart as she goes up to her feet. “Now this is some chemistry…” she whispers, propping the camera on its tripod and turning to face us.

She’s slightly flushed and, when she runs her tongue between her lips, I realize that she’s enjoying this as much as we are—if not more.

“C’mere,” Aidan whispers, reaching for her and grabbing her hand. He pulls her close, and she closes the distance between us immediately, walking as if she’s in a trance. She looks into my eyes then, and I realize that my heart is racing now, pumping boiling blood toward my pussy and making it even wetter than before.

Mistress Strokes raises her hand and, turning it around, caresses my cheek softly, moving her thumb over my lips. I let her do it, my eyes never leaving hers, and then she leans into me.

I close my eyes as I feel her lips on mine, and I hold my breath as she lingers there. “I had to,” she whispers after taking her mouth out of mine, her wide eyes telling me that she’s as wet as I am right now.

“I know,” I reply and, before I think it through, I lean into her and kiss her again, my body still pressed against Aidan’s. Oh God, is this really happening? I look from Mistress Strokes to Aidan, but he just looks at me and smiles.

“If you’re going to write about the sex, then you must know the sex, Abby,” Mistress Strokes says to me. I look at Aidan with one last fearful glance. The glance where I’m not sure if I want to share him.

“It’s alright,” he grins, pressing his fingers harder against my pussy.

“It is,” Mistress Strokes agrees, sliding her hand under my skirt and replacing Aidan’s. “He’s handsome, but the one I’m focused on is you.”

I watch her as Mistress Strokes puts her hand on my sex. “I don’t want to share your man,” she whispers. “I want to make you cum.”

I gasp again, feeling her small fingers over the fabric of my thong, and I know that now there’ll be no stopping this. “If the two of you are going to be on the cover, you deserve this,” she continues, and her words rumble inside my head like a thunderstorm.

I know exactly what she means by ‘this’.