Let's take a picture of us fucking.

Has breathing always been this difficult?

"The hair really does match your cheeks," Tom says.

"Are you out of your damn mind?"

"And you think I would be fuck buddies with someone so shy." Tom shakes his head. He points to the department store across from us. "We're going to take a picture in that dressing room and you're going to leak it to a celeb news site."

"We're going to take a picture of us fucking in that dressing room?" I blink way more than any person should. "You don't mean..."

"Of course I don't mean... We'll cheat it. Don't tell me you don't know how to cheat a shot."

My body responds with gusto. Heart racing, heat building between my legs. It takes my head a few moments to catch up. The assignment is unorthodox, but I can do it. "What if Drew sees it?"

"He won't."

"You sure about that?"

"If you even say the words TMZ around Drew, he glares at you and threatens to hit someone." Tom nods. "If he does see it, I'll explain what we're doing. He won't like it, but fuck him. You want to spend your life making decisions because you're worried your brother is going to hit someone?"

"That's not it, exactly."

"Willow, it's your life. If you don't want to do it, tell me. But if you do want to do it, then fucking go for it. Don't let anything stop you from taking what you want."

"I'd be more receptive to your message if I didn't think you were trying to manipulate me."

"I don't need to manipulate women into pressing themselves against me. If you aren't game, I'll find another model." He scans the coffee shop, his gaze fixing on a tall woman with light hair. "But I'd rather not lead her on."

No. I don't want him pressed against that other woman.

He looks at me. "Are you in or out?"

I take a deep breath, cultivating the go for it confidence spread over Tom's face. I can do that too. I can be the kind of person who says yes to life instead of hiding behind my camera.

In theory.

Enough hesitation. I'll figure out what kind of person I want to be later. Right now, I need to please my client. I make eye contact. "I'm in."

"Then let's go."

* * *

Tom tears the tags off the black lace bra and panty set I bought at the department store. "I like your taste. Classy."

My cheeks flush. I try my best to shift into professional mode. We're in the handicapped stall of a dressing room, not a studio, but I can do this.

"Is the goal something we're taking for our depraved pleasure or something that belongs on Instagram?" I ask.

"Either way."

"They're different. The former will be messy, more about the physical and less about the props or anything. But you've seen pictures on social media. People pose them, get their latte arranged next to their book, next to their plate of grapes. No one really sits that neatly. You know?"

He nods. "Pretty and smart. Picked a good fake fuck buddy."

He's thinks I'm pretty and smart. I'm not sure which is more flattering. I clear my throat to keep desire from swallowing me whole.

"I want it to look like you leaked this picture. It's up to you."

"Then I don't need this." I point to my camera, return it to my purse, and fish out my cell. "It should look heat of the moment. Like we were so desperate to fuck that we nearly ripped off our clothes."

"This is why I need you, kid." He pulls his t-shirt over his head and drops it on the floor. "Good?"

My gaze goes to his chest, his stomach, the soft tuft of hairs below his belly button. Very good. Great. Amazing.

I unlock my phone, open the camera app. "Maybe a few like this. Sorta... you stripping for me."

He cocks a brow. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"A woman should enjoy her work."

Tom laughs. He motions to the waistband of his jeans. "These too."

"Not yet." I snap a few shots of him, waist up. God, he's yummy. Unbearably yummy. It's practically objective.

I grab the bra and panties and toss them aside. Time to think like a photographer. If we were going to fuck in here, we'd have a few good options. There's the seat. Big enough for me to climb on top of him. Or he could lift me and push me against the wall. Or turn me around and take me from behind.

A flush spreads over my cheeks and down my chest.

I pull my sweater over my head and toss it on the ground.

Tom's eyes go to my exposed skin. My shoulders, my neck, my chest. His cheeks flush. He's checking me out.

He wants me.

But he made it clear we're only friends. I'm keeping this professional. Well, as professional as pretending to fuck in a dressing room can get.

I press my cell to my chest. "Come on. Let's get posing. Grab me and press me against the wall."

"Bossy all of a sudden."

"Just do it."

"As you wish, Mistress Photographer." Tom slides his arms under my ass and lifts me. "Wrap your legs around me."

I do. It puts us in quite the compromising position. He shifts, holding me against the wall. His crotch presses into mine.

"Not sure if this will come out well." I hold my phone over my head, press my cheek against Tom's to shield my face from the camera, and take half a dozen photos.

"Can't complain about the working conditions." He shifts his body into mine, pressing me harder against the wall.

God, that feels good. I take a deep breath so I won't be totally red. "Can you set me down?"

He does. I focus all my attention on the pictures. Most of them are garbage—a whiff of hair or a strange angle on the floor—but a few are in the right direction. They focus on the tattoo spanning his shoulder blades, his arms around the mystery girl with short pink-tipped hair.

I show Tom the winners.

He points to something on the image. "Your straps are showing."

I stare back at him, unblinking.

"Keep your top on, kid. But push the straps to your shoulders or something."

"You better hope you're right about Drew not seeing these."

"I'm not worried about Drew. Push comes to shove, I can take him." He motions for me to adjust my top.

I pull my tank and bra straps off my arms. They hang under my armpits. It's unflattering from straight on, but it should work from overhead.

"Okay. Press me against the wall." I brace myself for the slight impact.

"Mmm, so bossy." He slides his arms around me and pulls us into position.

Somehow, we're closer this time. I can feel his heart beating against my chest, his breath against my neck.

His lips brush my skin. His fingers dig into the fabric of my jeans.

I shift, trying to get comfortable, trying to focus on taking pictures. Click, click, click. Then another angle and a few more for good measure.

"Wllllw." Tom's voice is muffled. "Yrrr ttts rrr prsssd tooo myyy faaaa."

"Huh."

He brings his hand to my shoulders and adjusts my position. "Your tits are pressed into my face."

"Oh."

"Not complaining. Just means... shit." His grip around me tightens. He blushes.

Why is Tom blushing?

I squeeze his shoulders, trying and failing not to slip.

Oh.

He's hard.

His erection is pressed against my crotch. Lots of denim in between us but there's no denying it.

Tom is hard.

My brain refuses to focus on anything else.

"Guess this is how actors feel when they shoot sex scenes." Tom blushes. He lifts me higher, so we aren't pressed quite as closely together. "You want down?"

"No." I take a deep breath. "Two more."

He motions to my chest. "Be careful with those things. I can't exactly get my rocks off with the salesgirl who was checking me out."

"No? Why is that?"

"It's not nice to tease a man who isn't allowed to masturbate." He smiles, confident, but still blushing.

"You look really cute with your cheeks pink," I say.

"You're blushing too." He grabs my hips and holds me against the wall. "You know, the mall will close eventually."

I bring my phone over my head and snap another set of pictures. Then I try a few from the side. "Okay. Let me down."

Tom keeps me pressed against the wall as he shifts back, breaking the contact of our bodies. I slide down the wall, setting me feet down one at a time.

He's still hard. I only barely manage to avoid gawking. It's really a marvel of denim technology that his jeans contain him.

Tom is not at all shy about resting his chin against my shoulder to check out the pictures. It's not as if he's intentionally rubbing against me. Just that he's not avoiding me. Not at all awkward. It's remarkable how comfortable he is with his body.

I go through the pictures, pointing out the winners and deleting the others. When we're finished, he helps me get my straps back into position and sends the photos to himself.

"I'll take care of leaking these." He shifts into his clothes. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah. Great."

"Gotta say, that was the first time I ever paid to get hard."

That only makes the blushing situation worse. "I... uh... well, that's not really... exactly what you were paying for."

Tom smiles. "You're cute."

"Uh... thanks."

"Come on." He slides his arm around my waist. "Let's get out of here before I get any ideas that will get me into trouble."