Maximum Exposure (9 page)

She shook off her sex daze and smiled, her fingers making fast work of his belt, his button, and his zipper. It was all he could do not to reach for her tits and squeeze, but he was afraid they’d never get to his cock if he did.

She seemed just as ready, tugging down his pants and his boxers, and shoving everything he wore to his feet before shoving him into the chair. She knelt between his spread legs, her gaze crawling over him, taking in his shoulders, his biceps, his chest, and his abs before settling on his groin.

“God, but you’re gorgeous,” she said, and he wasn’t sure if her compliment included all of him or only his cock.

“I don’t look half as good now as I will with you in my lap.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.” She leaned forward, flicked her tongue over the slit in the engorged head, wrapped one hand around his shaft, and squeezed. “This is just too yummy not to gulp down.”

As he watched, she leaned forward and swallowed a whole lot of the twelve inches he offered her. She licked and sucked and opened the tip with her tongue, her free hand fondling his balls before stroking the extension of his erection that bulged all the way to his ass.

He spread his legs wider and groaned, fighting the urge to thrust into her mouth as well as the urge to come. He had more control than to be quick on the draw, but goddamn if she couldn’t suck the chrome off a trailer hitch, and her finger in his butt wasn’t helping.

“Enough,” he growled, grabbing her shoulders, closing his legs, and urging her up to straddle him. She did everything he wanted, her thighs opened wide as he held the base of his cock and slumped to get the angle that would do them both the most good.

She moved her hands to the chair back and slowly lowered her hips, taking the whole of his cock in one smooth downward stroke, grinding against him when she sat. She shuddered, shook, her body tense, her pussy holding him tight.

When she sucked in a sharp breath, he asked, “You okay?”

She nodded, her hair falling across his chest, tickling him. “I’m beyond okay. I’m in heaven.”

He gathered up her hair, held it to the side. He wanted to see her cunt, the way he spread her open, her pink flesh sucking at his thick black cock. Her heaven was going to be his hell. What was he doing, selling his soul like he could afford the transaction?

She moved her hands from the chair to his shoulders and watched the spot where their bodies were joined as she began to ride. He held her hips as she ground against him, rubbing her clit hard on the base of his shaft. Held her as she raised up, her thighs taut, keeping nothing but the bulbous head of his cock inside her before sliding slowly back down.

She swallowed him, devoured him. He watched his cock disappear inch by inch into her hungry cunt, watched how tightly his girth stretched her, watched her clit sit up and beg. He slid his hands to her thighs, moved them close to the V between, close enough to pinch the hard knot with his thumbs.

“Ooh, ooh,” she grunted. “Harder. To the left. Yes, oh, right there. God, yes. Right there.”

He played her as she instructed, her flesh slick and warm and plump. The sounds she made. The smell of her sex. Her sweat, which was as sweet as her juices running down his shaft to the crack of his ass. His cock, which had never been so well fucked. It was too much. He was done. The small of his back tingled. His balls drew up, hard and tight.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close, buried his face between her breasts, and pumped into her, driving upward, holding her tight as he came, as she came, her sex sucking, tugging, milking him dry, his cock fairly exploding and taking her apart.

She collapsed against him, damp, breathless, her hair a tangled mess. And then he felt her smile. “You’re still hard.”

A fact that didn’t surprise him at all. “It’s been awhile.”

She used her palms on his chest to lever herself upright. “Would that have anything to do with you telling women you’re gay?”

Ah, so she thought she was tricky. “Have I said that I wasn’t?”

“No, but actions speak louder than words.”

“You think that was something to hear? Get down on all fours.”

She didn’t say a word. Just backed off his lap and turned. Before he knew it, she had her hands and knees on the ground, her ass in the air, her pussy glistening with their juices. It didn’t even cross his mind to say no.

He followed her down and mounted her, driving deep, pounding, fucking her like it was his last day on earth and she’d been given to him for his pleasure—an analogy that was more on target than he wanted to think about, and so he didn’t think at all.

He just used her there on the floor until both of them were raw and spent. It seemed like the thing to do, the thing they most wanted, this place one they’d been destined to reach since the first time they’d met. One he feared more than anything would destroy them both.

She wondered about the source of his sudden irritation; was he that upset that she hadn’t given Dustin all the facts first thing?

She waited several seconds, waited for him to calm, to release her before she spoke. Once he had, she said, “You told me you weren’t a photographer.”

“I’m not.”

“And you made it clear that you aren’t crazy about what I do.”

“I’m not.”

“What was I supposed to think when you never gave me a clear yes or no?”

He shrugged in response.

“Now you want the job. Is that what you’re saying?”

“What I want is not to be manipulated. I don’t play games. I thought we were clear on that.”

They were. And it wasn’t too much to ask, that she treat him honestly. She knew that, down where she didn’t have to worry about being screwed over herself.

She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together when he gave it, and guided him through the crowd and toward the final portrait, where fewer of Dustin’s friends lingered. Once they had the privacy she wanted, she turned to face him.

But she didn’t let him go. “Hiring you was my idea, yes. But I hadn’t had a chance to run it by Dustin yet, even though you and I talked about it more than once. I wanted to feel him out, see what concerns he might have.”

The muscle in Finn’s jaw pulsed. He stared at the framed portrait rather than meeting her gaze. “Do you think he would have thrown us together if he had doubts?”

“He might have. If he wanted to see how we clicked.”

“Chemistry.”

“I seem to remember mentioning that before.”

He nodded. “You did.”

“And now that Dustin’s brought it up…”

“You’ve been vindicated.” Finn pulled his fingers from hers, stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Vindicated? Was that how he saw it? That she needed a third party’s validation to prove her instincts right? “I’m not looking to have anything vindicated. I’m quite confident in my own decisions.”

Finn snorted.

“Look. I understand your frustration—”

“No, Olivia. You don’t. There’s no way you can.”

She took a deep breath, tried again. “I don’t like being manipulated, either—”

“That’s not what’s frustrating me.”

“Then what—”

“Your dress.”

“What?”

“Your dress. Your dress is frustrating me.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought about what she was wearing for several minutes now. She hadn’t known Finn would be here tonight, so hadn’t chosen it with him in mind.

It was simply a dress that seemed to fit the occasion, a showing at a gallery that exhibited erotic art. It was also a dress she loved. She especially liked the way the fabric flowed, as thin as tissue paper, as opaque as frosted glass. “I’m glad you like it.”

A smile ticked at the corners of his mouth. “That wasn’t exactly what I said.”

“Then you’ll be glad to know I wore it because I like it, and because it’s not something I can wear just anywhere.”

“Good. I’d hate to think you wore it to get me to do what you want.”

She didn’t like having the choices she made in her dealings with others reduced to such a crass accusation. “I have a feeling we’re more alike than you care to admit.”

“How so?”

“Neither one of us allows outside influences to impact our decisions.”

“True enough, though there’s still a big difference between us.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t use my body to get my way.”

She was through trying to make him understand, or even to get him to accept. All she could hope for at this point was that he’d see how things were for himself while taking the photos Dustin wanted.

“Do you want to talk about the project?”

“Here? Now?”

She was game, but if he had reservations…“Would you rather meet in my office, make an appointment? Do you want Dustin in on the planning stages, since this is all his idea?”

“We can do that, sure, if that’s what you want,” he said, not seeming enthused by her suggestions.

Was he so confident that he assumed things would work themselves out without looking closely at the particulars? Was this how he did all of his business? Diving in and hoping things fell into place?

“You don’t think this needs to be planned?” she finally asked, remembering their first conversation, his casual nonchalance, which she’d known even then hid a sharp wit and keen mind.

He stepped back, considered her from head to toe. “What I think, no…What I wish is that I had my camera with me tonight. That I’d had it with me that night at Cigar Paolo.”

“You’re thinking spontaneity. Which is great, by the way. I get it. But I don’t think it’s practical for you to follow me twenty-four seven.”

He was following her now. Circling her. Walking around her and looking at her, at her dress. At her. “Not twenty-four seven, no. I was thinking more along the lines of me following you without you knowing about it.”

“And how would that work exactly? If I didn’t know you were there—”

“Then none of the shots would appear to be staged.”

Artistically, his idea was a good one. But he was making a lot of unnecessary work for himself. It wasn’t like she looked for reasons to expose herself, which he might just happen to catch on film. “I don’t see how that makes any practical sort of sense. And it would be a major waste of your time. And then there’s Dustin. As well off as he is, his funds aren’t endless.”

“Is he hiring me, or are you?”

They’d never discussed financing the project. “I’m not sure. It might be we split your fee.”

“Then I charge by the photo. Or we agree on a per diem for the days I actually shoot.”

She gave a quick laugh. “And this is how you make a living?”

“I’d bill enough to make it worth my while. Besides, I usually work more than one case at a time, and I’m sure I’ll find my answering service is holding some Miami inquiries with my messages.”

“I don’t know….”

“Let me ask you something.” He was standing in front of her again, his stance wide, his arms crossed over his chest. When he cocked his head, his hair skimmed his shoulder, a lock falling onto his forehead and into his eyes.

He shook it back. “If you know I’m watching you, will you act any differently than if you’re not sure I’m there?”

Interesting question.
“I’ve never been self-conscious about what I do. Not until now, anyway. And it’s not even about being self-conscious. Not really…”

“It’s that you aren’t in control of your audience.”

Was that it? No. She didn’t think so. Not at all.

She’d always had peripheral onlookers; it couldn’t be helped. The public nature of what she did was the reason it worked. Those…extras. They’d never been within her control. Neither had she considered them her target.

Finn didn’t factor in the same way. He fell outside the umbrella of a collateral crowd. She knew him, was attracted to him. She would always wonder if he was there, what he was thinking about her, and what he saw.

But she couldn’t tell him that. It was hard enough to admit to herself that she cared about his opinion. Especially when she didn’t know why she did. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Dustin should have hired the photographer and told me about it after the fact.”

He let that sink in, met her gaze, his challenging her to go forward, to step up and get it done. “So what now?”

“Sleep on it?” It was all she could give him. She needed time.

What she didn’t need was to hear him ask her, “Sleep together? Or alone?”