Once I had my boot in hand, I threw it at him.
He dodged the boot, flashed me a blue-eyed dare and took more pictures. I could tell by the look on his face that he was enjoying himself. I didn’t know if I wanted him to or not. I tossed the other boot over my shoulder, refusing to cringe as I heard it clatter across the table. I never claimed to have good aim.
He smirked from behind the lens. “That all you got, Tennessee?”
“Maybe that’s all you deserve,” I retorted. “Maybe I should have put one of those boots where the sun don’t shine.” I let my drawl come out on the last bit.
“What about all these buttons?” he asked. “Bet you could be cruel with those.”
I stilled as he came towards me, unsure of what to expect. My entire body tensed as he fingered each of the small pearl buttons on my blouse before pushing back my hair and then standing back to snap another picture. I felt my face burning and couldn’t deny that a not-so-small part of it was arousal.
He didn’t think I could pull it off. How many women could do a slow strip tease in broad daylight, much less a sunlight-filled studio? I was willing to bet his skinny models simpered and giggled, more worried about flirting with him than anything else. Hell with that.
I walked towards him, seeing the scene unfold as though I were writing it. As I moved, I undid two buttons at the bottom of my shirt. He crouched down, angling the lens up and I stopped, slowly and deliberately popping the button on my jeans, exposing the pale skin of my stomach.
“So good,” he muttered. “I love close-ups.”
He reached out and photographed his own hand sliding up my inner thigh. It suddenly became hard to breathe as his touch burned through my jeans. He set the camera aside and, without coming out of his crouch, gripped my waistband and gave it a bit of a tug.
“Any chance you’ll take these off?”
I realized the up-close of me trying to wriggle free of my skinny jeans wasn’t going to do anything for his pictures or my ego so I backed away and regrouped.
I wasn’t rail thin like a traditional model. I had curves, hips, boobs…I could play to my strengths, but those strengths didn’t involve wiggling and shimmying out of my jeans right in front of that camera.
I turned back and pulled open the top buttons of my shirt. With the middle two buttons still holding, I slipped one arm out of my shirt and then the other, clutching the remaining fabric to my almost fully exposed chest. The clutching only amplified my cleavage and I watched as his gaze zoomed in, right on target.
“Yes, great.” Flynn took a half dozen rapid-fire shots, then lowered the camera, silent for a moment as if he was trying to figure something out. “Lay down,” he finally said. When I didn’t immediately move, he added, “Trust me.”
My heart was racing, but I knew it would be foolish to stop at this point. After all, he was a professional photographer and I had seen his work. None of those women had looked coerced or bothered by what they were doing. And, if I was going to be completely honest with myself, I knew if I backed down now, he’d have won. I was competitive enough to hate that idea.
I lifted my chin and walked over to the pile of cushions and blankets he’d motioned to. They were the same ones that the other models had been on, but as I stretched out, I began to feel self-conscious.
That feeling only grew as he joined me and without a word, stood on the cushions, one foot on either side of my knees. Picture after picture, he changed the angle of the camera, bending down low, then straightening.
After a couple minutes, he put the camera down and dropped to his knees over me. His face was flushed. His eyes burned. He probably just got really into his work.
I tried to pretend it was because of me, though.
Why should I be the only one affected?
I caught my breath as he reached down and unzipped my jeans, then took hold of the waistband. His gaze lingered on my face a moment, giving me the chance to protest.
When I didn’t, he drew the jeans down, leaving me in a pair of simple lace panties.
Why hadn’t I put on something sexier?
I looked up to find his eyes lingering on the dip of my waist, the flare of my hip, roaming over me with a heat that left me feeling lightheaded. As he sat back on his heels, I levered myself up and let my shirt fall completely away.
Sitting there in a bra that matched my panties, I stared at him. My pulse raced so hard, it was a wonder he didn’t hear it.
He snapped a picture, then reached up and pushed my hair back over my shoulders, snapped several more, pausing here and there to adjust the angle of my chin or to mutter a command. “Look toward the wall…now at me. Smile…no, not like that. Think about the first time you were kissed…that bad, huh? Okay, think about
me
kissing you…perfect…”
He lowered the camera while I was still breathing heavy from the thought of kissing him and he came closer, reached up and hooked his finger under my bra strap. After a moment, he slowly pulled it down.
My nipples were already tight, but at the feel of his skin against mine, I gasped. With the strap of my bra hanging down my shoulder, he eased back and lifted the camera.
“Take the bra off now. Slowly…”
Goosebumps broke out across my skin as I did it.
I wasn’t even thinking now.
Thought had left the building so long ago, it was insane.
I slid the straps over my shoulders, keeping one arm over my breasts as I tossed the bra off to the side.
“Good…perfect…look down…now, up at me.”
I did.
He lifted his eyes from behind his camera and stared.
Waited.
Without him saying a word, I knew what he wanted. He began snapping pictures as I slowly lowered my arm, revealing myself to him and his camera. I thought I saw his fingers tighten on the camera, but he didn’t say anything. My nipples drew tighter still, throbbing and aching and I couldn’t understand it, but I was more turned on than I’d ever been in my life.
“Will you lay back?” he asked.
There wasn’t even a hint of professionalism in his tone now—his voice was ragged, rough and for some reason, that made it easier to lie back, bracing my weight on my elbows.
“Bring up your knee.”
I did and when he next had me roll onto my side, I did that as well, following him with my eyes as he came around to crouch next to the bed. “Pull your hair forward. Have it curling around your nipples. I want the contrast of auburn against your skin.”
My breath came out in a low, shaky sound as I did just that and I had to bite my inner cheek to keep from gasping as I smoothed my hair down.
“No. Here…”
He came closer.
I froze as he reached out.
His eyes held mine for the longest moment and then he started to stroke, smoothing my hair so my left nipple played peekaboo. He remained there a minute, adjusting the sheets, then me, his fingers lingering on my skin.
He snapped two or three shots and then lowered the camera. “Panties.”
Slowly, I rolled to my back and slid them off, trying not to think of the ways I was exposing myself. I tossed them aside and put my legs back down.
The camera stopped and lowered. He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, his eyes roving over my body. Heat burned there, the kind of heat that somehow managed to banish any insecurities I should have had.
A thrill began to surge inside me and I wanted to stretch out before him, exhilarate in the headiness this was giving me. He moved closer. Firm hands took mine, guiding me. I stayed calm, or at least appeared calm as he posed me, arranging me how he wanted.
I twisted this way and that at his command as the camera fired away. I lost all sense of time and any inhibitions I’d had melted away under his careful instruction.
The sunlight moved across the warm studio and I lost all track of time. He took a few last photographs and took a step back as he set down his camera.
His eyes were sparkling as he spoke, “Now how about some fun?”
Chapter 4
He left me standing in the middle of the studio naked.
Okay…that’s not exactly what I’d seen coming.
I’d assumed
fun
would entail sex. After all, he was supposed to be this big time flirt. A lady killer, right?
I was so worked up, if he’d decided to seduce me, I wouldn’t have minded. Actually, I was on board with the idea. I was no virgin and I wasn’t afraid of my own sexuality. After all, I had taken his dare and had actually enjoyed it.
Should I feel embarrassed now? Exploited or something?
I’d just posed naked for money.
Abruptly, I realized I
did
feel a little embarrassed, and out of place. Grabbing one of the blankets on the bed, I wrapped it around myself and started to pace. Drifting up and down the studio, I let my eyes wander to the framed prints on the wall. They were advertisements, some of them for small local places, but others were for national brands that I’d heard of even back in Tennessee.
It made me feel better. Flynn wasn’t doing any of this to sell to some cheap skin magazine.
Bouvier was top-of-the-line fashion and the name itself was synonymous with elegance. If my naked body ended up in one of their advertisements, it would be tasteful.
Maybe I could get some shots worth putting into a portfolio.
Kendra had been telling me I could be a catalog model. I’d always assumed that she was just being polite. Typically, women who looked like me ended up getting hired as plus-sized models. In this society, anything over a size eight was considered plus-sized, but that’s the fashion world for you. I refused to perpetuate that way of thinking.
I’d never thought much about it when she told me I should consider trying to find any agent, but maybe she was serious. I definitely wasn’t cut out for
her
world, but there were other options.
Maybe modeling was a possibility. Apparently Flynn saw something in me.
As I was considering the drastic career change, Flynn returned with a crate and pulled out half a dozen small jars.
I gave him a curious look and he grinned.
“Body paint!”
The devilish look was back in his cadet blue eyes though now I could see he forced it. Something had happened during our intimate photo shoot and he wanted to put it out of his mind. He wanted to put me back in one of the regular places woman usually held in his life: easy fun or pure art.
I shook my head. “Nice try, sleazeball, but you’re not turning me into cheap performance art.”
He grinned. The blanket I’d wrapped around my torso and tucked in near my breasts chose that moment to loosen and gape, drooping down to my waist.
I caught it, but before I could cover back up, Flynn came over and tugged it away.
I wasn’t about to get into a wrestling match after all the work I’d done to convince him of my nonchalant attitude so I gave it up with a bored sigh. “I’m not letting you put a bunch of paint all over me,” I said again.
“Oh, come on, it won’t hurt a bit.” He lifted a brow as he added, “You want the three thousand, right?”
I swallowed down the urge to growl at him. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
He smiled.
A few moments later, I wish I had stuck by my
no
.
I held still as he lifted gloved hands, covered in brilliant red, toward my torso. “Don’t move,” he said. His eyes lingered on my face. “You don’t want it to run.”
I swallowed and held still.
He’d had me pull my hair up and now I stood in front of him, naked, without even the illusion of modesty my long hair could provide. When he cupped my breasts in his paint-slicked hands, I gasped.
“There’s one.”
I didn’t breathe as he backed away and changed the gloves, pressing them into a vivid purple this time.
He pressed one palm to my neck. The other to my abdomen. But instead of stripping off the gloves, he dipped them back into the small pool of paint he’d poured out and, a moment later, I had a purple palm print on my right ass cheek and another one on my left hip.
The pattern continued. A blue palm above my pubis, along my right thigh. Orange on my right hip and left knee.
It didn’t take that long, but I was practically panting for a release that wouldn’t come when he backed away and started to take pictures. He stopped after only a couple and came back, releasing my hair from the ponytail. He stood so close his chest touched my nipples.
A weak whimper left my lips.
His eyes came to mine.
My heart stopped for a moment and we were both still.
The hand that had been smoothing my hair down tightened in it. “Gabriella,” he muttered, just before he caught my mouth in a searing kiss. I couldn’t stop the moan as his tongue turned delicious circles around my own.
Without breaking the kiss, he pulled off his shirt and I wondered if he purposefully wore ones that buttoned so he could take off his clothes while still managing a knee-weakening kiss. Flinging his shirt aside, he raised his head. We were both breathing heavily and his eyes darkened as he glanced down at my breasts, marked by the mostly-dried red paint he’d placed on me.