Chapter 1 #2
Somehow, they made undoing my suit coat and the button-down shirt beneath it part of the dance, the taller bad boy able to lean in and tug one free with his teeth, all while peering up at me with wolfish eyes the color of warm, molten greenish-gold.
I swear, I’d never seen eyes like that on a person; they were almost otherworldly, so much so that I knew it would add to the allure when he was in one of my gear.
Please, please let them say yes as easily as they had to my request that they help me out with the sudden leaking I was experiencing.
Warm lips, one with shimmering rose-colored glitter gloss, the other with clear gloss with black and gold sparkles, wrapped around my nipples, soft tongues massaging the engorged nubs, suckling, drawing my milk into them.
My head hit the back of the chair, lolling from side to side in ecstasy, as they feasted to the beat of the song.
It was like music was in their souls; meanwhile, my soul was slowly being sucked from my body, even after the music stopped and a new song began.
They just changed the pace and veracity of their suckling.
A shimmery glimpse of Aspen receiving a similar sort of treat beside me was proof positive that he’d planned for this.
By the time they started lapping the last traces of milk from my skin, my head was reeling, my thoughts were a jumbled mess of need and expletives, and those two smokin’ hot minxes had shit-eating grins on their faces as they slid off my lap.
While I was still struggling to sort out which way was up, sassy angel leaned in and licked a drop of my milk off the corner of bad boy’s lips, resulting in a filthy kiss that got Aspen and Parker whooping and hollering as they clapped.
I barely managed to join them, and even then, my hands felt clumsy as I smacked them together, my mouth still half-hanging open in awe of how hot the pair was.
If they brought that same level of lust and primal energy to a photoshoot…screw that, if they brought it to my fucking bedroom, I’d die a happy man without a goddamn care for the unfinished line of pet play clothing resting on my workroom tables.
They waved, and then shit, shit, shit, turned and started walking away.
Damn my traitorous jelly legs; it took several heartbeats to get them to cooperate so I could rush after them, not that I made it far before a giant wall of bulk, muscle, and menace stepped out in front of me, crossed his arms, and remained there like a screen I couldn’t even peer past.
“Excuse me,” I said, nearly tripping myself up as I moved to step around him only to have him sidestep and cut me off.
“Show’s over,” he said, his blue eyes as harsh and cold-looking as Montana sapphires. “And before you ask, they don’t give encores.”
“That’s fine,” I replied, immediately reaching for my wallet and nearly dropping it.
Decades of walking runways with an out-of-this-world array of props, and I was fumbling like a schoolboy begging for a first date. Fortunately, I managed to retain control of it before I wound up looking like an incompetent buffoon, and I fished out one of my business cards and held it out to him.
“Could you see to it that they get this?” I asked, extending it further when he didn’t reach to take it.
“I’m not looking for a dance or anything of that nature; I’m looking for models.
I design clothing, specifically for the pets and handlers of the pet play community.
If they are interested, I would love to set up a photoshoot with them.
I am a member of the club; all of my information is on the card, so they can easily vet me and see that this is a legit offer. ”
His nostrils flared as his eyes narrowed, and he seemed to grow taller right before my eyes. For a moment, I was certain he was going to walk away without taking my card, then he nodded and plucked it from my fingers.
“I’ll see that they get it,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Harrumph,” he rumbled, then he did walk away, leaving me to return to where Parker and Aspen sat with quizzical looks on their faces as they watched me shamble back, shirt and suit coat open and flapping as I made my way back to them.
“Did you get their names?” Parker asked.
Groaning, I flopped back into my chair and fumbled with the buttons to try and make myself presentable again.
“Not a chance. A wall of muscle cut me off, but he took my card and said he’d give it to them,” I explained.
“Honey, are you thinking of getting them to model?” Aspen asked.
“You’re damned skippy.”
“Oh, my goddess, I cannot wait to sort through those images for social media,” Aspen said, fanning himself again. “Those two would steam the sheen off the pages.”
“Tell me about it,” I replied. “I just hope they call.”
“You and me both, honey, you and me both,” he replied. “You know I’ll be popping upstairs to check out that shoot live if you can make it happen.”
“If it happens, I’ll owe it all to you.”
“And don’t you forget it either, baby,” he replied. “I’ll be expecting front-row seats and opera glasses so I can keep a real close eye on things.”
“And I suppose you’ll want gourmet popcorn too and a pitcher of sangria waiting.”
“You know me too well, darling.”
Chuckling, I slouched in my seat, knowing I’d provide all of that and then some if the night led to a shoot with that pair strutting and preening around the loft in my gear.
And out of them, my traitorous brain supplied, ‘cause damn, just damn, their dances had left little to the imagination, even a vivid one like mine. As I settled in to enjoy the rest of Aspen’s birthday celebration, thoughts of them were always at the forefront of my mind, along with a running mantra.
Please call, please call, please, for the love of all things bright and glorious in this universe, please, please, please let the pair call me.