Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
VIVIAN
I’ve done these shoots before. Years ago, I shot a calendar featuring firefighters in their underwear, all to donate proceeds to a no-kill animal shelter.
But their boxers weren’t wet.
And my hands weren’t shaking.
And I wasn’t in love with them.
That was professional, and this is so personal, it has a pulse between my thighs.
I should’ve known when I told Jace about my turn-ons that he’d parlay them into a pussy-wetting, heart-stopping romantic gesture for our first kiss.
Oh my god, I can’t believe we’re doing this.
I don’t know if I can do this.
But I want to.
In a matter of hours, I don’t recognize my life, and good riddance. It was horrible. The promise of one photo, one kiss, one night with Jace will wash the pain away.
I’m almost hyperaroused anticipating the sight of him. His touch. His kiss. I could feel anxious and afraid if I didn’t feel so safe and seduced by every moment I’ve shared with Jace.
Standing in my studio, I hear the bathroom shower down the hall cut off. Watch my trembling hands deftly load a roll of black-and-white film into my camera. Feel my heart hammering, my mind dizzy and drowning in lust.
I scan the studio one last time. Simple white sheets on the bed beckon. A single directional sidelight glows. It bathes the bed in a soft, intimate light that’ll highlight the contours of Jace’s body.
Jace’s body.
I’m not prepared; bring it on.
I check my body in the mirror propped against the wall. I’m still in my taupe sleeveless sweater dress. Swiping away my raccoon eyes, I secure my ponytail.
This is work, Viv; no, it’s not.
Yeah, well, act like it because I have no idea how to behave as Jace appears in the doorway of my studio.
Breathe. White towel hanging from his plunging Adonis belt.
Breathe. Six feet, six inches of chiseled, flexing muscles.
Breathe. Dramatic black ink over taut, tan skin.
Breathe. A threatening bulge under his towel.
Oh my god, breathe. An amber bottle of massage oil in his hand.
Sweet Jesus, breathe. A water mister for plants in his other hand.
Holy fuck, breathe. And hungry blue eyes raking over me as I drink him in.
“Where do you want me?” He grins.
In between my legs and taking me to Pound Town every hour.
“On the bed.”
Close enough.
A waft of amber steams off his bare skin, still drying from his shower. His huge feet pad barefoot over the white sheepskin rug. His sexy smirk looks pleased as he strolls past me, clocking my sex flush.
He plops down on the edge of the bed. “How do you do this with clients?”
Jace, a client?
Tell that to my purring cunt, poised to pounce on him.
“I, uh… I usually tell them to begin with a lying pose so they can start to relax. And as they get more comfortable, we explore different poses, and—”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiles, eagerly crawling backward on the bed, even with his hands full. Reaching, he sets the oil and water on the nightstand before turning back to face me.
Looking down, I adjust my camera settings, willing myself not to freak the fuck out.
But when I glance back up, nope, freaking out is well underway.
Jace has flung his towel over the side of the bed. He’s wearing white Calvin Klein boxer briefs, and he’s…
Huge and…
Getting harder.
God help me, don’t let gravity work. A wave of desire threatens to knock me over.
He lifts his head, grinning at my tongue practically hanging out of my mouth. “Get over here, Smokeshow, and take the shot.”
Take him? Or the shot?
Are you fucking kidding me? Him! My pussy stomps her foot. But my heart insists, The shot. Take the shot.
Approaching the edge of the bed, I lift my shaking camera, hiding my heated face behind the viewfinder as I frame the image. Letting his beauty lead me. Letting the light work its magic. Letting shadows curve and carve over his sculpted muscles.
This is art.
Jace is art.
“If it feels natural,” I coach, “let your arm rest above your head and relax your legs. Try to open. Breathe and do what feels beautiful for you.”
I’m mesmerized watching his threatening body submit to me. His biceps pop when he lifts his arm. His hulking thighs relax, falling open.
But his erection firms. It’s pressed down his thigh. He’s not hiding his desire for me. He’s letting me control it. Capture it.
But I put my focus on his handsome face, on his stunning eyes; they almost do me in. They’re staring back at me, reaching through my lens and into my soul.
Jace is equally focused on me, equally working his magic. He’s capturing my heart with his hungry stare, all while the music lulls about belonging.
I could toss my camera aside and take him now, but I follow the rules. The rule of thirds, framing the exquisite length of him without noticing his savage length.
It’s swelling harder beneath his underwear. It’s arching so thick and raw and ready against his thigh.
I swallow. My hands shaking. My fingertip pressing the shutter. A cacophony of clicks fills the room along with Kravitz crooning from a speaker.
“This’ll be our song, Vivian.” His husky voice emanates, making me jump.
Reaching, he grabs the amber bottle from the nightstand.
Pumping oil into his palm, he looks deep into my camera, into me, as he starts caressing his pecs slowly.
He does the same down his abs while I wait for the shot, wait for my breath.
Good luck. It’s lost to this seductive visual: watching Jace oil his manly torso until my pussy is as slick as his skin.
“Is this good?” He knows the sight of him is my fantasy fulfilled. “Viv?” He jolts me out of my haze.
“Yes,” I mewl.
He tugs at his thick waistband. “Then stand over me, Smokeshow, and let me give you more.”
More?
I know what he’s doing. He’s putting himself in my former position, vulnerable and exposed on the other side of the lens. But he’s reminding me how intimate and erotic it can be when there’s trust.
Love.
And lust.
With my camera on a strap around my neck, I kick off my sandals and grab one of the gold posters of the bed, hoisting myself up.
With each minute Jace poses for me, I get bolder for him.
Stepping wide and straddling his calves, I focus my lens but don’t say a word. I can’t. I can’t speak until I watch him turn again and grab the water mister.
I have to know. “Did you plan this, big guy?”
He smirks, misting his boxer briefs while gazing up at me. “Plan to seduce you? Fuck yes, Vivian. Every day, I’ll wear white Calvins for you. Plan to do it tonight? No. But as you said, if I’m going to die in a hail of Bratva bullets, at least give me something I want. Like this…”
I gasp as he reaches under the white band of his boxers. Lifting his erect length, he makes it arc at an obscene angle toward his hip.
He’s wet the thin cotton so much that it’s see-through. The dark, fleshy, pulsing pink of his swollen penis strains against the sheer fabric barely containing his turgid shaft and swollen crown.
I sway. I swell. I sense my taut nipples aching under my dress.
“Take the shot, Viv.” His voice gets as heavy for me as his erection. “Because God knows, I am.” He starts stroking his hypnotic dick, gazing up at me. “Please, baby,” he mutters, “do this with me, Viv. Do this for us. Take the shot.”
For us?
I’ll do anything.
Using my camera, I get lost in him again. Watching and waiting for each hooded blink of his lustful eyes, each twist of desire across his handsome face, each time his lips part in a groan while he kneads his hard cock for me, I take the shot.
“Fuck, Viv, are you wet for me?” he rasps.
“Yes. Very wet.” I’m running out of film, out of patience, out of breath.
God, I want him.
“Take it off,” he demands. “Hand me the camera and take off your dress.”
Obeying, I hand him my camera, watching him set it beside him as I tug my hem up. Lifting my dress until he sees my simple, white cotton bikini panties.
“Fuucckk, Smokeshow.” His breath sounds labored. “Fuck, I can see the creamy spot on your panties. I can see how wet your pussy is for me.”
I feel it, and keep going, lifting my dress until I toss it onto the floor over his discarded towel.
“Holy fuck,” he murmurs, gazing up at me. “Holy fuck, Vivian. Your body. Your curves. Those little tits. Goddamn, woman. You’re the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
He’s fisting his cock while I stand, straddling him. “These?” Plucking at my tingling nipples, I get bolder, wetter for him. “Are these the hard little nipples you want to suck, Jace?”
“Fuck, yes. Goddamn, Vivian, I want you this much.”
He tugs his briefs down, exposing his swollen crown with drops of precum leaking from his engorged tip.
I suck in a breath, insisting, “Take my picture.”
“What?” He swallows. “Your picture? Viv, you sure? I mean, with the video already, and—”
“I trust you, Jace.” This feeling overwhelms me. This need to love photography again. This desire to do this with him. This right I have to expect a man not to hurt me, because Jace never would. “I want this with you, please.”
Lifting my camera from the bed, he turns the lens on me. Through his eyes, I feel beautiful. Empowered. Burning to do this with him.
“Tell me how to pose for you.”
“Fuck, Vivian. Goddamn.” He pauses, licking his lips before suggesting, “Pull your little wet cotton panties aside, baby, and show me that pretty, pink pussy.”
Oh my god, yes. His mouth is as dirty as his heart is pure.
Hooking my fingers under the slick cotton, I tug them aside, throbbing at my exposure, at his heavy breath, at the clicking camera shutter capturing the lust seeping from my sex.
“Fuck, that’s it. Good girl. Now show me that pretty, hard clit,” he coaxes, making me moan, barely parting my lips for him.
“You like this?” he asks, adjusting his focus. “You like being a good girl for me, Vivian, and showing me your pretty, wet pussy?”
“Yes.” My thighs tremble.