Chapter 51
SURPRISE SHOOT
Ivy
I’m pretty good at taking care of my guys too. One evening in early December, as Hayes is undressing me for Stefan, slowly, sensually taking off my white bra, kissing my shoulders as he goes, a delicious idea pops into my head.
The next morning, while Stefan makes double kale smoothies for the two of us in the kitchen and we talk about the day ahead, I tell him my idea.
Stefan grins wickedly. “You’re a mind reader. He told me the day we shopped for your vibrator that he wanted that.”
“That so?”
“Yes. You know him well.”
“And I know a photographer,” I say, smiling at him like that’s you, babe.
Stefan checks his watch, as if it contains a calendar. “He’s got dinner with his agent tomorrow night after the game, I think he said. Why don’t we surprise him when he comes home?”
My heart flutters. I love that Stefan not only showers me with affection, but he looks out for Hayes too. I melt a little more from that knowledge.
That feels a lot like family.
There’s that word again. It’s true—these men are starting to feel like family. Instead of elated, I’m suddenly terrified. Terrified of falling harder.
* * *
That next night at the arena, I zip up my fox costume and hit the ice for the first intermission.
“And now,” the announcer booms. “Your Golden State Fox, also known as…Foxy.”
I chuckle inside my costume—the mascot officially has a name. The fans voted for it. As Foxy, I race around the ice, heading straight for the T-shirt cannon. Then, I fire T-shirts into the crowd.
Dogs, planners, and operating a T-shirt cannon—some things just make you forget your fears and just feel happy.
* * *
Nighttime and lace are two of those things.
At Stefan’s home that night, as Roxy curls up on the fluffy red dog bed the guys got for her, I slip into a pink, demi-cup bra and matching bikini panties.
I roll a pair of stockings up my thighs, then slide into white heels with ribbon straps that Stefan ties at my ankles.
“Ready?” he asks as he runs his hands up my legs.
“So ready.” I stretch out on the big Alaskan king bed that we share most nights.
Stefan arranges me on the pillows and then adjusts the lights. He picks up his Nikon, and when Hayes arrives home from his dinner, calling out to us as he climbs the stairs, Stefan begins the shoot.
“In here,” I answer as the photographer snaps the first photo.
Hayes turns the corner, enters the bedroom, then unleashes a rumble that makes my skin sizzle. “Wow.”
I give him a pout, my lips red and glossy, my eyes full of desire. “You wanted a boudoir shoot of me. Come watch,” I say, inviting him into this gift.
Stefan carelessly gestures to a chair we set up in the bedroom with us. “Take a seat.”
“Hell, yes.” Hayes tugs on his tie and sinks down, staring as Stefan takes pictures of me in all sorts of lingerie and lace, satin and silk, undressing me layer by layer throughout the shoot. Sometimes I look at the camera. Sometimes at the spectator. Sometimes at neither.
Soon, I’m down to only my panties and heels. Then, I shimmy off the panties too, and turn to my side, the angles and the lights keeping the pictures on the artistic side of nude.
Stefan comes around the bed, getting close, snapping a few more shots of me that don’t show too much but enough to make my man very satisfied.
He sets the camera on the nightstand and turns to his friend in the chair. Hayes looks like a lion who’s been watching its prey, waiting to make its move.
“Did you save room for dessert?” Stefan asks.
“I fucking did,” Hayes rumbles.
“I’ll take two,” I say.
“Then spread those thighs,” Stefan orders.
I comply, but he tugs me down the bed, then widens my legs. He undoes the ribbons on my ankles and ties them to the bedposts.
I’m at their mercy, my legs in a V. Like that, I welcome Stefan between my thighs.
He groans savagely as his mouth comes down on me, then he laps me up noisily, curling his arms around my ass, yanking me impossibly closer to his sinful mouth.
He kisses my pussy with a filthy sort of reverence.
I claw at the sheets, writhing against the restraints on my ankles as Hayes joins us on the bed.
With hungry lips, he sucks and bites my nipples as he plays with my tits.
I gasp and groan, arching my hips, begging for more.
I can’t move my legs, but I take everything they give me with their mouths and hands and boundless appetites.
I cry out in bliss as Stefan sends me over the edge, but they don’t give me a chance to come down from that first high before Hayes prowls between my thighs, rubbing his beard against my flesh, nipping at my skin, and then flicking his tongue against my pussy.
I’m overstimulated, but that seems to be my life these days.
And maybe, just maybe, it will become my life for longer.
* * *
In the morning, while they’re gone at the gym, I return from walking the dog and find an email icon blinking for my attention. It’s a ticket to the Secondhand Fashion Show in Los Angeles next weekend.
Well, it’s three tickets and a night at a luxury hotel.
And I know. It’s time to break out my planner.