Chapter 16
brIELLE
My latest video for After Hours sits on the screen in front of me. I should have published it an hour ago, yet here it is, haunting my draft folder.
Recording it last week was . . . not planned.
After getting home from Summit Field, I was so wound up that I reached for my bucket of toys the moment I stepped into my bedroom.
It felt like a missed opportunity not to record what I knew was going to be an explosive orgasm, so I did what I always do.
I set up my tripod and recorded every single touch and cry as I brought myself to climax three consecutive times.
By the time I was too tired to continue, I finally felt like myself again.
Gone were the thoughts of climbing Roman like a tree and riding him on that plush office chair of his until his thoughts were too full of me to even contemplate denying our connection again.
Instantly, my head was in control rather than the greedy organ between my legs.
Editing it only turned me on again, so I abandoned it for two days and put my focus into other things instead.
My latest design is hanging on the mannequin in the corner of my bedroom, crafted with the softest fabric I could find at my favourite shop, yet it’s still not perfect.
I want something more flowy and with a bit of extra stretch around the bust and backside.
For now, it’s enough to know where to go next.
My apartment, however, is a complete disaster in the aftermath of my success. Bits of fabric have somehow flown from my sewing table all through my living room and into the kitchen. I even found my peach-shaped pincushion on the bathroom counter, which I definitely don’t remember putting there.
I should have cleaned everything up already. Instead, I’m staring at a still image of my bare tits mid-swing as I shove a hot pink dildo between my spread legs. The darkening effect I applied to the video does absolutely nothing to distract me from the truth of what I was doing.
Or why.
Bringing my finger across the track pad, I release a frustrated growl.
Instead of posting it like I know I should, I return it to my drafts folder for the thousandth time and open my messages instead.
The immediate lack of Quiethours’ username frustrates me enough that I slam my laptop closed and toss it to the end of the bed.
Is the reason this stranger got rid of his account the same one Roman keeps turning me down? Am I just . . . not what either of them is looking for?
“Fuck off, Brielle,” I curse myself, immediately shaking my head.
I’m not going there. Not after everything I’ve done to gain the confidence I have in myself.
It took years of nurturing the small seeds of it that I’d lost amongst the self-hatred I lived with in my teen years before I could get here.
My flowers are blooming too brightly to let a man pluck their petals.
My phone vibrates with a text, and I snag it eagerly. Hoping for a distraction, I’m instantly disappointed when I read the message.
Evie
Your photos are ready!!!!! Wanna pick them up or have me drop them off? I’ve got time tonight.
No offense to her, but all this does is draw me right back into my conundrum. Evie’s just as much my friend as she is Roman’s niece. It’s impossible to think about her without him.
Here I go again.
My fingers fly across the screen while I slide off the bed and start for the door. The firm kick in my chest doesn’t go unnoticed.
I’ll come to you. Does now work?
Evie
YEP!
Another message comes through with an address, and yeah, I stare at it for a beat longer than I should. Goosebumps break out over my arms as excitement barges through the walls I’ve tried to shove all thoughts of Roman behind.
Pausing, I look at the curvy mannequin wearing the lavender romper. My smile is wide as I reach for the fabric and carefully take it off before rushing out of my room.
I was hoping to find a model who would do the piece justice, and while going to Roman’s house isn’t exactly the smartest move, given my inner turmoil, this might just make the potential rejection sting a bit less.
I park on the curved driveway and snag my purse from the passenger seat. The bungalow doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as I expected it to from the address and luxurious neighbourhood.
There are more trees in front of the house than there are windows looking out at them.
Besides a small rose bush in the centre of the recently mowed green yard, there’s not much to look at.
The front door is the same red as the brick exterior and the cherry-stained fence wrapping around the back of the house.
My car is the only one on the driveway, but with the four-door garage, it’s too soon to know if he’s home. Evie is, after all.
Stepping out, I hike my purse up my shoulder and take a look behind me just in case his car is pulling in behind me. It’s not. I’m alone out here.
I pick up my pace. My pink wedges clip the pavement as I round my car and stare at the rose bush again. The closer I get, the more vibrant the red petals become. The stems get thicker, their thorns sharper.
Before I can reach the door, it’s opening. Evie hops out and waves when she spots me, her smile warm.
“Hey! Did you find the house okay?” she asks once I reach her.
“Easily enough. It’s a nice neighbourhood.”
I pull her in for a hug. It’s clear she doesn’t expect it when her arms go slack at her sides for a moment before she brings them around me, squeezing tight.
“It’s nice enough.” She’s frowning when we break apart. The lack of her smile is jarring. “Come in. I can’t wait for you to see how amazing the photos are. Not to toot my own horn or anything.”
“Blare that shit, Evie. I don’t mind.”
She laughs, her smile returning, even if it’s not quite as big. I follow her into the house and close the door behind us.
There’s no immediate, overwhelming scent that I notice off the bat. It’s not until I take a deeper inhale that I pick up notes of Roman’s cologne. Still, it’s more of a tease than anything that was done on purpose. I doubt that man has ever owned a candle or a wall plug-in.
Evie waits until I’ve slipped my wedges off before leading us past the living room and down a wide hallway. One fleeting glance into the space is only enough for me to make out a black leather couch and a massive TV hung on the wall across from it.
The blandness when it comes to the off-white walls and light wood floors doesn’t change the entire way through the house.
I look at every single door on the off chance that one’s been left open for my perusing pleasure, but turn up empty every time.
Only once we reach the end of the hall do I find my luck turning around.
Regardless of it being Evie’s room, I still take the opportunity to look around.
It’s by far the brightest room in the house, at least that I’ve seen.
With soft yellow walls, a white, painted speckled rug at the end of the large bed, and plenty of photos spread across the available surfaces, it looks like someone actually lives here, as opposed to the rest of the place.
And it’s just as messy as my apartment.
I run my hand over the top of a gleaming white dresser, examining the items she’s got jammed into the glass jar atop it.
There’s not much besides a handful of makeup brushes, a generic lip balm, and a fabric key chain with her name embroidered across it.
Not much of that gives away any bits of her personality.
It’s the hefty array of camera gear beside the jar that does that.
“Here. Obviously, you can choose a different album for the photos to be in, but I figured you’d want both digitals and physicals,” she says, drawing my attention.
Dropping my hand, I stare her way. There’s not only a thick black photo album in her hand, but a thin silver laptop under her arm. I take a wide step forward to take the album.
“You didn’t need to print them at all. Thank you,” I murmur, feeling the weight of it in my hands.
She sits on the edge of her bed and settles her laptop onto her thighs, getting everything set up. “Honestly, I wanted to impress you. Our shoot is the first one I’ve ever done where it wasn’t just for fun. I was hoping you could help me choose which photos you think I should use for my portfolio.”
“Really? I’d be honoured.”
I lower myself to the bed beside her and stare at the photos of myself that pop up on the laptop. The first one yanks a startled breath from my lungs. She immediately clicks on it, making it full screen.
“What do you think?” she asks, her voice a bit shaky.
“I think I look incredible.”
That’s an understatement.
I’m used to taking intimate photos of myself, but never like this.
The way Evie’s managed to make something so lustful and sexy look like the classiest artwork is incredible.
While I may be on my hands and knees, the pose makes me look more like a queen than a submissive.
Like I could stare up at a dozen men and have each one dropping to the floor to worship me without needing to speak a single word.
The black lingerie wrapped around my skin looks like ink against my pale skin.
My hair stands out in the same way, but for the first time in a long time, I miss the blonde.
Not because I don’t think the red looks good on me, but because the blonde is authentically me, and staring at myself in this photo, it feels wrong not to be stripped bare of the fake colour the same way I have my clothes.
My breasts hang in the sheer fabric, my nipples hidden only with an expert camera angle.
I stare at the excess skin on my lower stomach that I’m used to hiding beneath high-waisted panties as it overhangs the low waistband of the ones I wore that day and feel a burst of pride deep in my chest. There’s so much of me that’s bare in this photo, yet the last thing I feel when I look at myself is exposed.
Emotion balls in my throat as I blink back sudden tears.
“You really like them?” Evie asks softly.
My voice is choked. “I way more than like them. You have a real talent for this.”
“Well, I have so many more to show you. I’m seriously in awe of them, Elle.
I can already see one of them hanging in my studio.
” She clicks away from that photo to another.
“The lighting in this one is good, but I don’t think it’s my favourite out of the bunch.
This one, though—this is gorgeous. Look at the way the shadow from the window passes through your hair.
It almost looks more black than red. Oh!
And this photo is another that I spent hours editing.
Not that you needed the editing, but I could see the dust particles around your head with the spotlight dimmed, and I swear by the time I got them all, I was seeing things that weren’t there. ”
Her excited rambling dries my tears. I snort a laugh and scoot further onto the bed while she points to the deep arch I’m making on the floor in the next photo. It’s easy to feel confident when you see yourself through the lens of an expertly wielded camera.
And that’s exactly what Evie’s gifted me with these photos.