50
THEA
I’ve hardly been at the house since Saturday. The Halos and Horns event ran much longer than expected, then clean up took an hour easily. I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow. I was back in the studio on Sunday for client sessions and editing all day.
I’m back at it again today. Thankfully, I don’t have any shoots booked—I’m dead set on finishing up mine and Cassie’s edits so we can submit the images to our photo book vendor.
My stomach growls. Fuck. I forgot to bring lunch with me.
Walking out to the waiting area, I raid the mini fridge behind reception. An apple. I groan at the near emptiness, but grab it anyway. Just as I’m standing up, mid-bite, I see the studio door swing open. Damian walks in.
I look at him, puzzled. “Is everything okay?” Something’s happened—that’s the first thing that comes to mind.
“No. You didn’t take a lunch. If you’re going to be working here all day, you need to eat.” He’s carrying a brown bag that looks far too heavy for one meal.
I’m still confused. “How did you know I didn’t take a lunch? I didn’t see you before I left.” Damian glances up to where I know he installed the camera, and my face falls flat. “Really? Spying on me?”
He shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal and heads back to my photo area, setting the bag down at my work desk. Damian pulls out the food.
“Where’s Cassie?” He asks, pausing.
Shit. “Uhh, she went home a little while ago.”
Damian tilts his head in warning. “I can check the cameras, Thea.”
I huff. “Fine. She popped in earlier, but it’s just been me for a few hours.” There’s a tick in his jaw. “Sorry, I know. I’m not used to needing a babysitter all the time.”
“Don’t let it happen again,” he orders before handing me a container. I pull off the plastic lid and see a bed of seasoned rice, grilled chicken with some kind of yellow sauce on top, and a lime.
Damian eats lunch with me. We’re mostly silent, although as soon as I’m full and content, I bring up him spying on me. “Do you watch me every time I’m here?”
“Of course I do, princess. With everything going on lately, there’s no way I wouldn’t watch over you.” He sets his empty container down and sprawls out on the velvet couch.
I scowl at him. “That’s an invasion of privacy.” His face remains blank, as if that isn’t a factor to him. “Well, I’ll avoid the waiting area, if that’s the case.” I challenge him and I know it might be a dangerous thing to do, yet I can’t help it.
A smile tugs at his mouth, making me frown.
He sits up, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. “What makes you think those are the only cameras here?” What the fuck?
“Damian, you’d better be joking. That’s not funny.” He holds my gaze and I realize he isn’t teasing me. He’s completely serious. “You-you can’t do that! I have clients half naked in here. What about their privacy? Are you saying you are sitting at your computer and watching me photograph naked women?” I’m practically shouting now.
My outburst pulls a rare laugh from him and it’s so fucking sexy, but I’m too angry to appreciate it.
“Are you worried about me looking at other women?” He tilts his head, scrutinizing every emotion that crosses my face. “Because I can assure you I have no interest in anyone else. None could come close to comparing.” Damian’s eyes travel down my body slowly and then back up.
I roll my eyes at him. “That’s not what I’m worried about, Damian. I’m worried about the privacy of my clients.” I stare at him, unflinching, although I know that there’s a hint of insecurity somewhere on my face. It’s all Gavin’s fault—I was rarely insecure before him.
Damian isn’t like him. However, that flaw’s rooted deep inside of me and I’ve yet to fully extract it.
He scoots closer on the couch so that our legs are touching. “Princess, I have your full schedule. I know exactly when you’re seeing clients and I turn off the cameras in here during your sessions. I would never violate their privacy.” The words flood me with relief, but I’m still feeling feisty.
“You’ll just violate mine,” I say bitterly.
Damian lets out a sigh, running his hand over the scruff on his jaw. “Thea, you’re the only one I care about enough to protect like this. If that means breaching your trust to keep you safe, I will. Whether or not you like it. And if you hate me for this, so be it, as long as I can ensure that you’re breathing another day.” His hand comes up to my cheek, brushing over it gently.
The words strike me unexpectedly. This should be a red flag. I shouldn’t want to be spied on even if it was in the name of protection. So why do his intentions make my heart swell a little. I break his gaze, not wanting to continue this argument.
“Show me around. I’ve never really asked you about your work.”
I start at the couch we’re sitting on, explaining that I’ll pose my clients on it, which pulls an unexpected blush from him and he stands as if that’s somehow improper. Considering he just watched Wes and I fuck the other day, it makes me giggle.
“Over here, I’ll have them pose in front of the mirror. I’m able to get both the front and back angle in one shot. It’s one of my favorite props to use. I keep all of my fabrics here.” I run my hand over the cubbies of various textures and colors. “I’ll have them hold it in front of them if they are self-conscious about a certain area of their body. It makes them feel sexy, but also comfortable. That’s kind of the goal with every session—to find the comfort level of my client and figure out how to make them still feel desirable.”
Damian takes in my words and gives me a small smile. “I didn’t realize you did all of that. I guess…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I thought it was just taking photos and editing.”
“Yeah, I think that’s what most people assume, but there’s so much more. Aside from the craft and skill itself, there’s a lot that goes into it. Anyone can learn to play with shadows and light, to work a camera, or edit. I think it takes a special type of person to make someone feel beautiful when they are at their most vulnerable. Almost no one gets in front of a camera, practically nude, and feels at ease. My job is just as much camera work as it is…therapy.” I’ve never thought of it in that way until the words leave my mouth, although I guess it’s true.
“Most of the women coming in here have flaws they pick apart daily. They know they want to do this shoot for their confidence or for their husband. Yet when it comes down to it, I see the shift from smiling and easygoing to timid and unsure of themselves. I help them through it. I tell them they’re gorgeous and everything they focus on disliking is truly what makes them special. Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit, but I’d like to think I’ve helped at least a couple of women gain a new level of confidence after a session.”
“That’s a beautiful way of looking at the work you do. I wish I felt that way.” Damian almost never talks about his job. It’s my chance to ask.
“I know you work in tech, but doing what?” I study his face. He doesn’t give me much to work with.
“Nothing exciting, just programming and developing software. Freelance work mostly for companies who have…specific needs.”
He’s playing coy. Damian doesn’t strike me as the type to do something mundane. His job may not bring him the same joy and fulfillment that mine does. Although whatever it is, it isn’t boring. “What kinds of needs?” I prod.
A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Interested in computers suddenly, princess?”
I don’t answer, knowing that he’s trying to push the conversation elsewhere.
“My clients have different needs. Most have me sign NDAs. So sadly, I can’t discuss the details.” Damian puts his hands up as if he’s not in control.
I’m chewing the corner of my mouth when another thought pops up. I remember Sutton telling me he sold his first program and made tons of money from it. “What was the program you sold that got you to where you are today?”
“Is this a Dateline interview?” He asks, laughing to himself. I’m quiet, waiting for his answer. “Thea, it’s nothing important, but if you really want to know, I’ll tell you.” I think he expects me to back down. I’m nosy and his elusive behavior is piquing my interest. “Fine. First, you have to promise me that what I tell you won’t change your opinion of me.”
My eyes narrow. “Damian, there’s not much that you can do at this point that would make that happen.” I allude to the thing neither of us will say—the whereabouts of Rob and Matt.
“The first program I developed started out as a personal vendetta of sorts. I never meant for it to become anything else.” Whatever he’s about to tell me feels forbidden and goosebumps spread over my skin. “I had this professor in college who was an absolute dick. Purposely targeted me, made my time in his class hell, and even reported me to the dean for things I didn’t do. I don’t know if I rubbed him the wrong way or what, but he had it out for me. By the time the third quarter rolled around, I had it with him. I needed to put this guy in his place.”
I see something flash across his face, maybe regret like he may have taken his revenge too far. Then it’s gone.
“I’d been working on a program in my free time, one that could exploit a website’s weak security measures to extract user data. It was a fun little passion project to challenge myself.” He shrugs as he says it, like that’s a completely normal pastime. “When I got back from winter break, the first assignment I turned in came back with a failing grade. After class, I stayed behind to talk to my professor, but he blew me off, too preoccupied with his phone. That’s when I saw a sugar daddy dating site notification pop up and got my idea for revenge. See, this professor was married. He was cheating on his wife. That night, I went back to my dorm and got to work. It took some time to work out the kinks, no pun intended, but I finally got the program working. I wasn’t sure if the dating site would have any vulnerabilities. Still, it was worth a try. I put the program to the test. It worked. I couldn’t believe it. Soon, I had the names and logins for thousands of users on this dating site, including my professor’s. Eventually, someone in tech caught wind of the program and purchased it. They’re probably making millions a day off of it.”
My jaw’s slack and I can’t believe what Damian’s confessed. “I-um…I don’t know what to say.”
“You said your opinion wouldn’t change.” He looks at me, waiting to see if I’m completely horrified by him.
“What happened to your professor? What did you do with the information?”
He smiles. “Well, I had two options. I could take the printouts of the conversations I found to blackmail him into giving me a good grade. Or I could mail them to his wife.” I’m waiting for his answer anxiously. “I mailed them. I figured she deserved to know who she was married to. It ended up distracting him for the rest of the year. He couldn’t care less about me after that.”
Something about him giving the professor’s wife justice redeemed any negativity I might have felt about his need for revenge. “And now? Are you still creating programs like that, ones that steal from websites?”
Damian doesn’t answer right away. That tells me all I need to know. “I do, but everything I do is for a purpose. A greater good. I’m not stealing from everyday innocent people. The work I do…” He looks away and I wonder if he’s deciding whether he can trust me with this information. “My clients are interested in righting wrongs. They want to go after companies who destroy the environment, exploit children for labor, harm animals…that kind of thing. We’re trying to make the world a better place.”
It’s not at all what I was expecting. Credit card hacking or identity theft comes to mind when picturing what a hacker does. That’s what he is, Damian’s a hacker. Although he’s like the Robinhood of hackers, stealing from the rich to give to the poor. It’s commendable, despite being illegal.
“How can you not look at the work you do as beautiful?”
Damian shakes his head. “For a long time, I guess I did. But years of seeing the evil in this world has burned me out. I just don’t have the drive for it much anymore.”
I walk over to him, my eyes searching his—the vulnerability isn’t what I expected from him. My gaze drops to his lips. I’m desperate to kiss him again and I wonder if he’ll let me or if he’ll get upset. I never know with him.
Biting my bottom lip, I think about how his mouth felt on mine in the limo. I’m staring too long, I realize. My eyes flick back up to his, the heat in them matches my own.
A wave of his dark auburn hair falls over his face. I instinctively brush it back into place.
Damian grabs my wrist. Shit, he’s mad. I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me. Instead, he brings my wrist to his lips. He trails his mouth over my palm to my forefinger, where he lays a kiss.
It sends a rush of heat between my legs. He breaks our gaze and glances around the room at the large blown up canvases hanging on the walls, women posing in various seductive ways.
“Interesting shots,” he comments. “Do you have to pose your clients?”
The transition back to work talk frustrates me. Damian’s always pulling away just when I think we’re making progress. How do I get past this wall with him? What does he need from me?
Taking a deep breathe, I answer reluctantly. “I usually have to pose them. Sometimes they will come in with specific poses in mind. I’ll adjust their position based on lighting and their body type to get the best picture. For the more difficult poses, I’ll demonstrate for them to make it easier.”
Damian’s brow raises. “A demonstration, huh?”
I point to my outfit. “Trust me, it’s not sexy at all in baggy shirts and yoga pants.” His eyes travel over my body.
“Show me.”
“This is stupid,” I argue while kneeling on the bed. Damian leans against the bathtub opposite me.
“I won’t repeat myself, princess.” His eyes harden as he waits for me to show him. “I want to see your favorite pose.”
My cheeks heat. I shouldn’t care that I’m on display because he’s seen all of me. But that doesn’t stop the nervousness from knotting my stomach. I preach to my clients all the time that this is a safe space and there’s no judgment here. So why can’t I take that same advice?
I want to get this over with, so I get into position. My legs are tucked beneath me, spread open. I keep eye contact with Damian. I won’t be the only one feeling uncomfortable during this little exercise. All he gives me is a flat expression.
Arching my back and pushing my tits out, I place one hand on the bed behind me while the other runs through my hair, gripping a fistful. I hold the pose for a few seconds before bringing myself back to my kneeling position with my legs closed.
“That’s it. It looks much better in lingerie, obviously.” Damian smirks at my comment and I roll my eyes.
“Obviously,” he agrees. “What’s in the trunk?”
I lean forward. He’s looking at the black trunk at the base of the bed and I groan internally. I wish I could say it’s empty. It most certainly isn’t. “Props.” I hope he’ll drop it.
Damian walks over and squats down to inspect it. His fingers lift the silver latch and he opens the lid. I dive forward, throwing myself over the edge of the bed with my hands landing on the top of it, slamming the lid back down. He laughs.
“Oh, now I really want to know what’s inside.” Despite half my weight holding the top down, he easily lifts it with both hands. I’m forced to wriggle back onto the bed and let it happen.
I hear him shuffling through the contents. His head pops up and looks at me. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, princess. These are the kinds of props I prefer.”
My cheeks heat instantly.
He pulls out a cherry red rope, still bundled and brand new. I bought everything in the trunk when the studio first opened, wanting to cater to both the lighter and darker sides of boudoir, although I haven’t had a client request to use any of it.
Damian then pulls out a black paddle with heart cut outs. I groan and cover my eyes. “These all have tags or stickers on them. Have you not used them yet?”
“No,” I answer a little too quickly.
“Do you want to?” I peek through my fingers and find Damian now standing, unraveling the red rope. My clit throbs at the thought of him tying me up. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little curious when I first bought it all.
“I-I’m not sure. I’ve never tried anything like that.” I hate that I’m uncertain about this. My body is reacting to the sight of him holding these things. I’m clearly interested, but my mind is hesitating.
I rode Wesley with Damian watching. I’ve fucked Wes in a limo with all of their hands on me. I’ve been bitten, spanked, and I’ve gone down on Sutton while he talked to a customer. Why does a little rope play with Damian intimidate me?
“Do you trust me?” His voice breaks through my thoughts. I stare at him, mulling over the question. Maybe that’s my hesitation. I’d be giving him complete control over me, putting all of my trust in him. If I told him to stop, he wouldn’t have to if he didn’t want to. I’d be bound, forced to take whatever he gives me. Although he wouldn’t do that.
Damian might come off too controlling and devious even, but he’s already shown more restraint than any other man would’ve. He also asks for my consent. Not always in the gentlest of ways, yet if I say no, I trust he’ll back off.
It’s me, it’s my own hangups about losing my independence. I’ve built my whole life on it. With everything spinning out of control lately, I’m feeling the need to grasp at any shred I have left.
But what if I let go and give in, just for a little while? Would it be so bad to submit to his will and trust that he would make this feel good?
“I trust you, Damian,” I finally admit.
He smiles and releases a breath that eases his tense shoulders. “Good girl. Now, go slip into something more appropriate.”