Starlight (Peaches Monroe) (Volume 2) Paperback – September 2, 2013 (2 page)

BOOK: Starlight (Peaches Monroe) (Volume 2) Paperback – September 2, 2013
4.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

*There was one time I’d gotten into self-tanning products, but the change had been too transfixing. I was working in a clothing store at the time, and the manager pulled me aside to have an intervention about the amount of time I was spending admiring myself in the shop’s many mirrors. I was so humiliated, I never self-tanned again.

Because my skin looked so radiant once more, I thought to myself,
Hey, maybe this underwear photo shoot with flirty Keith Raven won’t be so bad.

Never before has someone tempted fate so flagrantly.

My round bits got shoveled/nestled into a sky-blue bra and panties set, and I was under the hot lights on set once again. I think I know why movie stars are called stars. The constant bright lights are so intense, the rays burrow their way into your skin and make you glow in the dark.

Mitchell put on the music, which wasn’t so much music as it was a curious soundscape, from wind chimes to people whispering, plus what sounded like hair being cut—that
shirr-shirr
sound. The sounds rolled up into my brain and set off little starbursts of pleasure, making me feel calm and relaxed for the shots.

The photographer, a scrawny, bearded fellow who had a weird name I can neither pronounce nor spell, said, “Like this, yes. Just like this. Yes. Gaze down. Gently up. Softness. Softness. Gaze up. Softness. Stargaze. Like this, yes.”

It had taken me all morning to figure out when he said “Like this” he didn’t mean for me to stop and stare dumbly at him for an example of what to do. What he meant was “Like that,” and someone needed to correct his grammar, but he was the professional and I was the amateur, so I didn’t say shit. Being in LA had shushed me, in a way.

Keith walked onto the set wearing nothing but a shiny pair of sky-blue pocket briefs, slung extremely low—so low I could see curly-yet-trimmed pubes popping out.

He gave me a toss of his hair as greeting and said, “Hey Peaches, how do you like these apples?” He twirled around to reveal round, tanned butt cleavage. Then he made his butt cleavage dance with a series of muscle pulses.

Mitchell leaped into action, jumping between us with a towel held up to cover the dancing butt cleavage.

“Too late,” I said, giggling. “That image will never scrub out of my brain.”

The photographer smiled for the first time that day, and the half-dozen other people on the set also perked up. Keith brought an earthy, feel-good energy with him. Even the air had a zing to it, like a summer night right before lightning strikes.

Keith adjusted the only things he could, his black-rimmed accountant glasses and his underwear, pulling them up to the nearly-decent level, and we got started.

“Just relax,” he murmured to me as he moved in closer.

“I’m totally relaxed.”

He looked down, his gaze licking all over my bare skin like a giant tongue. “Then why are your knuckles white?”

I unclenched my hands and shook them out. “Just practicing my grip for when I grab onto you. You did invite me to grab onto whatever I like, right?”

He raised his dark eyebrows high over the plastic-framed glasses that made him look nerdy-cute. “Be my guest.”

I reached up. I was going to
pretend
to tweak his nipple between my bent fingers, but he leaned in at the last second, and I grabbed the pink button of flesh.

He closed his eyes and grinned.

As the flash bulbs pulsed with bursts of light, I stood there with his nipple pinched between my fingers.

“Yes,” the photographer said. “Just like this. Sensual. Demure. So cheeky.”

Keith leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Chin up. Keep going. Now wrap your right arm around my back. No, not the left, the right. The left one blocks our bodies to the camera. Now look up at me like you want to kiss me.”

At regular volume, I said, “I’m not an actress.”

“All beautiful women are actresses,” he said smoothly. “And there are few as beautiful as you.”

I released the nipple, draped my right arm around his hot, nearly-naked body, and gazed up at him. He’d tricked me with flattery, because now I
did
actually want to kiss him for being so sweet.

The photographer called for some adjustments to the lighting, but instructed us to keep going, so we did.

I gazed up longingly at Keith, drinking in his beautiful face. Mitchell swooped in and took the nerdy glasses off Keith’s nose, and suddenly he looked so dangerous. I trembled. Just one knee. Just one tremble. But Keith noticed.

He knelt down and swept his fingertips behind my knee. I lifted my leg reflexively, and Keith placed the sole of my foot on top of his thigh. I gulped, the sound of my hard swallow audible over the sibilant soundscape. He brushed his lips across the tip of my knee, and he gazed at Miss Kitty like he was heading there next, diving in lips first.

“Eep!” I exclaimed, which made me feel ever-so professional.

There were people all around us, and cameras, and still he was devouring me with his eyes.

He gazed up through dark eyelashes while the corners of his mouth twitched up in a wicked grin. I remembered what Mitchell had said about flirting with Keith to make sure we got great photos. Dimly, I was aware of photos being taken. I needed to play along, so I lifted one hand up to the corner of my mouth and pretended to nibble my finger.

The soundscape playing over the speakers whispered like wind in willow trees, like secrets being told. Inspired, I moved my finger to the center of my lips, making a shushing gesture.

Keith gazed up with an innocent expression. At the photographer’s suggestion, he stood again. He surprised me by grabbing me roughly by both shoulders.

Naturally, I slapped him across the face.

CHAPTER 2

I'd just slapped the dangerously-cute model after he grabbed my shoulders.

“Sorry,” he stammered, stepping back and looking confused.

Mitchell called out, “Water! Water now!”

I flinched, feeling ashamed of my overreaction and expecting to be hosed down for my bad behavior, but then the hot lights turned off and one of the junior assistants hustled up with a bottle of water.

Keith took the bottle in his hand, hunching over and leaning on Mitchell. With a wince, he cracked the seal to remove the cap. He tipped up the bottle and guzzled a third of the water, then scowled at the bottle as he put the cap back on.

Mitchell asked if he needed a chair or a break, but Keith said he’d be fine in a minute.

“You let yourself get dehydrated,” I said, partly admonishing him and partly soothing him.

Mitchell snapped his fingers and instructed one of the girls to bring a chair.

Keith’s eyebrows knitted together, and he sat down in a folding chair being quickly set up behind him.

“Is this normal?” I asked Mitchell.

Mitchell nodded, then signaled that he had to do something, but would be back in a few minutes.

Keith looked up at me from where he sat recovering in the chair. “I scared you.”

“Pfft. I don’t scare that easy. Sorry I slapped you.”

“I took the usual diuretics, but last night’s party put me over. I had one beer, and it tasted like another. You know how that is.”

A tiny female assistant whispered something in his ear.

“No, thank you. I don’t take drugs,” he said.

She ran off, red-cheeked and looking scolded.

He gazed up at me, his helplessness doing a number on my emotions. “But I wouldn’t mind a square of chocolate. Is there a vending machine nearby?”

I started walking toward the dressing room. “Yes, there is a candy supply nearby, and it’s called My Purse.”

A moment later, we’d both enjoyed a few squares of dark chocolate heaven, he’d sipped more water (but not so much that he’d lose the definition lines on his abdominal muscles), and we got back to shooting.

“Would you feel more comfortable with your glasses?” I asked.

“They’re just props. I have perfect eyesight.”

“Aren’t you Mr. Perfect.”

“I bet you say that to all the guys.”

“Just the ones I model underwear with.”

“I feel special. Did you ever tell me what your plans are for tonight?”

Mitchell interrupted us with a subtle cough, then said, “Feel free to talk through the shoot, but without moving your mouths.”

“Don’t get me in trouble,” I whispered, trying not to move my mouth.

“My middle name is Trouble.”

I held my finger to his lips and warned him with a flash of my eyes. I didn’t want to get fired on my first day as a model, not even for a boy as cute as him.

I turned my back to him and gave him a coy over-the-shoulder look. The photographer approved of this, and we kept going.

Keith’s sexy stare and his touch still made me nervous, but his mini dehydration crisis had made him more life-size to me. Plus, like the beginning of so many great relationships, we’d bonded over some high-quality chocolate.

By the close of the session, we were both dressed in the most outrageous of the outfits yet, and the poses were getting equally creative. I wore stretchy, black booty shorts that were stitched to mimic leather shorts, plus a red patent-leather bustier. On my skin, everything felt about as sexy as those plastic zip-up bags duvet sets come in, but I knew I
looked
hot. My peaches had never looked fresher.

I stood on set waiting for Dalton—whoops! I meant Keith. Not Dalton. Nope, Dalton was barely even on my mind, except for a brief thought once every hour or so, tinged with guilt and sadness, plus a bit of rage.

I pushed away those thoughts like a bad dream.

Keith Raven, sexy and mildly-dehydrated underwear model with a bad reputation, walked onto the set in a pair of red pouch briefs. The most notable thing about the briefs was that they were not… shall we say… opaque.

I could see right through the taut fabric. Peen and peen’s best friends, the round lads. Stick and berries.

As discreetly as is possible for a big-mouthed, free-spirited gal such as myself, I surreptitiously alerted Keith to his nudity.

“Dude, I can see your mancandy.”

“Really?”

“That banana hammock does not conceal your banana.”

He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “That’s why I’m getting paid triple my rate.”

He’d whispered to me plenty during the shoot, mostly posing instructions, but this time, his lips touched my ear. His whisper spiraled into my ear like a swirling whistle, and set off fireworks in my brain. Before he pulled his face away, he let out one hot exhalation across my ear. My woowoo did a happy dance.

Mitchell clapped his hands, breaking the spell.

“One last shot, everyone,” Mitchell announced. “It’s going great, people, so let’s jump up and knock this last one out of the ballpark. Let’s knock the old pigskin. Wait, is that a football?”

The photographer scowled at Mitchell. “I’ve asked you not to mangle sports metaphors.”

Mitchell shook his fists in a pretend cheer. “Rah, rah, go Tigers! Spank the competition!”

Everyone giggled, and the photographer called for a wooden chair to be brought in to the otherwise-plain set. He called Mitchell to him, then Mitchell ran to the quiet lady who was there on behalf of the underwear line, then she came up to me and pulled me aside.

She said, “We’d like to take a few shots of you pretending to get spanked, but only if you feel comfortable with that.”

“I should call my dad,” I said. “He’s sort of my manager. Wait, that might be an awkward conversation. ‘Hey, Dad, do you mind if a sexy male model in see-through underpants pretends to spank me? It’s just pretend spanking, not real spanking. Oh, it’s for the photo session, not recreation. Hello? Dad?’”

She looked pointedly at the big clock on the wall.

Part of me knew I ought to say no. Time pressure is a classic manipulation technique, and I knew that.

“You don’t need to call him,” she said. “We probably won’t even use the shots, but they’d be good to have.”

I’d barely slept the night before, and it had been such a long day, but the photographer seemed more excited than ever. He and Keith were talking over the shot, and they both looked so stoked.

“What the hell,” I said with a shrug as I walked back to the camera. “Let’s do this. Spank me, baby. I’ve been a bad girl.”

“I like this side of you,” Keith said, giving me an admiring look.

With my hand on my hip, I said, “You like all the sides of me, especially the front side.”

“I don’t know. Your front side’s got some serious competition from your back side.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Everyone else returned to their positions for some lighting discussion, leaving us to talk in semi-private.

“You’re a big flirt,” I said. “Is that why they hired you?”

“Nah. I’m just lucky I look enough like your boyfriend, Dalton Deangelo. I’m the cheap knock-off version of him, but I don’t mind. My contract just expired for another line, and I worried I wasn’t going to get picked up. Then I’d be back to doing headless shots for smaller lines, and that’s no fun.”

“Wait, you got picked for this because you look like Dalton?”

“Peaches, I’m good, but I’m not that good. Of course it’s because I look like him.” He tilted his head to the side and gave me a dramatic look. “See it now?”

Other books

My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk
The Homesman by Glendon Swarthout
Rush of Darkness by Rhyannon Byrd
Fool Me Once by Lee, Sandra
Rafferty's Wife by Kay Hooper
Translucent by Dan Rix