Dirty Shots (22 page)

She heard the man tut and huff a sigh of annoyance. “You know, this really won’t do, Miss ...”

“Anya,” she said.

“Anya. Can I come up and wait for him?”

She chewed her lower lip. “Umm, well, I don’t know how long he’ll be. I think he has his cell on him. Could you try calling him direct?”

“I don’t have his cell number.”

“Hang on. I’ll try for you.”

Quickly, she ran to where she’d left her purse on the counter and found her phone. She dialed Eric’s number, hoping she wasn’t interrupting some opinion altering conversation with her father. But the cell simply rang until the voicemail picked it up.

“Hi, you’ve reached Eric Rutherford, leave me a message.”

“Hi, Eric. It’s me. You had an appointment with a guy from the New York Journal. Can you call me back and let me know what you want me to do with him? Hope everything is going well. I miss you.”

She hung up and went back to the door. “I’m sorry, but he’s not answering.”

“He might be on his way back then.” His tone grew hard. “I really don’t appreciate a wasted journey, Anya.”

Shit.
She didn’t want the guy to write bad things in his newspaper just because she had handled things badly. She imagined Eric arriving home at any minute, staring at her in confusion, asking why the hell she’d sent the reporter away.

“Okay,” she relented. “I’ll buzz you up.”

She felt awkward, wearing only Eric’s t-shirt and a pair of his Jockey shorts. She’d have liked to have been more presentable, but she wasn’t showing any unnecessary flesh. She peered out of the spy hole, waiting for the elevator doors to open. As soon as they did, she opened the front door.

Jonathan Turner was in his early forties, with glasses and receding, graying hair. His suit appeared too big for him, hanging off his narrow shoulders. Anya wondered if he’d lost a lot of weight recently and hadn’t bothered to replace his clothes. She juggled her cell in her hand, praying Eric would call, and fixed a smile on her face.

“Mr. Turner. So sorry to keep you waiting. I’m sure Mr. Rutherford won’t be long.” He swept past her into the apartment and dumped his bag on the coffee table. “Can I make you some coffee?” she offered.

“Yes, please. Black, one sugar.”

She nodded and headed to the kitchen area, filling the coffee machine with fresh water and switching it on.

“So are you his P.A. or something?” Turner asked.

“Umm, no. Not quite.” She was surprised he’d think such a thing considering her outfit.

“But you work for him?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

He shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

Her cheeks heated. “I do some modeling work for Eric.”

“Oh, I see.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence while the coffee finished brewing, and then she got back to her feet and brought his cup over and placed it on the table in front of him. Anxiously, she glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall.

“What time did you say your appointment was?”

“Oh ...” She caught his eyes flicking to the clock as well. “About two-thirty.”

Wouldn’t he know an exact time?

“So what kind of modeling do you do for him, exactly?”

She frowned. “That depends on what Eric’s working on.”

“I hear he’s been working on a new line of photographs, heading in a new, riskier direction.”

Something turned uneasily inside her stomach. “I think I’ll just try Eric’s cell again.”

She got up and turned away. As she dialed his number again, she caught sight of the reporter lifting his own phone, and a flash went off.

Her heart lurched. “What are you doing?”

Eric’s voice came through the phone. “Anya?” Her focus moved back to Eric. “Oh, Eric, thank God. You had an appointment with a reporter today. You must have forgotten about it.”

He hesitated. “Umm, no, I didn’t. I don’t have any appointments.”

She glanced over at the man sipping coffee. “Well, there’s a man here waiting for you.”

“What? Waiting where? Not in the apartment?”

She lowered her voice. “Yeah, I let him in. Was that wrong?”

“Just hang tight, Anya. I’m almost with you.”

She turned back to find the reporter getting to his feet. She frowned, her body tensing.

“I should really get going,” he said.

“That was Mr. Rutherford. He’s almost here. Don’t you want to keep your appointment?” Her tone was ice cold.

“I’ve wasted enough time already. I can’t afford any more.”

He started to head toward the door, but she slipped in front of him, blocking the way. “Seriously, Mr. Turner. He said he was right outside. Why else were you waiting for him unless you wanted to keep your appointment?”

“Please, young lady. I’m asking you nicely to move out of my way.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “You sure you don’t want to take any more photographs while I’m standing here?”

He spluttered. “Photographs? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Show me your phone, then. I saw you take my picture.”

“I did not!”

The door burst open behind her and Eric flew into the room, his face flushed, breathing hard. He didn’t even acknowledge Anya, but instead focused on the other man in the apartment. “Jonny Turner! What the hell do you think you’re doing in my home?”

“I want to talk to the lovely Anya. I hear she’s the model for this new collection you’re exhibiting.”

“That’s none of your concern. Now get the hell out of my place.”

The reporter lifted his hands in surrender. “Willingly. I was just leaving anyway.”

“He took my photo,” Anya said.

Eric’s eyes blazed. “Is that true?”

He shrugged. “So what if it is?”

Eric held out a hand. “Give me your cell.”

He scoffed. “No chance.”

Eric stepped forward, his shoulders squared. “Give me the phone or I will take it from you.”

“Are you threatening me? Because I’m going to have a far more interesting story to write if you threaten me and perhaps destroy some of my personal property.”

Anya put a hand on Eric’s arm. “Leave it, Eric. My photographs are going to be everywhere in a few days anyway. We have more important things to worry about than this scumbag.”

He glanced at her and then back at the reporter. “I’m letting you go because of
her
, not you. If you come anywhere near either us again ...” He left the threat open-ended.

Eric opened the door and Jonny Turner skulked out. He gave Anya a snide grin before the elevator doors shut him from view.

Anya shivered. “That guy gave me the creeps.”

Eric rounded on her. “Never let anyone else into the apartment, no matter what they say to you. Understand?”

He voice was hard and she wilted under his stern stare. “Sorry, Eric.”

“I mean it, Anya. Those sons of bitches have no souls. That guy ripped me to pieces when I was having a tough time. He printed every bad moment I had, spoke to everyone I knew, and made it his business to make my dark times everyone else’s business. They will stop at nothing to get a story, and if they can embellish it with some good old fashioned dirt, even better.”

“Sorry, Eric,” she said again.

His expression softened, and he stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. He kissed the top of her head. “No, I’m sorry. There was no way for you to know. I should have warned you that this kind of thing happens.”

“Well, he’s gone now, and I know for the future.”

He kissed her and she let her mind be absorbed by the taste of his mouth and the feel of his skin against hers. She wanted to lose herself in him, but a question nagged at her mind.

She broke the kiss. “How did it go with my father?”

He gave his head a slight shake. “Sorry, Anya. It wasn’t much better. He’s still not happy about the exhibition.” He paused and then said, “Worse than not happy.”

She gave a shrug, though her heart sank to the pit of her stomach. “It’s okay. I knew that would be the case. I just keep letting myself hope, you know?”

He kissed her again. “Maybe I shouldn’t have given you that hope?”

“No, I appreciate that you tried. It means the world that you’re willing to put yourself out like that for me.”

He hesitated and then said, “So, you still want to do the exhibition, despite your father?”

It occurred to her that Eric had another reason to make her father change his mind that wasn’t just about her feelings.

“I meant what I said, Eric. I want to have a future in this business. I want to be an artist—I always have—I’ve just never known what kind. Now I feel like I’ve found my passion, and I don’t want to let that go. Nothing else will live up to it. Even if my father disowns me, which I think he’s already done, I won’t live my life on his terms. Nothing will be the same. Everything else has just faded into gray. I want this more than anything.”

He smiled and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her hard and tight against the front of his body. She felt his reaction to her proximity and ground against him.

“Even more than me?” he growled.

She stood on tiptoes and smiled against his mouth. “I don’t want anything more than I want you.”

“That’s good to know,” he said, before he used his teeth to lightly tug at her lower lip.

She moaned and wrapped her hands around his neck, lacing her fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. The light bite turned into a kiss, and Eric’s hands cupped her buttocks and lifted her up so her thighs wrapped around his waist. The position opened her pussy to press against the length of his erection. She knew she was soaking the inside of the Jockey shorts she wore. The pressure sent a surge of desire pulsing through her and she kissed him harder, hungry for his mouth, for all of him. She suddenly hated the items of clothing separating their bodies. She wanted him inside her, their skin melding at every point, joining them like one person.

Eric carried her over to the couch and carefully, as if she were a delicate silk dress, laid her out on the cushions. He stared down at her, his eyes dark and hooded with lust, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breath.

Perhaps she was wrong to want Eric as much as she did, but she didn’t care about anything else. She felt she could handle whatever the universe threw at her as long as Eric loved her. This wasn’t just a physical thing. He understood her, he inspired her. And he was fucking amazing in bed.

She wanted to give something back to him.

He slowly undressed her, pulling off the t-shirt she wore and throwing it to the floor. Then he pulled off her shorts, leaving her naked. He moved to climb between her thighs, but she stopped him by placing her hand on his well-muscled bicep.

“No, I want you naked, too.”

Eric grinned at her and straightened to pull off his own clothes.

He bent back down to feather kisses across her stomach, but she wanted to get his attention. “I want to try something.”

He lifted his face to her. “Oh, yes? That sounds interesting.”

She quelled her nerves, remembering how open-minded Eric was. “How do you feel about being penetrated?”

His eyebrows shot up his forehead. “By another man?”

“No, by me.” 

He moved up her body, his mouth beside her ear, his hot breath against her skin. He grazed her earlobe with his teeth. “Keep talking.”

His erection pressed hard against her stomach, and taking his words as encouragement, she reached between them and wrapped her fingers around his silken hard length and squeezed. Eric groaned in response.

“Well,” she said, keeping her voice low and seductive, her other hand stroking down the smooth, taut muscles of his back, lower and lower, to the dip at the bottom of his spine and then over the firm curve of his buttocks. “I’d like to put my finger in your ass first, see how that feels. And then maybe we could progress to more. Try the plug on you, perhaps, or even something bigger.”

His cock jerked in her hand and his hips thrust forward. “Fuck, Anya. You’re turning me on so badly. I don’t know if I’ll last long enough to do all of that.”

She removed her hand from his ass, and locked her eyes on his as she parted her lips and placed her middle finger and forefinger into her mouth. Creating as much saliva as she could manage, she coated her digits, and then reached back down. “Why don’t we find out?” She found the crease between his cheeks and she ran her finger down between them, separating them, until her fingertips reached the tight star of his anus. Before penetrating him, she let go of his cock with her other hand, spread her thighs and pushed his erection down between them. She lifted her hips and accepted his cock into her pussy, letting out a long moan as he slowly pushed inside her waiting heat. All the talk had made her wet.

They held still together, allowing Anya to take her time. She applied pressure to his asshole, rubbing her saliva in, trying to loosen him up. The idea that he might be an anal virgin thrilled her and, though she’d been trying to keep still, she couldn’t stop her pussy muscles from clamping around his cock, her hips from pushing up toward his.

He buried his face in her neck. “Oh, fuck, Anya.”

Her finger slipped inside his ass, the soft, tight pillows of his back passage instantly clamping around her digit. Her saliva allowed for a little lubrication, but she would have liked more. If she was going to add another finger to really get him going, they would need a good application of lube first.

Gently, she pushed her finger back and forth, loosening him up, making sure he was relaxed. His hips moved with her, and she tried to concentrate on what she was doing, and not lose herself in the sensation of cock sliding slowly and sensually in and out of her. Then she cocked her finger in a come-hither manner and reached the soft mound of his male G-spot. The moment she made contact, Eric’s cock jerked inside her, his back arching, his hips bucking.

“Ah, fuck,” he gasped.

“Shh, relax. Let me massage you there. It’ll be good, I promise.”

She could feel him holding back. He probably wanted to fuck her hard and fast now, and would come within seconds, but she wanted him to hold off. This would be so much better for him if he waited, and all she wanted to do was give him pleasure.