Dirty Shots (6 page)

Eric, still on his knees, reached out and slid an arm around her waist, his hand creeping up to cup one of her breasts. He nuzzled her neck. She twisted her head to kiss him and their lips met, the kiss long and sweet and intense, tongues exploring every inch of each other’s mouths. How strange that they’d shared their first kiss after they’d had sex.

Anya broke the kiss with a giggle. “My ankles, Eric. My legs are about to collapse.”

He grinned and retrieved the key, undoing the spreader bar. Together, they fell to the floor, curled up on the white paper of his photographic background. Eric held her against him, his arms around her waist, fitting her bottom against his softening cock, her back pressed to his chest.

He pressed his face against her hair. “You know, I feel bad.”

She twisted around in his arms to face him. “That isn’t exactly what I was hoping to hear, especially not after what we’ve just done.”

He smiled. “That wasn’t what I meant. It’s just that we’ve been through so much, been on such a journey together, but I barely know anything about you.”

“You know everything you need to know. You’ve seen me at my most vulnerable and my most empowered.”

“But that’s not the same as knowing about you. I don’t even know if you’re actually a student.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “I’m studying fine art.”

His heart lifted, and he gaped at her. “Fine art?”

She snuggled into his arms and lowered her head to feather kisses along his shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Rutherford. And I’ve known who you were since the moment I saw you. I’m a big fan and I’ve dreaming of fucking you for years.”

“And yet you kept me waiting?”

“I couldn’t let you think you had me at first sight.”

“Are you saying I did?”

“Of course. And now I have what I want, too.”

“And what’s that?”

“Why, you of course. I’ll do anything for you, and for your work. Anything at all.”

How far could he take this, he wondered? A photographer with the perfect model, a woman willing to push boundaries, to go to any extreme to please him. And he wanted to please her, to take her where she wanted to go, to give her pleasure and together create the ultimate portraits of sexual perfection.

How far ...?

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T
he next day, Anya stood outside Eric’s building
and schooled her face into that of the self-assured woman of the world she aspired to be. She reached out and pressed the button for his apartment.

His voice came through the speaker, dark and sexy. “Come on up.”

She loved that he’d not even asked who was at the door, knowing it would be her. Anya let herself think that meant there was no one else, but she had no idea if he was photographing any other women, never mind sleeping with them. He didn’t seem like the type of man to be dating several women at once, but really, what did she know? Perhaps his reluctance to have sex with her initially had nothing to do with his preference for keeping his professional and personal life separate, and everything to do with a girlfriend he had hidden away somewhere.

The door buzzed open, and she caught the elevator up to his apartment. When the doors slid open, he was already standing in the open doorway to his place, leaning in a relaxed stance against the frame, his arms folded, one foot hooked over the other ankle. The sight of him sent a jolt through her. Immediately, the image of him binding rope around her bare breasts filled her head.

Eric smiled, his eyes lighting as they settled on her. “Anya.” He straightened and stepped toward her and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. His five o’clock shadow grated as his lips met her skin, and the scent of him sent a thrill through her. “You look beautiful, as always.”

She brushed off the compliment, not knowing what to say without appearing to agree with him. Instead she said, “I’m looking forward to what you have planned for me this evening.”

His eyes twinkled. “You think I plan these things? And there was me thinking this was all spontaneous.”

“What? Ankle spreaders and handcuffs can spontaneously appear?”

He chuckled. “Okay, you may have a point.”

She swept into his apartment, pulling her coat from her shoulders. Whenever she was seeing Eric she always made an effort with her clothes. She didn’t want him to think of her as some penniless student.

She glanced around. The blackout blinds on the floor to ceiling windows had been pulled down, and the far corner of the apartment, where Eric had his studio set up, was brightly lit. On the other side of the lighting props, she spotted a box which she knew contained many of Eric’s toys for photographing her—ropes, handcuffs, gags, spreader bars—and she was sure some toys he’d not yet introduced her to. That was the exciting part.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he offered, following her into the apartment and closing the door behind them.

“Dry white wine, if you’ve got it.”

He headed toward the kitchen area, reaching onto a shelf to take down a couple of expensive looking wine glasses, and then opened a special chilled wine rack with a glass front and selected a bottle. “Sauvignon Blanc?”

She nodded and smiled. “Lovely.”

Anya wished she wasn’t so nervous. Before tonight, she’d known her place in Eric’s apartment, throwing herself into the role of his model so she didn’t have any time or space to doubt herself. Now, after Eric had stepped over that line between personal and professional, she sensed the relationship between them had changed. No longer could she cling to the cool and aloof persona she had tried to wear. Her heart longed to reach out to him, to allow him to see her for the person she really was. When she’d left his apartment the previous night, it was with soft kisses and promises to return the next day. Now she was here, she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be here as a date, or simply as his model again. The uncertainty made her anxious, and she hated feeling like she wasn’t in control.

Eric walked back over to her, a glass in each hand, and passed one to her. The cold of the wine had already chilled the glass, causing condensation to moisten the outside. She longed to touch him, or for him to touch her. There seemed to be a gulf between them that hadn’t existed last night, and she just wanted to place them back into that intimacy, that moment. Had something happened she wasn’t aware of?

“Eric,” she started. “About last night—”

He held up his free hand. “Oh no, there’s no need for you to say anything. I crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed, Anya. I’m sorry about that.”

She studied his face, her stomach dropping. “You are?”

“I mean, I’m not sorry about what happened. But I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

“Eric, you didn’t take advantage of me. I’m pretty sure I made what I wanted perfectly clear.”

“But you were tied up. You couldn’t move.”

“I know. That’s what made it all the more sexy.”

Something in his face darkened.

“What is it?” she asked.

He gave his head a slight shake. “When I was thinking about what happened, I started to worry that I had taken things too far, or that I misunderstood what you said to me. In the position you were in, you wouldn’t have been able to do anything to stop me.”

Her mouth fell open. “You worried that you’d ...” She couldn’t even bring herself to say the words. “Forced me?”

“No! Well, yes ...” He ran his hand through his dark hair. “Hell, I don’t know what I thought.”

“What about afterward, how you held me? Do you really think I would have stayed and let you hold me if that was true?”

His shoulders sagged. “You’re right, of course you are. I just ... I’ve lost track of time in the past, not known what I’ve been doing for hours at a time when I’m lost in my work.”

“Is that how you think of me still? As your work?”

“You are my project,” he said, his dark eyes meeting hers and focusing on her with a passion she almost found frightening. “You’re so much more as well, but you and this photography are the most important things in my life right now.”

Her heart contracted, her stomach flip-flopping. While part of her wanted to be at his very center, his focus purely on her, the other part of her was intimidated by his intensity. But then she’d known he was like this. Eric Rutherford, the photographic genius who would vanish from the world to work on something, only to emerge months later, exhausted and missing half his body weight. His bouts of depression were well documented in fine art magazines. Though he was reported to have fought and beaten the black dog with regular exercise and a strict healthy eating regime, in that moment she glimpsed the person he might have been in those darker days.

He must have caught the expression on her face. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his full mouth curving at one corner in a bashful smile. “I’m freaking you out. Please don’t freak out.”

The smile made him seem more like himself again. She took a big gulp of the wine—expensive and delicious—and felt herself relax. “I’m not freaking out. I promise.”

He took a drink of his own wine and placed the glass on a small side table. “Good. Then where shall we start?”

“Do you still want to photograph me?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want to be photographed?”

During her time with Eric, she’d never felt so sexy or in control of her own sexuality. It made her feel powerful, as if the whole world was focusing on her through the lens of Eric’s camera.

She nodded.

He took the wine glass from her hand and set it down beside his. “How do you feel about being penetrated, Anya?”

She suppressed a smile. “After last night, I’m surprised you need to ask that question.”

“It’s something that came to me while we were ... you know.”

“Having sex?” she offered, widening her eyes in mock innocence.

He grinned again, that boyish charm. “Yes, that.” He crossed the room to the leather box with the lid—the type someone might use to store work folders in—removed the lid, and delved inside. She watched with curiosity, her stomach tight in knots of trepidation. She trusted that he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want to do one hundred percent, but she still didn’t like the idea of having to tell Eric ‘no.’

He found what he was looking for and straightened. In his hand was a slim box in royal blue. The exterior held no clues as to what was contained inside. He flipped open the lid. She almost expected to see a designer watch, but instead a silver cylinder met her eyes, wider at one end and then tapering off, with a flat end on the thick part.

“Is that what I think it is?”

He studied her face, as if trying to gauge her reaction. “It’s a butt plug. Have you used one before?”

She stifled the giggle that tried to burst from her lips. She wanted him to think of her as experienced, but she couldn’t lie to him. “No, I haven’t. Will it hurt?”

He gave a shy grin which made her want to jump him. “I’ve never had one inserted, so I couldn’t say for sure. But they’re supposed to be for pleasure, not pain. If at any point you felt uncomfortable or you weren’t enjoying what we were doing, all you’d need to say is stop.”

“Aren’t we supposed to have some other kind of special word?”

“I’m not going to beat you, Anya.”

“I know. But what if I say ‘don’t stop’ and you mishear me?”

He laughed. “Very well. What would you like to use?”

She thought for a moment and then said, “How about elephant?”

“Elephant? Why elephant?”

She shrugged. “You’re not likely to get that mixed up with anything else.”

He seemed to be trying to suppress another smile. “Okay, elephant it is. I think if you yell that in the middle of everything, it’ll be enough to break the mood anyway.”

They grinned at each other, and Anya relaxed further. Perhaps it was the wine, but she suspected it was that they could still be at ease with each other. He still wanted to photograph her, and she still wanted him to. Yes, they’d had sex, but that didn’t mean their situation had changed.

Something occurred to her. “Um, Eric. The butt plug hasn’t been ... umm ... used before, has it?”

He frowned. “No, Anya. Of course not. Everything here is all for you. I went out and bought it specially. I would never use your props on another woman.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t admitted there might be other women, but at least she didn’t need to worry about whose skin the handcuffs had last been pressed against, or whose breasts the ropes had last bound.

“So when do you want to get started?”

“I’m ready now.” She picked her glass back up and gulped down the last of her wine, feeling the slight burn down the back of her throat, the flush of color the alcohol brought to her cheeks. The studio was set up much as it always had been, with the white paper rollers providing the background, and more white paper on the floor. Eric never needed to photograph her with any other kind of background. It was her body he was interested in, nothing else.

She’d worn a fitted black dress and a pair of heels. She was normally a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl, but she’d wanted to make an impression. Where the previous times she’d been to his apartment she’d felt like she was going to work—albeit wonderful work—this time she’d felt more like she was going on a date. Her clothes reflected that, and the fact he’d poured her a glass of wine. Even so, it was like no other date she’d ever been on.

Eric stood close behind her, the heat of his body filling the inches between them, his spicy aftershave in her nostrils. His hands reached up and swept her hair to one side to expose the zipper holding her dress together. He rested one hand on her shoulder, as if to keep her grounded. With the other he took hold of the zipper and slowly pulled it down. Her breath caught in anticipation, the comparative cool of the apartment kissing her skin. She wished he could have removed the dress to discover her without underwear, but her curves meant there was no way she’d go out in public without a bra.

He pushed the straps from her shoulders, allowing the dress to slide down the rest of her body and puddle around her feet. Anya stepped out from the circle, so she stood in just her heels, lacy black bra, and matching thong. Eric caught her hand and slowly turned her back around to face him. His dark eyes ran across her skin, drinking her in. She fought her natural instinct to cover herself, remembering who she was in Eric’s presence, how he’d given her the confidence to show off her body in a way she never had before. She’d always been so self-conscious, thought of herself as being too small, too curvy. It had taken all of her self-control to act the way she had in front of Eric in order to get the job as his model. She’d known who he was, known he’d need someone who was comfortable with her body. The way she’d acted that first day, just walking across his apartment and stripping off her clothes, had taken every ounce of courage. She always longed to be tall and slender, but Eric didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t seem to mind at all.