by Ann Grech
I scrambled out of bed and ran into my office, plucking my camera out of its bag and getting the flash umbrella too. After I’d set up the umbrella, I adjusted the settings for the lower light and the close-ups I’d be taking. I snapped a test shot and checked it on the screen, making a few more adjustments to the filters and the flash settings. I took another photo, and this one turned out exactly how I’d pictured it. Soft lighting, rumpled sheets, and a hard body. It left enough to the imagination that every dirty fantasy possible played out in your mind, yet it was intimate too. Those dirty fantasies could just as well include breakfast in bed and slow lovemaking. “Look at this.” I smiled, flipping over the camera to show Trent. He stared at it for a moment, his eyebrows jolting up in surprise before his gaze flicked back to mine.
“How did you make me look like that? I look… sexy.” He scrunched up his nose and looked adorably innocent. “Is that weird to say?”
“No.” I shook my head. “This is how I see you, Trent. You’re beautiful. And I don’t just mean what you look like. You know that, right?” I placed my hand on his chest, right above his heart, and said, “It’s this. Your heart loves harder than anyone I know. And you’re incredibly smart. You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for.” I grasped his hand and ran my fingertips over his palm. “These hands save lives, Trent. They help people. They heal them. This picture”—I lifted the camera and set it out of the way—“it’s just capturing what I see every day.”
“That’s not true,” he answered, and cleared his throat. “You love harder than anyone else.”
I smiled at him, feeling shy, and he smiled back. My heart flip-flopped in my chest, and I wanted to giggle. Instead, I snapped another round of photos of his face, the smile slowly slipping from it as he watched me. In that moment, it was as if I was looking into his soul. He was stripped bare, vulnerable and trusting.
I moved the camera to take more pictures of his body and directed his movements. “Stay partly covered up but show me a bit more leg.” He did, and I touched his hip. “Turn a little more onto your side and rest your head on your hand.” He moved, and I lined up the frame. “That’s perfect. Okay, now think about being in bed with a lover. Seduce them.”
He stared at me again, and the intensity took my breath away. I wished he would really look at me like that rather than it being an act. Having the focus of his attention squarely on me had my heart beating harder—a thud, thud, thud as it knocked around in my rib cage. My palms were sweaty, and I flushed with heat. My cock swelled. There was no hope hiding it. It would quickly be tenting my boxers if I didn’t get myself under control. But then Trent hooked his thumb under the waistline of his boxers and tugged them down an inch. I was a goner. His trimmed pubes were just visible, and I had the uncanny urge to lick his skin. To taste him. When he bit down on his lip, I depressed the shutter, taking a series of photos. “Arch your back a little,” I instructed, and he obeyed, pressing his head into the pillow and slipping his fingers up to the second knuckle into his boxer shorts. I bit back a moan and snapped more photographs.
He moved, kicking off the covers altogether and lifting his knee up. His arms, stretched up near his head, showed off the curve of his lat muscles, and he played with his bottom lip. My semi had become a full-blown erection. There was no way he’d miss it in my loose boxers.
I stood on the bed to get a better shot and hovered over him, clicking away. I wanted the opposite angle too, so I stepped up to his head and took the photo looking down his body. These ones didn’t have his face in them, but I wished I could get more close-ups. He moved naturally, shifting positions slightly to give me just the right view.
“Want me on my front?” he asked, his voice rough as he looked away from me. I palmed my dick and hissed softly from the pressure on it. It had been a while since I’d been like this. Wanting. Needy. But I was raring to go now.
“Yeah. Roll over.” I guided him, hoping he didn’t see me touch myself as he turned.
The view from the back was just as sexy. A dip in the muscle followed the length of his spine, disappearing under the waistline of his shorts. And damn those shorts. They hugged his ass like a second skin. They sat low on his hips and at the same time exposed just enough of his cheek to entice. His skin was a temptation, taunting me to do the unthinkable and lick along the crease between his quad and his ass. I wondered what the fine, dark hairs that dotted his legs would feel like against my tongue, and I squeezed the base of my dick to stop myself from blowing on the spot. It took every ounce of willpower I had to remain professional and photograph him.
The first shot wasn’t perfect, but I knew what would make it so. “Bring your arms up to your head.” He did, resting his head on his hands, and I clicked away, capturing his beauty with my camera. "Bend your knee for me?”
Trent moved his arms too, burying his face under his bicep and bringing his other arm down underneath him. I could imagine him cupping his package. Stroking. It was a ridiculous fantasy, one that was an impossibility, but imagining that he was turned on enough to be unable to resist touching himself was wildly erotic. Every dirty fantasy of mine sprang to life. Would he like his balls being played with in that position? His ass? Would his dick be bent down so I could lick the tip? I gritted my teeth and sucked in a breath, trying to control myself. But when he rocked his hips, his ass cheeks clenched, and the movement was one I could all too well imagine being on the receiving end of. I couldn’t help my soft moan. Trent stilled, then did it again, and I moved in close, capturing the heart shape his ass made as he tightened the muscles there. The rippling of his back and the curve of his spine as he rubbed himself on the sheets had me filling my camera’s memory card all too quickly.
“Shit,” I swore under my breath. Each time I tried to depress the shutter, an error message popped up in my viewfinder. My words were enough to break the spell Trent was under, and he looked up at me in a daze. “My memory card’s full. I, ah—”
“Oh, okay. Yeah. Cool,” he stuttered. “I’ll just, um.” He paused, then blurted out, “Are we finished?”
“We can be if you’ve had enough. I’ve got all the shots I need here.” I motioned to my camera and stepped away from the bed. I suddenly felt awkward, not really knowing what to do with myself. But I did know one thing. I had to get out of there. Mortification filled me. The boner I was sporting was all too obvious. I motioned out the door and added, “I’ll just go and, ah, give you some privacy.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Trent cleared his throat, and I realized I was still staring at his ass. Knocked out of my daze, I made the quick retreat into my office and busied myself with taking out the memory stick and putting away my camera. I downloaded the images to my computer, separating out the wedding I’d attended the day before from Trent’s photoshoot.
I didn’t hear him leave my room, but I did hear the shower in his start and stop a few minutes later. I took the chance and went into my bathroom to get ready for the day too, delaying the inevitable awkward exchange between us for a few more minutes.
It’d been six weeks since the session with Trent, and I’d finally managed to edit the images I’d taken of him. The author I’d done the job for had picked one of the first shots I’d taken, and it was currently being made into a cover. I was looking forward to seeing the finished product, but in the meantime, I wanted Trent to have the others. I wanted him to see what I saw: his beauty, both inside and out.
Awkwardness had pervaded our interactions since the photoshoot. That was on me. He was trying to get me to talk, to get me to go back to being the friend who’d always been and always would be there for him. Something had changed in our interactions since the session, though—me. I’d always sworn friendship would be enough, and it would be—it was—but getting the picture of him rolling his hips and rubbing himself against my bed out of my head was harder than I’d ever imagined. I’d loved him for so long that the sight of him letting go and being so sensual had flipped a switch in my head, and I
hadn’t yet found where the mute button was. The smell of him on my sheets had lingered for days afterward, and that had only served to make the highlights reel replay in my head even more. I’d relived those moments while imagining what I’d really wanted to do with him so many times that I couldn’t count. I’d jacked off every time too. I was liberated, free to explore my attraction to him, even if it was a freedom that only existed in my head. That freedom was terrifying too, and hopeless. I wanted him, but having him was impossible and going back to our pre-photoshoot selves was taking a bit of adjustment. I’d had a taste of an experience with him and now had to live with the knowledge that for him it was just a few photos. The attraction, the lust, it was all one-sided.
Seeing him every day, and especially when I was still floating around in a cloud of post-orgasmic bliss where I’d jacked off to mental images of him, brought me back to reality with a resounding thud. Guilt slammed into me, knowing that I’d been dreaming up all the ways I could love on my best friend without him even knowing I was lusting after him. I felt like I was betraying him. I second-guessed every interaction we’d had too, questioning whether they were for his benefit or mine. Had I tricked him into my bed that night? Would he feel used if he knew the part of me I’d kept on lockdown? Had I asked him to do the photoshoot so I could lewdly stare at him, instead of what I’d told myself—that I wanted him to see what I saw?
I knew he thought he’d done something wrong, but I was having trouble working through the quagmire of my thoughts. My libido wasn’t helping things either. Seeing him wake up each morning, sexy and tousled, and walk out of his bedroom wearing only oversized pajama pants that sat so low on his hips I could often see the top of his trimmed pubes, bed hair, and a few days’ growth had my cock straining. Every. Damn. Time. I was acting like a horny teenager, and the last thing I wanted was for him to call me out on sporting a boner for him. Calling someone gay was about the biggest insult he used. The thought of him being so disgusted in me that he’d direct those hate-filled words at me was a fear I couldn’t simply disregard anymore as being unreasonable. I wasn’t gay, but a response of, “No I’m not gay. I class myself as homoromantic demisexual. I’m only attracted to you, not other men,” wouldn’t exactly go down well with him.
I was going to show him the photos that morning though. I was going to put on my big boy pants and finally run him through what I’d been working on. He deserved to at least see the edited photos. But before I called him into my office, I needed a shower and some clothes. Sitting behind my desk in only my underwear wouldn’t make for a good impression if I was sporting wood.
With the towel still wrapped around my waist from my shower, I was in the kitchen when my stomach rumbled. I popped some bread in the toaster, then slathered it in butter when it was golden brown. Carrying a plate in one hand and my espresso in the other, I hummed a Maroon 5 tune and absently headed back to my room to get dressed. I wasn’t expecting Trent to be barreling toward me when I rounded the corner. Coming face-to-face with him after so many tense weeks, while I was dressed only in a towel loosely secured around my waist, had me gasping. “Oh, shit.”
“Whoa.” Trent skidded to a stop and held his hands up, pressing them against my chest as I tried to avoid crashing into him and spilling my scalding hot coffee on his bare skin. His eyes flicked to my toast as he smirked. “In a rush, are we?”
“Just finished something I’ve been working on. Give me a few minutes and come into my office so I can show you.” I sounded out of breath, but it was nerves more than anything else.
“Sure.” He nodded, and my eyes widened as the towel slipped half an inch. I froze like a deer in headlights. I knew what was going to happen, and worse, I knew I couldn’t stop it without dropping at least one thing that I was holding. Another slip and I reacted, but my movements were so slow I could have been swimming in treacle. I swallowed hard as the tucked in corner of the towel came entirely loose and fell, spiraling down my legs. I wasn’t embarrassed by my nakedness, but with the discomfort between us and my cock reacting every time I set eyes on the man standing only a few inches away from me, I knew flashing him my dick would only make things uber uncomfortable.
My toast shot off the plate, skidding across the floor and coming to a stop under the sofa as I lunged for the towel, trying at the same time to keep my espresso upright. I caught the other end of the terry cloth and held on to it for dear life, trying desperately to pull it up and around me singlehandedly. It didn’t work. Instead, all I’d managed was to spill my coffee, send my toast flying, nearly drop the plate, and bend over, completely naked, in front of the man I’d been avoiding for six weeks while trying to cover my junk. Mortification burned my cheeks scarlet, and I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole. Instead, Trent’s snort of laughter drew my attention.
“Dude, you couldn’t have screwed that up any more if you tried.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I muttered, handing him my cup and the empty plate so I could get the towel around me again. When I finally looked at Trent, my face still flaming, our eyes locked and the intensity stole my breath. He didn’t waver. He just stared me down. His breathing was heavy, nostrils flared as he sucked in breath after breath. Lust exploded through me. I couldn’t look away. He pinned me to the spot, with blown pupils in eyes so impossibly black that I could fall into them and never climb out. My mouth went dry and I swayed toward him, caught in his magnetism. His lips parted, and his tongue crept out to wet his bottom lip. There was no camera between us, no instructions from me to seduce someone with those bedroom eyes framed by perfect, long lashes. This was him and me. Sparks. Chemistry. Fire burning me up. I wanted to reach for him, to pull his hips to mine and see for myself whether he was as aroused as me with a simple look. But I didn’t. I dared not move in case I broke the spell.
My breaths were shallow. My heart thudded fast, the rhythm reverberating through my chest. Wanton need flared through me. Desperation. Desire. I’d loved him for so long. I’d do almost anything to pull him into my arms. To touch him. To hold him. To worship him. A strangled noise escaped from the back of my throat, and that was all it took. Trent jerked like I’d slapped him, turning his face away. I caught the flush that colored his skin as he spun on his heels and stalked back into his room, shutting the door with a resounding thump.
I stood there in the same spot for what could have been a minute or an eternity. Rejection sunk its bitter claws into me, and my shoulders fell. I closed my eyes, and shame washed over me. I was so affected by him that I couldn’t think straight anymore. I hadn’t seen heat in his eyes. I couldn’t have. Not that I’d even know what desire looked like. I was so pathetically naïve.
What was left of my coffee had turned cold in my hand, but the thought of eating anything soured my stomach. I collected my toast from under the sofa and dumped my breakfast in the trash before trudging back to my bedroom. I wanted to wallow. The idea of crawling back into bed and staying there for the rest of the day was tempting, but I had a meeting with a potential client in a few hours. The one disadvantage of being a wedding photographer was when my relationship—or lack thereof—sucked I couldn’t avoid seeing people with love heart eyes mooning over each other. I set my alarm, ditched the towel that was still securely tied around my waist, and crawled beneath the covers of my bed.
I closed my eyes, hoping that if I fell asleep quickly enough, I’d forget how humiliated I was. Better yet, I’d somehow transport myself back in time so that I was wearing a pair of sweats or dress pants with the suspenders I often wore for work. Anything else really, as long as it didn’t fall off me. I thumped the pillow and groaned. Damn it. Now how will I face him? I had another thing to apologize for.
I didn’t think I’d slept, but the warmth of my covers and the comfort of my bed must have lulled me under, because the next thing I knew my alarm was dragging me back to consciousness. Bleary-eyed, I stumbled over to my closet and searched for something suitable to wear for work. Dressing in light gr
ay slacks and a matching vest paired with a lavender shirt and dark mauve bow tie, I headed to the bathroom to tame my hair into some semblance of style. After twenty minutes, I had my messenger bag, keys, and wallet by the door, ready to go. Then I heard it.
A cry.
It wasn’t a sob. It sounded like pain. Trent. Blood turned to ice in my veins, but instinct kicked in and I ran for him. I had to help him, to fix whatever it was that was hurting him. What was it? What was wrong? I’d been asleep for hours. Anything could have happened in that time.
“Trent,” I called through the door, the panic in my voice making it waver. When there was no answer, I banged on it and said his name louder, this time not waiting for a response. I crashed through the door and looked for him in the modest space, ready to run to his aid.
But what I saw knocked me flat on my ass.
The two men fucking on Trent’s television barely registered, but the black dildo Trent was trying to impale himself on did. In the split second after I entered, I stared dumbfounded while my brain tried to register what my eyes were seeing. Trent naked, porn playing in the background. Not any porn, but gay porn. He was on his knees on the bed, his legs spread as he tried to sit on a dildo that would be too big even for a porn star. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Trent’s gaze shot to mine, and he reacted like he’d been electrocuted, scrambling off the mattress and pulling the covers up to cover himself. The dildo lay discarded in the middle of the bed, and I looked between it and him, trying to process everything.
