by R. K. Lilley
The photos were for a sexy Guess Jeans campaign, and they dressed us in matching distressed jeans. My sweater just happened to be missing its midriff, and Tommy wasn’t wearing a shirt. It was a studio shoot so it was warm enough, which was good, because they also kept us both barefoot. My makeup was heavy on the eye glam, with a thick and precise cat eye, and bare on the rest, with natural skin and lips. They teased my hair up high then pulled it back into a chignon. Pin-up meets vintage high fashion was kind of their thing, and it suited me well. This job was going bring my career to the next level. I knew it the moment I saw how they styled me. This was the look that would cement my recognizability.
We were directed to embrace and gaze soulfully at each other. Tommy was a goofball so it was hard to stay serious, but the photographer liked a variety of expressions too so we went with it.
“Your manager lady looks like she wants to charge in and pepper spray me every time I get too close,” remarked Tommy.
He was referring to Asha, of course. And she did. “Ignore her,” I said. “She’s harmless. She just has a powerful resting bitch face.”
Asha was getting easier to ignore by the day. It was glorious.
On a break I fished my phone out. “Want to take a selfie?” I asked Tommy. It was the perfect moment. Asha had left the room to take a phone call.
He grinned. “Of course.” I wasn’t surprised by his enthusiasm. All models loved selfies. He moved in behind me, peeking his head around my shoulder while I held the phone. We took a few smiling, a few with silly faces.
I glanced sideways at his very close face. “Do you mind doing one where you kiss my cheek? I think it’d be cute.”
He didn’t hesitate to accommodate me. I made a kissy face at the camera while he laid pecks on my cheek.
“Will you send those to me?” he asked me when we pulled away. “I want to post, too.”
The photographer was calling us back into position, but I told him that I would as soon as I could.
I studied the images critically on our next break. The funny thing about Tommy being the model they hired was that at first glance, he resembled my husband. He was olive-skinned, with black hair, broad shoulders, and a stubbled jaw. I didn’t think that was a coincidence. The client clearly wanted to cash in on my headline-grabbing marriage.
But in the selfies, there was no way to mistake that he was very much not Calder.
I found the best shot for my purposes and toyed with the lighting. Perfect. He was hugging me from behind while he nuzzled into me, and I blew a kiss to the camera. I’d angled the camera high so you could see his naked shoulders, and it looked like his hand was spread over my bare tummy.
I posted it. On its own the picture could have easily been seen as innocent. Just a snapshot of some very chummy co-workers. It needed the right caption.
Spent the day with an old friend of mine. #reunitedanditfeelssogood #imissedhim #ilovemyjob
I put my phone away and went back to work with an added lightness to my step. For some reason, the very idea that something I did might rile my husband put me in a downright chipper mood.
We were getting close to finishing up. The photographer just wanted a few more varying oddball shots, and we’d been working so long that we were all getting a bit silly.
“We should kiss just to see if her head will actually explode,” Tommy joked. He was referring to Asha the Dour, of course.
I felt my nose wrinkle up. I studied his smiling face, skeptical.
“Not a real kiss, just a little almost lip on lip contact. More about to kiss than actual kissing, ya know? Gerard would be thrilled,” he said, referring to our long-suffering photographer who’d been through several levels of hell dealing with Asha throughout the shoot. “Let’s throw him a bone.”
“He has earned it, poor guy.” Even as we spoke, Asha was laying into him, telling him that he’d had more than enough time to get the shot.
“C’mon,” Tommy cajoled. “Let’s see how almost kissing close we can get before she hits me over the head with something.”
I laughed and made as though to kiss him. Our lips were a breath away. He dipped me a little and my head fell back. He laid one on me. It was a cursory thing. Our lips barely even made contact before we pulled away, still laughing.
I lightly slapped his shoulder. “That was a dirty trick,” I muttered.
He grinned, shrugging. “I misjudged the distance, sorry.” He was clearly, unabashedly lying and it made me laugh. I knew it was all harmless and fun.
And of course that’s the first thing Calder saw when he walked in the door. Me in another man’s arms, enjoying myself.
I glanced up, saw him, and froze. He’d come. It had actually worked. One post and he hadn’t just called. He’d shown up. And I knew with one look that I might have bitten off more than I could chew.
Shit. Had he seen Tommy’s prank of a kiss?
Calder was frozen too. And as I watched, rage lit his eyes, traveling through his face like fire down a detonation cord.
I straightened, glancing at Tommy. He’d noticed my husband’s entrance, as well.
“Uh oh,” he said simply.
Yeah. Uh oh. My eyes swung to Asha. Her arms were folded across her chest, a smug expression painted on her face. It was the happiest I’d ever seen her. Figured.
Gerard cleared his throat. “We’re good here, guys.
“Should I stay or run?” Tommy asked me gamely. “Which would piss him off less?”
“Run,” I said quietly and succinctly.
Tommy didn’t hesitate. “Always a pleasure. Catch you at the next show.” He hugged me briefly, kissed the top of my head, and took off.
I watched Calder watch him leave. His nostrils flared like a dog’s catching a strange scent.
He was clearly struggling not to either A. Confront the other man. Or B. Outright attack him. It looked like it was a close thing. I was very relieved when it became apparent that he was going to restrain himself from doing either.
I approached him with no small amount of trepidation. I stopped about three tense feet away.
He watched me with cold eyes, not making a move to close the gap between us.
“Calder! What a pleasant surprise!” I said with a big, bright, fake smile. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”
His eyes ran up and down me with a strange combination of hostility, detachment, and pure sex. “Can’t you guess?” he drawled.
I blinked. Well, that was direct. “Excuse me for a minute,” I told him in lieu of an answer. I indicated my outfit. “I need to change. These aren’t my clothes.” I went to change in the dressing room that Asha had insisted upon.
Calder didn’t excuse me. Instead he followed me. It was a very small space. He moved into a corner and folded his arms over his chest, dominating it.
“You enjoy wrapping everyone around your finger, don’t you?” he asked as I was pulling a shirt on.
I studied him. He had that certain look about him, like he wanted to fuck me and strangle me all at once. He wore it well.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I finally responded as I bent down to slip on my shoes.
“Oh yes you do. You had your ex drooling over you at the same time you had me dropping everything and rushing hell-bent across town. All exactly what you intended. Tell me, has a man ever not done exactly what you wanted him to?”
I straightened. I didn’t know where to even start in responding to everything incorrect he’d said. I singled out the strangest one. “My ex?” I asked.
His nostrils flared. I wanted to climb him right there and then. “Are you going to try to tell me you and that guy don’t have some sort of history? An ‘old friend?’ What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means we’ve known each other for a long time,” I said slowly, like I was speaking to a crazy person. “I never dated Tommy.”
He looked like the he was struggling to swallow something for a good thirty seconds before he spoke a
gain. “Did you date a lot of male models? That’s a thing, right? You’re all pretty and you date each other.”
I had to swallow a smile before I spoke. “No. I’ve never dated a male model.”
“So what kind of guy did you date?”
“I didn’t date.”
“You never had a boyfriend before?” Disbelief underscored each word.
I shrugged. “I had other priorities.”
“Wait.” He shook his head. He looked fascinated in spite of himself. He took a step toward me. “Are you saying that you never went on even one date before our wedding?”
I shrugged again. I was blushing. It was an embarrassing topic. “I had other things on my mind.”
“Wait. Wait.” He stepped closer, crowding me. “Are you saying that you’d never even been kissed before me?” he asked, voice pitched low.
I shook my head slightly, tearing my eyes up to his. “Is it so hard to believe?”
He didn’t answer that. He was breathing hard, almost a pant. “Are you done for the day?”
I nodded.
“Let’s go home.” It came out as a husky purr.
My knees went weak.
He didn’t touch me even once until we were alone in my apartment. The second the door closed he grabbed my arm, tugging me through to my bedroom and into my bathroom. He grabbed my toothbrush, dabbing paste onto it.
“I told you to call me Banks,” he said out of nowhere. It burst out, like it had been eating at him. “You keep calling me Calder. Stop doing that.”
“You told me to call you Calder at our wedding,” I responded, scrutinizing his expression. “Why did you change your mind?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he gripped my jaw and started to gently brush my teeth, the weirdo.
“I can’t believe you kissed him,” he said, a ragged edge to his voice I hadn’t heard before.
“He kissed me, and barely,” I said after he finally let me spit. My eyes met his in the mirror. He was standing very close behind me. “And it didn’t count. It was just for the shoot.”
His answer was to fist a hand into my hair and pull my head back. “It fucking counted. Don’t do that again.”
He turned me around and kissed me. On the lips. And kissed and kissed.
He’d never kissed me on the mouth in private. He’d only ever done it in public. For show.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t for show. It was for us alone. It was blood-pumping, heart-shattering.
Tangible. It was real.
He kissed me deeply, with barely suppressed ferocity. I felt myself melt against him. I held onto his shirt and accepted his plush, decadent tongue as it plunged between my lips. His mouth fucked my mouth, and it was all I could do to hold myself upright.
He felt my knees buckle and took my weight, lifting me and carrying me into the bedroom and onto my bed. His mouth never left mine. The man didn’t do half-assed. Now that he’d decided to kiss me, he kissed me silly.
He undressed us both slowly, breaking our lip lock only when he had to. He kissed me while he pumped in and out. When I gasped into his mouth, starting to come, he pulled back. His eyes captured mine while he followed me. An intimate connection passed between us, something undeniable and palpable and impossible to ever take back.
“Is it always like this, or is this something out of the ordinary?” The words just came out after, and I instantly wanted to snatch them back.
His gaze was shuddered in a flash, his eyes cold.
I felt my whole face flushing with mortification. I tried to backtrack. “I’m just inexperienced, I suppose. I don’t know why I said that. Sex is probably like this with everyone . . .”
It came out of him with obvious reluctance. “No, this isn’t normal,” he said begrudgingly, not looking at me. “Nothing about this is normal. This is some sort of strange . . . chemistry. . . I’ve never dealt with before either, okay?”
“Okay,” I said softly.
“I’m not sure I like it,” he said gruffly.
“Me neither,” I lied. I did like it. I loved it. I couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so much, and it was hands down the most addictive thing I’d ever encountered.
After that he couldn’t even look at me. Like even the sight of me weakened him. Overwhelmed him.
It was almost like he was . . . No. It was too silly to think.
This too much for me, larger than life, gorgeous man could not be scared of me.
So what could he be afraid of?
That if he spent too much time with me, he’d catch feelings?
I knew I was projecting, that the thought only crossed my mind because that was the exact thing scaring me.
The exact thing happening to me.
I wanted my husband to do more than want me. I wanted him to care. The idea shocked me. Was there actually some spark of a romantic left in my cynical young heart? The thought was terrifying. I’d gone too far for any of that.
He was getting dressed, his back to me.
“Okay fine,” he finally spoke, his tone begrudging. “Let’s negotiate. What do I need to do to keep you from pulling any more shit like that?”
I knew just the thing. “Your phone number.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Deal. Give me your phone.” He reached back without glancing at me. I found it and handed it to him. He fiddled with it for a minute. Without looking up he said, “This is my last warning: If I see your lips touch anyone else’s ever again, I won’t hold back on the guy, and you get to explain to my father why I got arrested.”
He handed my phone back to me and left without another word.
It was only later that I checked his contact info on my phone.
He’d saved himself as Banks/My Master. Cheeky bastard.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
BANKS
I was taking my wife out on a date per direct orders from my father.
I was reluctant, to say the least. I hadn’t seen her in eight days. In fact, I’d been actively avoiding her. I hadn’t even been allowing myself to look at/stalk her social media.
I’d failed in that multiple times, but I was going four days strong. Out of sight, out of mind. I repeated the mantra.
And still thoughts of her persisted. The feel of her lips. The way her eyes rolled up in her head as she came. Her looking like an irresistibly wrapped confection as she strutted in barely anything down the runway. The sight of her kissing that annoying fucking model.
Why had she asked for my number but never used it? I spent way too much time puzzling over that. Whatever game she was playing, I couldn’t figure it out. She was as good at mind-fucks as she’d turned out to be at literal fucks.
Thoughts of her bombarded me in a torrent if I didn’t keep them carefully locked away. It was an effort.
Even with all those little defeats, though, the fact remained that I had stayed away from her for eight long days. It was a victory, and I resented my dad for ruining it. Hadn’t he already done enough?
I was pissed off and bitter right up until the moment I saw her. Then every thought went out of my head. Or maybe they switched heads. Whatever it was, I stopped thinking about my dad completely and let something else entirely take its place. Enchantment of her.
Let was the wrong word. It happened against my will. To be precise, I had no will once I saw her.
I’d refused to pick her up, insisting that she meet me at the restaurant. We’d been ordered on a date, but no one had specified how long the date had to be.
With that in mind, I’d walked in the door planning to bolt after taking exactly two bites of the main course, but my first sight of her undid all of those plans, because I quite simply forgot about them.
The fact was that I wanted to spurn her, but I wanted to fuck her more. And the imbalance of those two urges only grew more pronounced with every contact.
I took her in as she made her way through the crowded restaurant. The tables were awkwardly close together, and she had to
navigate between them by twisting and turning her perfect, decadent body to maneuver through. Ah, New York. Everywhere worth being was packed to the gills.
There wasn’t one eye in the room that stayed off her. Men stared, of course, but even the women couldn’t stop looking at her. I didn’t blame any of them. If her stunning looks weren’t enough, her flawless face had recently been plastered all over Times Square for some makeup ad.
She was wearing white with miles of her tanned legs showing and her bodice dipped down into a low V that exposed the delectable skin between her perky tits. When she drew closer my eyes ran down her legs, and I noticed the nude stilettos with red heels that peeked out as she walked.
She could keep those on when I fucked her up against the nearest wall.
I tried to shake off the visual but was only partially successful. My eyes traveled back up her body. I studied her ensemble, trying to figure out how it came off.
“What are you wearing?” were the first words out of my mouth.
I’d caught her off guard. She paused and glanced down at herself. “Are you asking about the designer? I think it’s . . . Hmm . . . Halston maybe? I’m not entirely sure.”
“I don’t care about the designer. What I’m asking is, is it all one piece? What the hell? What is this torture device?”
“It’s a romper, and it’s not a torture device. It’s actually really comfortable.”
“I meant a torture device for me. It was obviously designed by someone who never thinks about having sex, let alone having sex in a hurry. It looks great, but how am I ever going to get you out of it?” My voice was grumpy, almost childish, with an intentionally whiny lilt at the end.
She threw back her head and laughed.
I was entranced. Bedazzled. My blood throbbed in my veins. She’d never laughed for me before.
She was still smiling as she took the seat across from me. I was still staring.
Our table was small enough that as she pushed her seat in I had to part my knees to let hers slip between. I locked her knees there, reaching one hand beneath to grip her thigh.
Her smile died and something else went to life on her face.
