by Virna DePaul
“Is this about Heather complaining about the photos again?” I snap, no longer caring that I’m talking to the woman who’s essentially my boss. “She was happy with them when we finished the shoot. You said yourself she had cold feet.”
Rebecca’s face doesn’t register any emotion, and I must admit, it’s always kind of freaked me out how calm she can be. Right now, she merely blinks and says in a measured voice, “I wouldn’t recommend taking this as an insult to your talent, Johnny. It’s merely that we want our designer to be happy with the end product.”
I snort. “Since when did you cater to fickle designers? I’ve photographed plenty of shoots where the designers bitched and moaned afterward, but not once did you decided to redo the work.”
“This isn’t a matter of a designer being fickle, as you call it. This is a matter of a designer truly believing that her work isn’t being represented properly. What you call art, she calls straying from her vision.” Rebecca brushes a strand of hair from her forehead in a smooth motion. “Heather actually spoke with us before you came to the meeting. Believe me, I’m the last person who likes to redo things.”
I grit my teeth, my jaw clenching. I want to find Heather and shake her; I want to tell her she has no idea what she’s talking about. My photographs are true art, and no designer knows more about photography and my own art than I do. I’m insulted, and pissed, and I wish I could just go and get a drink until this hot rage dies down.
“When is this reshoot supposed to take place?” The words are pulled from me, and I have a hard time believing that I’m even asking such a question.
“As soon as possible. I’ll have Catherine contact you to schedule a time.”
Rebecca turns to leave, but before she goes, she looks over her shoulder at me and says, “And Johnny?”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Try not to upset our designer again, hmm? She looked rather flushed when she left this office.”
I don’t have anything to say in reply.
13
Heather
I’m trying to fold shirts, but I’m so agitated that I end up tossing them into a pile and giving up. Huffing, I slump down into a nearby chair and put my head in my hands.
What the hell am I doing? I think for the millionth time. I almost had sex with Caleb at Rebecca’s office! I’ve never done anything that reckless—well, except that time we had sex in a public dressing room, of course.
I groan. I’m clearly losing my mind and should lock myself up for good measure. How can I be so attracted to a man I’d also like to strangle if given half the chance? He refuses to listen to me, he’s rude to me, and he’s so arrogant that I see red every time he opens his mouth.
Then again, his mouth is also what keeps getting me into trouble. The way he kisses me…touches me. I shiver, thinking about how he touched me in that office. How I came in his arms, with his mouth on my breast and his fingers inside of me. I don’t know if I should hate him or love him for the ways he makes me feel.
I rub my temples. It’s only been a few days since that disastrous meeting down at Bella, and at the moment, we haven’t scheduled a date for the reshoot. Catherine told me that Caleb was pissed that I wanted the photos retaken, which doesn’t surprise me. I imagine he’d take that as a mark against himself, like he’d done a poor job or something. I had actually planned to tell him myself that I wanted a reshoot, but Rebecca had apparently talked to him before that. So, now he’s pissed, and I’m pissed, and it’s just a real great situation all around.
I get up and try to start folding again. It’s after hours and I’m the only one in the store, getting ready to set out new merchandise for tomorrow. Tanya left just an hour ago after she’d hinted that she wanted to leave early to go to dinner with her boyfriend. I also wanted some alone time in my store, maybe to remind myself why I’m doing what I’m doing. A part of me wants to give in and leave the photos as they are, but the stubborn part of me keeps telling me that I have to stick to my guns. I know that if I don’t, I’ll regret it.
I hear the front door to my store open. I turn, and to my astonishment, it’s none other than Caleb himself walking toward me. He’s wearing a V-neck sweater that brings out his eyes, one that looks suspiciously like the one I’d been imagining him wearing after our dressing room escapades. He looks as delectable as always, if not tanner. Has he been down to the beach while I’ve been closed up in my store, stewing away? Of course he has. I’m sure he knows how to surf and everything, and probably has women falling all over themselves when he takes his shirt off.
“What do you want?” I know I sound like a shrew, but I’m not in the mood. I’m not in the mood to argue, and fight, and try to explain my position again. I turn back to folding shirts, because it’s way easier than trying to get Caleb to understand anything.
“Are you always this nice to customers?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not a customer, and we both know it. Besides, the store is closed. Last time I checked, I locked the front door.”
I see him shrug from the corner of my eye. “It was unlocked. Might need to pay more attention to those kinds of things, sweetheart.”
I face him now. “So you came all the way down here to check on my locks? How sweet of you. Maybe that can be your new career—locksmithing, since photography seems to be hard for you these days.”
Red creeps up into his face, and I almost wince at my low blow. I shouldn’t poke at him in regards to his photography, but he makes me so mad that I can’t help myself. I turn back to folding shirts.
“We both know my photography skills aren’t in question here,” he growls in my ear. “It’s that a certain designer is so anal that she can’t begin to let go and maybe think outside the box for once.”
I refuse to look at him. I fold one shirt, and begin on another one. “And I think a certain photographer thinks that he pisses gold every time he goes to the can, but not everyone is convinced that’s the case.”
“Are you always this big of a pain in the ass?”
“Only with men who think they can tell me how to run my business.” I reach across him to pull another pile of shirts toward me. “And let me tell you, Caleb Johnson, I don’t need you telling me what’s best for my own designs.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and since I’m refusing to look at him, I find the silence particularly scary. Or maybe I find it thrilling. My heart is definitely pounding, and I almost want him to touch me at this point.
I really am crazy, aren’t I?
“You know what I think?” He breathes the words against my ear, making me shiver.
“Even if I don’t want to know, I’m sure you’ll tell me.” I try to sound sarcastic, but I just sound breathy. Desperate. My nipples harden against my shirt, and it just makes me think of how he had his mouth on them days prior.
“I think you’re too scared to let go. I think you hold onto control so hard that you end up hurting yourself. I think you know those photos are amazing, but since they aren’t what you expected, you’ve decided that you’d rather redo them entirely. Because that’s the safest option.” His hand slides to my waist. “But what if I told you that the safest option isn’t always the best one?”
I swallow. A small part of my mind whispers that he’s right, but I’m definitely not going to tell him as much. Then all thoughts disappear when his hand drifts upward, cupping my breast, while his other arm snakes around me. He presses me against him. I gasp when I feel his hardness against my ass.
“You drive me insane,” he says, kissing my neck. “I want to throttle you every time I see you. I get so irritated around you that I’m halfway tempted to toss you off of a bridge for good measure.” One hand is still on my breast, kneading it, while the other cups my mound. I know I’m already wet, and hot and achy. “But then I want to kiss you, and bend you over, and fuck you until you scream.”
I shouldn’t let him touch me. I should tell him to go. But instead, I lean back, letting him
lick and suck my neck. I’m sure he’s leaving hickeys, but I don’t care. His hand presses against my mound, rubbing my clit through the fabric of my jeans and panties. My breath hitches.
“Fuck, Heather. I have to have you again.”
It’s the most honest thing he’s said yet, and for some reason, it turns me on even more. I turn and kiss him. He groans, his fingers snaking into my hair and pulling my head back. He ravishes my mouth and before I know it, he’s pushed off all of those shirts I’ve folded onto the floor.
I tear my mouth away. “I just folded those!”
“Fuck the shirts, Heather.”
I’m about to tell him that people can see, that we shouldn't do this here, but then I realize that we’re far enough back in the store that no one will see us. And at this point, I don’t care who sees us. I just want Caleb kissing me, touching me, inside of me. I want to feel him slide inside of me and taking me like he did in the dressing room.
I slide my hands under his shirt. Thumbing his nipples, I watch as his eyes darken. His jaw is clenched, and it only makes me hotter. Wetter. I pull his shirt up and he helps me take it off. Seeing Caleb shirtless makes me truly breathless: he’s all muscles and sinew, golden hair sprinkling his chest, and I want to feel that heat against my own skin. I practically tear off my own shirt and unhook my bra, freeing my heavy breasts from their confinement.
His eyes gleam when he sees my bare breasts. “I missed these beauties,” he rasps. I watch as his tanned fingers play with each peak, tweaking my nipples and then pinching hard enough to make me gasp from the bite of pleasure and pain.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my breasts against his chest, his chest hair rubbing against my over-sensitive nipples. It only sets me more aflame. Moaning, I kiss him, and he licks inside my mouth.
It’s like every time Caleb is near me, I lose control of myself: my emotions, my thoughts, my own body. He’s taken me over, and right now, I only want him to take me over and over again. I don’t want him to let me go.
Caleb’s hands are busy: he pulls down my jeans and panties in one fell swoop. His fingers slick through my folds, and he mutters that I’m burning hot. All of my inhibitions have burnt away, and sitting before him, completely nude, I widen my legs to give him a good look at everything I have to offer.
He inhales. His jaw tics, and his chest rises and falls with quick breaths. As he watches me, I spread my sex, showing him my wet, pink center. I tip my head back as I touch myself, dipping one finger inside and another lightly rubbing my clit. I’m already so sensitive that I could come with only a few strokes of my own fingers.
I play, and when I catch his gaze again, he looks like he’s about to explode. When I take my finger to my mouth and lick it clean, his control snaps.
Before I realize it, he’s gotten a condom on and he’s lifting my hips, pushing inside of me in one long thrust. I moan; he curses. He starts pounding into me: he’s not gentle or tender or sweet, and I love it. I egg him on, my fingernails biting into his biceps as our bodies slap together. His cock fills me to the brim, and I almost laugh, I’m filled with such brilliant ecstasy.
Caleb takes hold of my hips to hold me steady. He uses me, he uses my body, and it’s seeing that intense concentration on his face that sends me over the edge. My orgasm rushes through me. I moan and I call out his name, panting and trying to catch my breath. It’s overwhelming. I can’t breathe, my mind is blank, my body is just a bundle of pleasure.
He kisses me one last time as he comes inside of me. I feel his cock twitch, and it sends one last bit of pleasure bursting through me. His tongue ravishes my own, and we kiss and kiss, his cock still inside of me. It’s like we can’t bear to part from one another.
My heart clenches at that realization.
Caleb kisses me one last time before pulling out, disposing of the condom as I try to catch my breath and find my discarded clothes amidst the fallen, now unfolded, shirts. I get my panties and bra back on and finally my jeans, but my body is too sated and my mind too full of Caleb and sex and sex with Caleb to button my blouse. So I settle for snagging one of the t-shirts from the floor.
Caleb pulls on his own clothes, which makes me sigh in regret. If only he could walk around naked all of the time. He’s definitely an impressive sight unclothed.
He notices my little sigh, and he smirks. “Upset, sweetheart?”
I sniff. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Like I can’t see how you look at me, like a woman who’s been starved all her life.” He grins, catching me with a kiss. “It’s okay. Look all you want. I know I’m the best you’ve ever seen.”
I push him away, but it’s a playful shove. My body is still high from my orgasms, and I’m feeling more charitable towards Caleb. Maybe I should make him sleep with me every time he pisses me off. We both end up in better moods as a result.
We somehow end up lying on the table together, the shirts bunched under our heads like pillows. I know in the morning I’ll be horrified at how we’ve treated the merchandise, but right now, I’m on another planet. I can only think of Caleb, and see his smile, and how I’m so close to letting him seduce me all over again.
The lighting is dim, and for some reason, I can feel myself letting my guard down. Perhaps it was just the sex. Perhaps it’s this man. I don’t know anymore.
Gazing at Caleb, I memorize the lines of his face because I know, deep in my heart, that I probably won’t see him again after our next photo shoot.
“I wanted you to know that I did love the photos,” I murmur, gazing at him all the while. “The photos had nothing to do with your talent. It’s more that they didn’t go with what I wanted overall. If they weren’t my designs, I’d tell Rebecca to publish them right now.”
He gazes at me in silence for a moment before pushing my hair from my forehead with a gentle touch. “I probably shouldn’t have gotten so defensive about it,” he admits.
“I think we both know that artists—including ourselves—tend to be high strung and emotional.”
He covers his heart, a shocked expression on his face. “I am not emotional! I am brilliance personified!”
“Okay, buddy, calm down.” I roll my eyes, but I can’t help smiling, either. “You know what I mean.”
“I probably could’ve reacted better, but I’m not used to anyone saying they want me to redo my photos.” He raises an eyebrow, challenging me.
I lift my chin. “And that’s why I knew I couldn’t sit by and say nothing. I bet most designers are too intimidated by you to challenge you.”
He blinks, and then he laughs. “You’re probably right, sweetheart.”
The endearment—damn it all—burrows into my heart despite myself. I’m still warm and fuzzy, not only from the sex, but from just being near Caleb. I don’t want to think about why that is right now, though. Didn’t I tell myself that getting involved with him would only end badly?
“But if you know that you love the photos,” he says before I can reply, “why not let them be published? Do you really think they don’t represent your designs, or are you just freaked out that they’re different from what you’d imagined?”
I bite back a terse reply, forcing myself to consider his words. I know I have a tendency to be stuck in my ways and to be extremely stubborn, but I’m also well aware that it’s easy to get bullied in this industry if you don’t speak up. I have to fight for my designs and my store with every breath.
Looking at Caleb, though, I consider. Am I just reacting out of fear? Or should I listen to the voice in my head, telling me that the photos aren’t the best that they could be? I chew my bottom lip.
“Let me think about it,” I finally say. “I think I’ve gotten myself so tied up emotionally with this whole thing that I don’t know what to think anymore. Do I go with my gut? Or is my gut just reacting and not really thinking?” I let out a long sigh. “I’m so confused; it’s like I’m tied up in knots.”
“Then think it over for a
few more days. Rebecca can wait. I can even wait. I have another client I’m working with anyway, so I wouldn’t be able to do a possible reshoot before next week.”
I take a breath, nodding. I think I just need to separate myself from everything and everyone for a few days and take a breather. Looking at Caleb, I know he’s a huge part of the equation. Maybe I’m just reacting to him. If my photographer were anyone else, would I feel this intense need to push him away?
I have a feeling I know the answer to that.
Caleb sits up then, and I follow him. He takes a strand of my hair and twists it around his finger. I find myself smiling at the gesture.
“I think you just need to have faith.” His voice is low, warm, and I wonder if he’s talking about the photos, or about something else—about us. His eyes are unreadable, and suddenly my chest tightens. He keeps twisting that strand of hair and then lets it fall back to my shoulder.
“I should get going.” He stands, and I follow him to the front door.
I almost tell him to come home with me. For some reason, going to my empty house seems especially painful tonight. But I don’t have the courage to ask him that. So I just let him kiss me goodbye, telling me we’ll see each other soon. I let him go, because I know that I’ll have to break this off in the end.
14
Caleb
I get back to my rental place without even remembering driving there, I’m in such a daze. Or rather, I’m so preoccupied with thinking about Heather and having sex with Heather that I’m like a zombie. A sex-crazed zombie, who almost gave in and asked a woman over so we could continue the sex into the night.
I don’t invite women over. They invite me. And then I leave before they get clingy.
I rummage around in the fridge for a beer, because that’s the only thing I can think of that might get my brain in order. But I can’t stop the memories of Heather: how she tasted, how she moaned, how her body pressed against mine as I thrust inside of her.
