by Jaci Burton
“You turn me on, not just the photos.”
“You say that to all the girls.” She played with the hem of the corset, teasing him with her fingers’ proximity to her pussy.
Dirk slowly raised his gaze, traveling over her abdomen, her nipples, and finally to her eyes. “It’s not the photos, the camera, or the situation.” He tipped his head back, eyes closed, and arched, his jeans binding his cock. “It’s you.”
And Margo wanted to do anything for him. Everything. There would never be another night like tonight. He was twelve years younger, a flawless male specimen, yet he wanted her. His eyes fairly glowed with blue heat as he dropped his head down once more. She lay back against the chaise and preened, her legs slightly spread, giving him a look but not a full shot.
He snapped a photo of what he could.
Her ego needed this. This adventure was more than getting over her anxieties. Her self-worth had been trashed, and she’d lost her belief in her own desirability.
With a look, Dirk had given it all back, and she didn’t give a damn that it was an illusion. Life was an illusion; you just determined whether you wanted to see through it or not.
Then he said the unthinkable, the thing she needed. “Touch yourself for me.”
The reverent hush in his voice seduced her. She’d always been a foreplay girl. Doing this for Dirk, a big, wholly masculine stranger with a massive hard-on for her, made it all the more potent. She smoothed a hand over her chest, and pinched a nipple. She moaned into it, hips rising. Then her hand traveled downward, and through the slits of her eyes, she watched him as she burrowed her fingers into her pussy.
He never stopped photographing, never stopped watching, and she grew wetter under the camera’s keen eye. Parting her folds, she touched her clitoris. A hard, aching nub, she rubbed it. God, what else should she do? What would look the hottest?
What would make him go wild? Because, to quote his ad, she wanted him completely undone.
“Close your eyes, pretend you’re alone.” His voice enthralled her. “Show me what you’d do. Let it all go.”
She did, but she never lost awareness of him in her mind, watching her, desiring her, getting hard for her. The biggest part of what she wanted and needed was him.
The overhead light beat down on her, heating her skin. She fell into sound and sensation, the soft click of the camera, his subtle moves about the chaise, the scent of man, soap, the peach candle, the lingering taste of wine on her lips, and the rhythm of her fingers on her own flesh.
“That’s beautiful, gorgeous,” he murmured encouragement.
She was slippery with her own juices, and she arched into her hand. The corset hugged her, restrained her, yet its tight binding added to the intensity. She moaned, dipped a finger inside, back out, around her clit, then straight on.
She was so wet, hot, and behind her closed lids, she imagined his touch joining hers, rough male fingers caressing her. She was barely conscious of the sounds she made, soft moans, sighs, her voice catching in her throat, a light pant—the only thing the corset allowed—as she drew herself higher.
God, she wanted a cock inside her. Big, hard, warm, hitting deep, forcing her to the pinnacle. His mammoth cock.
“Make yourself come for me.”
His voice was so hot, husky, needy, she was almost sure she’d imagined it. Just as she imagined his cock driving into her, tasted the salt of his skin, smelled the musk of his come. Her hips rose, undulated as if he were between her thighs.
The explosion hit her without warning, sliding inside her, then shooting out to every nerve ending, and she gave full voice to the ecstasy, crying out, panting, working her fingers to make it last as long as possible. Until suddenly it was too much, overwhelming, a sharp pleasure-pain.
“Damn, that was hot.” Setting the camera on the floor, he sat on the chaise by her waist, nothing more than his body heat touching her. “I love the flush on your skin when you come.”
She couldn’t utter a word. So beyond herself, she didn’t even close her splayed legs, letting him look his fill, loving that he did so without hesitation.
“Your face was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
He went on feeding her ego, and she lapped it up as she slowly drifted back to normalcy. Or as least as normal as one could be lying naked and prone with a virtual stranger less than an overheated inch from her.
“Need a drink?” He lifted her wine and set it to her lips. She sipped, the light fruity taste quenching.
Then he held the glass, his gaze traveling the length of her body, catching on the sight of her pussy, her spread legs. Slowly, as if he were thinking over each infinitesimal movement, debating, imagining, he stretched out his hand, the glass over her mound. And he tipped it.
Cool wine drizzled over her heated flesh, between her folds, over her clitoris, the sensation so rich, such a contrast of hot and cold, that she almost came again.
Closing her eyes—“Oh God”—the words slipped out as she shivered with the delicious sensation. She barely contained the rest. Touch me. Lick me. Please. Oh God.
When she could open her lids, she found herself trapped by his hypnotic gaze. She hadn’t planned on physical contact. She’d gotten creamy thinking about how naughty she could be for the camera, but she’d never thought about more. All right, she had, but it was only fantasy.
Yet now . . . his hands . . . those big, delicious hands.
Really, why not? Come on, Margo, let go, take a risk.
“I want a special photo,” she murmured.
“Tell me.” His eyes were like the hottest part of the flame.
“Your hand.” Her imagination running rampant, she drew in air as deeply as the corset would allow. “I want it on me.”
After setting the wineglass down, he put one big hand on her waist, his heat seeping through the corset. “Where?”
“Between my legs.” Her breath caught in her throat, and it had nothing to do with the tight lacing.
He trailed down to the corset’s rounded front piece, which pointed directly to the hot spot that ached for his touch.
“Kneel beside me,” she went on, “and take a picture of just your hand on me.” A shallow bite of air slipped down her throat. “Just my body and your hand.”
“From which direction?”
God. The man was definitely an artist at heart. Anyone else would have put his hand between her legs right now. She was glad, though, that he wanted to create the perfect experience.
She pointed above her. “From over my shoulder.”
He glanced at her tight nipples fully exposed above the corset. She knew he understood exactly how she wanted it. Her rouged nipples, stomach flat beneath the boning, the tight curls of her mound, and his hand.
As if she were looking through her own eyes. She needed the moment saved, a sight she could have forever.
“Don’t move,” he said, then his warmth was gone. Turning her head, she relished the ripple of muscles in his arms, back, ass, and thighs as he secured the camera to his tripod, fiddled about with its knobs, then carried it behind the divan. Whipping out his light meter, he tested.
The delay was maddening, yet also enhanced the blood rush to her clitoris. She literally ached, one pulse, two.
Then he was back. “Are you sure?”
Of course not. Then again, in the big scheme of things, what difference did it make whether he touched her? If he licked her? Even if he did her? It wouldn’t be the end of the world. What awful, terrible consequence could there be? God wasn’t going to strike her dead. Gee, even her mother wouldn’t know.
She wanted to try this, with him, taste the experience, feel it. The chance would never come again. “I’m sure.”
Dirk went down on one knee beside her, palming the camera’s small remote shutter release in his hand. “What exactly does touching mean? I need to know your limits.”
Margo blinked, twice, then swallowed.
He realized she wasn’t entir
ely sure, as to her desires or her limits. Still, he had to see her come again. He caught the full glory of her orgasm on digital, yet he’d been farther from it, distanced by the lens. Her own hand giving such pleasure to herself had been overwhelming, taking him almost to the point of implosion himself. Except he hadn’t been a part of it, and despite the rules they’d established in the beginning, he wanted to feel the shudders ripple through her body, needed to own her orgasm right along with her. And he wanted to carry the image of his darker hand against her fair skin.
She wet her lips. “Ask. If I don’t want it, I’ll say no.”
It spoke volumes about trust, though she probably didn’t recognize it. She believed he’d take no for an answer. She would accept his hand between her legs and trust that he’d stop at just that. Unless she chose more. Oh yeah, the simple words said a helluva lot. Equally important was how much her trust meant to him.
He laid his hand on her abdomen, testing the textures of both corset and bare, deliciously scented flesh. Her arms over her head, she shuddered, spreading her palms across the top of the chaise as if she needed something to hang on to.
“You have very big hands.”
“Like the rest of me.”
She smiled. “I figured that out.”
Splaying his fingers, he headed down to her pubic curls. He used the remote to capture it all on camera. His eyes on hers, he slipped down to palm her mound. He could almost feel her clit pulse. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, then snapped them open and focused on his tanned hand between her thighs.
“Spread your legs a little.”
Keeping her knee flush to the chaise, she opened herself to him. He slid farther, cupping her without delving deeper, and her juices dampened his hand. He caught every movement.
“Does it look the way you wanted it to?”
Breath puffed between her lips. “Yes. No.” Then she sighed. “It’s better. You make me feel so petite.”
She was petite. Her flesh burned for him. He burned for her. She was beautiful, sexy, imaginative. Given time, he was sure she could take him places he’d never been. But Dirk didn’t have time. He had only tonight.
He rubbed her in gentle circles, almost like a trainer settling an excited filly. Her clit was still safely tucked away, untouched but for the light massage of her own pussy lips. She stretched imperceptibly, perhaps straining for more.
“What else do you want?” He was damn near ready to beg.
Her eyelashes fluttered, as she savored the slow roll of his hand, then she raised her gaze to his. “Tease me.”
How long could he play without letting her come? How high could he take her? The longer she was on edge, the more spectacular the come.
He’d likely drive himself insane, but what a way to go.
He handed her the remote, realizing that her face wouldn’t be on camera, just her body, his hand. Part of him shouted out to change the position, but this was the way she wanted it.
“Watch and push that little button”—leaning over, he put her finger on it—“when you like what you see.”
She clicked immediately, immortalizing his expression. “I loved what I saw.” Her green eyes fixed on him.
He wasn’t concerned about his looks. He knew he was a big ugly lug that women found fascinating simply for his size. He wouldn’t win any beauty contests, but he’d never given a damn about that. He figured he was a decent guy on the inside, and that was enough for any woman who was worth it. He’d just never found that special woman in the glittering, objectified world he worked in. Yet Margo’s gaze made him feel he was more than he’d ever considered himself to be. As if she’d snapped a picture and found the very core of him.
“Now touch me,” she whispered, and he would have done anything for her.
Touching was the simplest act of all. He parted her sweet lips and dipped low to find her creamy and warm. She hummed her pleasure, closed her eyes, arched into his hand, and clicked.
“How many pictures can I take?” She squirmed at his touch.
“As many as you want.” This flash card was all hers, and he’d chosen one with a high capacity.
“Good.” She smiled, her eyes still closed. “Now get busy.”
“Yes, ma’am.” It made him hot that she could tease even now. “Like this?” He caressed her clit with a fingertip.
This time she looked at him. “Nice. But not enough.”
“I’m just warming up.” He shifted close enough to draw in her scent without getting in the way of the camera. Her sweet feminine musk made his mouth water. Her juices covered his fingers. “I need something.”
“What?”
She sounded so testy, he smiled. “To lick you off my hand.”
At that, her eyes flew open. Her lips parted. She blinked a couple of times as if she couldn’t believe he’d consider it. Then, “Yes”—a pause—“I mean, please, be my guest.”
Holding her gaze, he rubbed his fingers across his lips, wetting them with her essence. Then he waved them beneath his nose as if he were sampling the bouquet of an expensive wine. Finally, he licked her from his lips. Sweet. Expensive. Intoxicating. She made him drunk with need.
He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes and leaned in until she clicked, the lightest sound of the shutter release most people might not even have heard.
“Ambrosia,” he whispered.
Her eyes turned a primal green. “No one’s ever done that.”
He actually reveled in being the first. “I’m neglecting you.” He let the need to make her come take over completely.
He dipped deep inside her, fast, two fingers. She moaned at the unexpected assault and grabbed his arm just as the camera went off again.
He pumped, the heel of his hand working her clit at the same time. He’d planned a lingering rise, but now he wanted her on the edge immediately. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. He backed off to gently stroke her pussy lips, all around, everywhere but her clit.
“Bastard tease,” she muttered, eyes closed. He didn’t think she was even aware of the epithet.
“Don’t want you to come too soon. You need plenty of time for photographs.” He needed plenty of time to raise her to a level where she was ready to come spontaneously, where he could back off and her body would simply orgasm on its own.
He teased her clit, slowly this time, not pushing her too far. Her hips moved against the chaise, and her fingernails sank into his shirtsleeve. She bit her lip, moaned, and he felt a new, lush streak of moisture. Yet he kept the pace slow.
“Did you bring your toy?”
She hummed her answer, accompanied by a nod.
“Is it in your bag?”
“Yes,” rushed out with a hiss, as if she were once again impatient with all his questions.
“I want to use it on you.”
Her body stilled despite his slow clit massage.
“May I?” Waiting for her answer, he forgot to breathe.
Five
“Yes.” Her answer was a soft purr strumming along his cock.
Oh yeah. “I’ll get it for us.” Then Dirk took her hand and pulled it down between her legs. “Keep stroking yourself. Keep wet. Keep hot. Don’t stop”—he pointed—“but don’t come yet.”
“Yes, Master,” she murmured, a teasing light in her gaze.
He licked his finger one last time as she watched, and the light in her eyes turned to smoky green.
Her bag was personal. As the youngest with four older sisters, he’d learned one thing pretty damn quickly, that you never touched a woman’s bag, be it purse, gym bag, briefcase. But she’d given him tacit permission to rummage.
He riffled through the lingerie she’d brought, satin, silk, lace, a profusion of colors from flower pink to dark purple. He smelled her sweet natural perfume on them, and the textures slid off his fingers like warm silky water. He wanted to rub them all over his face like a lion marking himself with his mate’s scent.
He glanced back to find
her watching him. Her fingers moved lazily. Then she waved her other hand imperiously. “I’m going to have to speed this up if you don’t hurry.”
Despite the annoyed tone she affected, he sensed her sudden nervousness. He was leaving her alone too long. Then he found her cold, plastic vibrator. He was so much hotter. Rising, he warmed it in his hands. “Hold it while I move the camera.”
She took the toy, but stopped touching herself altogether. “Where are you moving it?” Again, an undercurrent of nerves laced her voice.
He shifted the tripod down the chaise, close to her knees.
“But that’ll be just my—” She stopped.
He bent over her, arms bracketing her body. “It’ll be you, me, and the vibrator.”
He was close enough to kiss her, but he hadn’t asked permission for that, and somehow kissing would be going too far. He wasn’t sure he could hold himself back from taking more.
He backed off so he could breathe.
She pursed her lips. “I want classy, you know, not porn.”
He huffed, pretending offense. “I would never do porn.”
She looked along her body, her pert nipples, the corset, her curls, her bent knee, then glanced at the camera and finally at him. A cloud tarnished her forehead for a moment.
“It’ll be perfect, I promise.” Dirk stroked a single finger down her cheek.
Margo closed her eyes and breathed, once, twice, then focused on him once more. “Yes. I know.”
It would have been easier if the vibrator had been sitting on the table next to the wineglass. Then she wouldn’t have had time to think. Instead, she would have simply begged. Why the thought of Dirk taking pictures from that angle suddenly bothered her, Margo couldn’t say. Except that she’d seen her share of porn movies, and well, she didn’t think a close-up of a woman’s splayed anatomy was particularly attractive.
Yet Dirk made everything perfect, just as he said. His touch had driven her high on the precipice, so close so quickly. It was in the way he looked at her, the way he saw her.
The remote was in her hand. She was still completely in control. She didn’t have to take a picture at all.
