His voice is soft and light, and I can practically feel it slipping over my skin and wrapping me up tight, like they do to babies, swaddling me, cocooning me in a delicious blanket of calm. I roll my lips together and try to bat back the tears from his wonderful words but I can’t, instead they fall freely.
How can a man like this exist—a man who is sweet, seductive, rough, strong, and emotionally available?
It doesn’t make sense, but I don’t care either. I knew the moment he stepped into that VIP section that this man would be trouble to my guarded heart. It was confirmed when he touched me for the first time, and then I finally gave myself to him, I became lost to him and in him. Never have I felt so safe and cherished.
“I can do that,” I say, nodding my head.
“Yeah?” He seems surprised, like maybe he was coming up with a counterattack in case I tried to fight him on anything.
“Do you have any vacation time saved up?”
My eyebrows pinch together with bewilderment. This seems off topic, but with Jarrod, I never can read what is going through his mind. Although it makes me nervous, I like that, so far, he keeps me guessing.
“I don’t want you to go back to Boston yet. Your brother said that guy was going to be there next week. I would really like it if you stayed here with me. I would feel better if you were here and safe. I don’t trust Jo not to let him into your apartment, and I’ll be too far away from you to protect you.” His face is hard, stony even.
I don’t think this is something he will budge on. Since I have just agreed to let him essentially take care of me emotionally, how can I not let him take care of me physically?
In all honesty, I know Jo would just let Eric waltz right back into my life, and I am scared to death that he might hurt me again. So, I agree wholeheartedly.
“I’ll email the office tomorrow and see if I can take a couple of weeks off. I have months of vacation and sick time saved.”
“Thank fuck. Jesus, I thought I was going to have to fight you on this. Now, come over here, baby, and let’s wash the day away with each other,” he says in a low husky voice.
I watch his eyes darken.
Then, we wash the day away in the shower—three times.
Eventually we pass out.
Jarrod holds me all night long.
I feel that warm cocoon slide over me, wrapping me tight. As his legs tangle with mine, his arms wrap around my chest and waist.
Safe.
Happy.
Finally.
The evening’s activities last well into the early morning.
When my phone’s alarm starts blaring, I want to chuck it across the room, but I have a photo shoot to get to, hair and makeup to put on, and lingerie to fight with Jarrod about, which makes me smile because I know that it will be fun. Everything with Jarrod is fun. It is going to be a busy day. Plus, I have to email my boss and let him know that I have an emergency arrive that will take me out of the office for the next two weeks. It is going to be a busy Sunday, but I will be ending it in Jarrod’s arms, and that in it self pretty exciting.
“Baby, turn that fucking thing off,” Jarrod growls in my ear. He is still wrapped around my body with his face in my neck.
I reach over to the nightstand and turn the alarm off. I try to untangle myself from Jarrod’s arms, legs, and torso.
“No way you’re getting up right now, baby,” he whispers. He slides one warm hand up my stomach, cupping my breast.
His fingers tweak my nipple, making me moan.
“I have that shoot this morning, Jarrod,” I purr sleepily.
“Fuck, you sound good when you’re still sleepy. I wear you out last night, baby?” He chuckles against my neck.
“Uh-huh,” I whisper, arching my back and lying my head against his shoulder, aching for his touch.
Then, he slowly slips himself inside me from behind. This is new, and I like it, I shiver with his weight pressing down against me. Jarrod keeps tweaking, pulling, and pinching my nipples as he kisses my neck and slowly accesses my body in and out—sleepily, lazily, and deliciously. While one hand stays at my breast, alternating between gently stroking and pinching my nipple, the other one slips down between my body and the mattress to massage my clit. A whimper escapes my lips, and I feel Jarrod’s chest shake with a small chuckle. I don’t care. It feels too good. Within moments, I am coming apart around him, my body spasming, while he keeps massaging my clit with hard, strong circles.
Then, without warning, he pulls out of me and flips my body over to my back and thrusts inside me. He takes my body and uses it, hard and rough, causing the ache that is present between my thighs to throb, and I love the pain that comes with that. It turns me on even more, that biting pain with each thrust into my body. My legs instantly wrap around his waist as he loses control over me, sweat shining on his forehead. I can feel him about to let go when my arms wrap around his back, cocooning him inside me. He lets out a strangled cry and collapses on top of me, inside me, and around me.
I love it.
I want it.
I didn’t know before, but now, I crave it.
Jarrod.
After my breath evens out, Jarrod allows me to get up and get dressed. I have to be at the hotel in one hour for hair and makeup, and Jarrod is not letting me do this without him. He wants to see what I will be wearing, and he wants to approve of it. Actually, he doesn’t want me doing it at all, but my modeling career is one thing I am not going to waver on. I don’t do nude or fetish. Those are my only stipulations. Jarrod will have to deal.
When we arrive at the hotel, I am instantly greeted by a small Asian woman with a headset on and a power suit—Marium.
“Amalie, you are just as pretty in real life as you are airbrushed in a magazine,” she says, smiling and opening the door to the suite.
I’m not sure if that is an insult or a compliment, but I decide not to dwell on it. People in the entertainment and fashion industry are a different breed in general.
I hear Jarrod grunt behind me. He is not amused.
“Paul and David, come and meet your star,” she sings as we walk into the busy room.
There is a bed with white linens set up all around, and the balcony is open with camera equipment set up there as well. There are three other models getting their hair and makeup done, and racks of clothes are shoved to the side.
It looks like a normal shoot.
I am relieved.
“Nuh-uh. No boyfriends on the set,” one of the men states, sashaying toward us. He is short and lean, his features almost pretty. His light-brown hair is cut into that popular Bieber style. He is wearing white linen shorts that are at the knees, and a tight short-sleeved light-pink polo shirt. On his feet are brown loafers with no socks.
“She isn’t staying here without me,” Jarrod growls from behind me.
He is over a foot and a half taller than this guy, and I’m sure he looks menacing.
“Rules are rules. I don’t care if you are one hot, tall motherfucker. Boyfriends don’t stay at shoots. Too much fucking drama. I learned that shit a long-ass time ago,” he says with a snap of his fingers.
“Paul, this is your cover girl. I’m sure you can make an exception?” Marium asks, teetering on her high heels, looking a bit nervous.
“Hell no.” Then, he stops when a large hand is placed on his shoulder.
I look behind him and see a very handsome man with a hard chiseled chin. He’s well built, taller than Paul, probably six feet. I assume this to be David.
“Paul, calm down a minute and take a good look at him,” he begins. “This isn’t any boyfriend. This is Mr. New York Yankee Pitcher. He’s number ten on People’s Most Beautiful People list,” the man says, calm and smooth.
“Holy mother of hot straight athletes,” Paul screeches.
“So, I can stay?” Jarrod chuckles from behind me, sliding a possessive warm hand around my waist.
“Stay? Hell yes, you can stay, but only if I get you in fro
nt of my camera at some point?” Paul coos, his whole demeanor completely switched.
“Actually, some pictures with me and Amalie would be nice, so yeah. Private, of course, and not to be released to the public?” Jarrod asks. His gaze flicks over the two men and lands on Marium, who is so obviously the cutthroat of the bunch.
“Of course, Mr. Harrison. Private photos of just a man and his girlfriend,” she states.
I notice a little sparkle, a gleam, in her eyes that doesn’t look wholesome or good. It makes me leery. She makes me leery. Before I can voice my concern, I am whisked off to hair and makeup, and Paul begins to show me my wardrobe for the shoot. I look over at Jarrod, who is watching intently.
My first outfit is nude silk stockings with a black garter belt, a pair of black silk panties, and a black corset with straps that cinch tight at the waist and cover me from my breasts to the tops of my thighs. It is sexy but doesn’t show much skin. My blonde hair is in big curls, and it is pinned up the back to look shorter than it is. My bangs are in a large curl, swooping to the side, and I have a huge hot-pink flower in my hair. On my feet are black patent-leather high heels.
“Fucking gorgeous. Now, get your ass on those white sheets. This is going to look awesome,” Paul says, standing next to the bed and grabbing his camera.
I slide onto the bed and watch Jarrod. His face holds a look of indifference. I’m not sure I like that look on him. He is watching me intently though.
“The first one we’re going to do is your back, so we can showcase the hot-pink laces of the corset before you fuck up your hair,” Paul says, practically giddy.
I sit with my back to the camera on the middle of the white sheets. I can feel the heat from Jarrod’s eyes on me. It feels like my flesh is on fire. I love it. An assistant comes running up to me and positions my legs so that they are spread. My crotch is on full display to the headboard, and my heels are flat against the bed, holding my knees and legs in place. My arms are behind me, forcing me to seductively arch my back.
“Turn your head to the right,” Paul instructs as he moves his camera to the side of my body.
The photo is taken from the side but not directly. You can see the curve of my back and my bustline, but my leg is hindering the sight of my exposed center, and you can see my full face. I do my job and make the expressions I am supposed to—sultry, sexy, pouty, flirty, and just plain smiley. This particular outfit warrants three positions, and by the second, I am no longer aware of Jarrod’s heated gaze. I am in the zone. I am working.
Jarrod never protests one of the outfits, and honestly, I am completely shocked. When my breast pops completely out of one of the bustiers, I think he will for sure throw a complete fit. It is one that wasn’t altered to my measurements. Most models aren’t as busty as I am. Hell, most women in general aren’t as busty as I am—unless they were bought and paid for. It is always a pain in the ass when clothes aren’t altered, and time and time again, I wonder why they even deal with me. It seems as though I cost them more money than they make on the products, but I am not one to question or complain. I love modeling. I love all the freebie clothes, and I love the feeling I get when I see my body in print.
Paul comes sashaying over with my last outfit for the morning. Makeup, hair, other models, Marium, the photographer, and the assistants have left, leaving only Paul, David, Jarrod, and me in the suite. It is one of the longest shoots I have been on, and I am exhausted.
Paul holds up a red silk bra and red silk boy short panties. My eyes grow. No way are my breasts going to be able to stay up in that flimsy bra. There is no underwire and zero support. It is just two silk triangles.
“Paul, my boobs will not be flattering in that,” I say with a slight sneer, knowing what I know. The real ones sag, no matter how young you are.
“These next ones aren’t for the catalog. These are the ones your boy over there promised me. These are just for you,” he says, singing the last word.
Damn man.
I shrug and take the outfit to the bathroom to change. I can hear Jarrod’s deep timbre as he talks to the two other men in the room.
I change and study myself in the mirror. I can’t believe I am going to take boudoir photos with my boyfriend of just a couple of weeks. It is craziness, but I am excited to say the least. I take in my reflection in the mirror. The waist of the boy-short panties is cut high, almost to my belly button, covering my lower stomach. The bra is holding nothing up, but my breasts fill out every square inch and even spill out of the tops and sides. I don’t look bad. I actually look pretty good, and I am excited to show Jarrod. I slip on my black patent-leather heels and walk out of the bathroom. What I see assaults my eyes and makes my mouth go dry.
Jarrod is leaning against the headboard in nothing but his low-slung jeans, and the top button is undone. He looks absolutely edible. I want to lick and bite his entire body. Paul is mussing up his hair with some product, and he is just lying there with his eyes closed, looking almost pained.
“Ready for me?” I ask, looking down on him.
Jarrod’s eyes open, and I see his cobalt eyes glitter as they take in my body.
“Okay. Now, Amalie, I want you to straddle Jarrod, much like your first pose. Put your heels on the bed and open your legs against his lower stomach. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?” he asks with a man giggle.
I roll my eyes and climb on the bed. Jarrod sits up and wraps his large hands around my waist to help me. He sits up, sliding one hand up my back to keep me in place, causing my back to arch just with his simple touch. I smile softly at him and turn to Paul, who is beginning to snap pictures. Jarrod leans into me and places a kiss on my neck, which makes me wrap my hand around his shoulder and arch into him even more. Paul hums with excitement, click-click-clicking his camera.
Our next pose is me lying flat on the bed with one knee cocked up and one arm over my head. I feel so freaking sexy with Jarrod’s hard body looming over me. He is lying on his side, his head propped in one hand, and his other hand is wrapped around my hip. Paul takes a few photos of us, looking into each other’s eyes, and then a few of me looking at the camera with Jarrod looking down at me.
I change outfits, wearing a cobalt-blue corset with matching panties and a garter with nude stockings. Our next pose is a change of scenery. I am leaning over the railing on the balcony, and Jarrod is resting one hip against the balcony rail. I am looking over the city, and he is looking down at me. Paul decides to have us move around. I move to stand behind Jarrod and peek around his back to look up at him. I stick my tongue out and catch him by surprise, earning an honest-to-God chuckle. Paul captures his smile.
The last photos are of Jarrod picking me up and me wrapping my legs around his waist as he cups my silk panty-clad ass. He rests his forehead on mine, and we smile at each other. Then, he closes his eyes, and I turn to the camera and smile.
Paul and David thank me for taking time out of my busy Sunday and then thank me for bringing the sexy baseball star and for taking shirtless photos with him. We all laugh, and when they find out that I’ll be in the city for a couple of weeks longer than I originally anticipated, we promise to meet up for drinks the next week.
I leave with a smile on my face. I like Paul and David. Working with them is going to be so much fun. They are obviously in love with each other and work together with ease. The lingerie is beyond sexy and fantastic. I know they will make a mint because never in my life have I felt so freaking sexy in so little clothing. They were easy for me to work with because they didn’t try to push my limits with what I was comfortable wearing or not wearing. I enjoyed the day immensely, and I was even more thrilled that Jarrod was able to join in on my hobby.
When we arrive back to his apartment, I have been so lost in my own thoughts of the morning that I didn’t realize that Jarrod hadn’t said two words since the shoot started. He had been on his phone the whole time, and then we had been so busy following directions during our own photos that I didn’t really notice ho
w quiet he had been until we walked into the apartment and my mind stopped reeling from the day.
“Everything all right?” I ask as I watch him stalk into the living area and flop down on his sofa.
He grunts. Well, obviously, everything is not all right.
“Talk to me,” I urge, lowering myself onto the sofa next to him. I slide my hand to his jean-covered thigh.
He bats my hand away, and it makes me want to cry.
What did I do to warrant a physical retreat?
I don’t understand. I felt so sexy while taking photos with him, and maybe I was just in the zone, but I thought he was enjoying the day as much as I was. Obviously, I am clueless, and I want to cry.
“Please,” I urge, not sure of what to say.
I don’t know if maybe he just gets into moods, and I should leave him alone, or if I should urge him to talk. In all honesty, we are still learning about each other.
“I don’t like it,” he states, not looking at me.
I cock my head in confusion. “What don’t you like, sweetheart?” I ask softly.
“These,” he says, shoving his phone at me.
I look down and see what he has been looking at all day long.
He Googled me.
He doesn’t like what he saw.
They are photos of me on a website that compiled my sexiest pictures from the pinup magazine that I am featured in regularly, the one that Carlos had a subscription to.
“You don’t like my pictures?” I ask, a bit confused. The photos are sexy, but I am pretty much clothed in all of them, except for a few bikini shots. Even those are beyond modest, especially compared to today.
“I don’t like the comments these fucking assholes are leaving about you. I want to find them, rip their dicks off, and shove them down their throats,” he growls.
Pitching for Amalie Page 10
