Dirty Shots

by Marissa Farrar

  Justin lifted his chin in acknowledgement. “And this is Justin,” she introduced to Eric. “A friend of my brother.”

  “Right.”

  The tension almost crackled between them, an awkward situation everyone seemed keen to escape from.

  “Well,” she said. “I’ll let you get on with your day.”

  He gave a slow nod, his brows drawing together, a line appearing between them. “It was nice seeing you again.”

  “You too.” She gave him an awkward smile over her shoulder as she almost dragged Justin away.

  She exhaled a sigh of relief as she increased the distance between them, though she wasn’t able to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach, anxiety prickling her skin.

  Had she imagined the hurt and confusion in his eyes when he’d seen her with Justin, and then how she’s introduced him as no more than her lecturer? His reaction confused her. Did he want her? Did it make him jealous to see her with Justin? Then why hadn’t he tried to touch her? Was he so focused on being a professional that he wouldn’t give in to his desires?

  She didn’t know, but she didn’t think she’d imagined the friction between them.

  Chapter Six

  Eric

  So she was seeing someone, Eric assumed, considering the cool introduction. He should hardly be surprised ... a beautiful, adventurous woman like her. Of course someone would have snapped her up.

  She’s only a model. She means nothing to you.

  But then why did he feel like someone had just punched him in the gut, punctured the skin, and ripped his insides out?

  He made his way home, not bothering to catch a cab. Instead, he walked the whole way, needing the exercise to burn his emotions out and clear his head. When he got back, he sat down at his computer and looked at the images they had already created. Over and over again, he scrolled through them, judging each photograph with a critical eye. Only when the buzzer alerted him to someone at the main door of the building did he notice the light outside of his window had grown softer and he’d lost the whole afternoon.

  “Damn it,” he swore softly. He’d forgotten to eat. Though his appetite hadn’t yet returned, he needed to be careful. When he’d hit his darkest point several years earlier, he’d lost nearly forty pounds simply by forgetting to eat. He couldn’t afford to slide back to that place.

  The buzzer went off again.

  Eric put his computer into sleep mode and got to his feet. Without bothering to ask who was there, he hit the button to release the door.

  Within a minute, a tentative knock came at his apartment door. He closed his eyes and focused himself. He didn’t have the right to quiz Anya about who she’d been with or about their relationship. This was a job to her, nothing more.

  He opened the door, a smile he saved for gallery owners and potential clients firmly on his face. She stood with what seemed to be a remorseful smile on her doll-like face. Her hands were clasped behind her back, a position which pushed her breasts toward him. Immediately, the thought of her naked in that stance flashed through his head.

  “Anya,” he said, pushing the image from his head, and stepped away from the door to let her in. “Thanks so much for coming.”

  “I’m sorry about earlier. My family’s very protective of me. I’m not sure how they’d react if they knew I was doing something like this.”

  “It’s okay, Anya. You don’t have to explain yourself. What you do outside of this studio is none of my concern.”

  “Really? Because you seemed upset.”

  “I told you. It’s none of my business.”

  “I’m not fucking Justin, if that’s what’s bothering you. He’s in town for a few days and I promised we’d catch up for coffee.”

  She touched his arm lightly and his eyes flicked to the contact.

  “That’s all we had, Eric. Just coffee.”

  Was she telling the truth? She had no reason to lie to him, but he didn’t like the way his emotions were ruling his head. Even though he was telling her that her business was her business, he couldn’t escape the uncomfortable churning sensation in his stomach that told him he wanted more.

  “You’re here to work, Anya. As I said, what you do outside of the studio is your own business.”

  Anya turned and walked away, stripping off her clothes as she went. Nothing could distract him from his possessive train of thought more than watching her get naked.

  “So what do you have planned for me today?”

  “That would depend.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow arched. “On?”

  “On how you felt about the shoot yesterday and if you’re up for more of the same.”

  “I loved yesterday, Eric. All I’ve been able to think about is what you might have planned for me today.”

  He couldn’t help himself, a smile tugged at his lips. “Very well, but just like yesterday, if at any point you feel uncomfortable and you want me to stop, all you have to do is say, okay?”

  “Eric, I trust you.”

  Do you?

  “Why do you trust me, Anya? What reasons have I given you to trust me?”

  She stood before him, completely naked, her breasts jutting forward, the small powder puff of blonde hair nestled at the juncture of her thighs. “Because I’ve opened myself up to you in a way I’ve done to no other man and you haven’t so much as laid a finger on me.”

  He remembered what he’d done in the shower the previous morning and glanced away guiltily. To hide the emotions he felt sure would be clear in his eyes, he busied himself by reaching into the box where he kept all the accessories he’d gathered for the photo shoot. With a clinking of metal, he pulled out a set of handcuffs and placed them on the floor, followed by a spreader bar. Her eyes widened at the spreader.

  “Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

  “It’s designed to hold either the arms, or more often, the feet apart at the ankles. These cuffs,” he lifted one in his palm, “are designed to go around your wrists or ankles, and then the bar can be adjusted, depending on how wide you need to be spread.”

  A smile played on her lips. “Sounds kinky.”

  He held her gaze, one corner of his lips quirking up. “I thought you wanted kinky.”

  Without another word, she held out her wrists to him, but Eric shook his head, dropping the spreader and picking the handcuffs back up. “Turn around.”

  She did as she was told and he reached down to grasp her hand from her side, pulling it behind her body and clicking on the cool circle of metal. He took her other hand and repeated the motion.

  “Are you trying to punish me, Eric?” she said, a teasing tone to her voice.

  “Why? Do you need to be punished?”

  “I guess you’ll find that out at some point.”

  Not knowing what to make of her words, he busied himself with the spreader bar. “I want you to get down on your knees.”

  Carefully, her hands cuffed behind her back, she did as he asked.

  “Put your face, shoulders and breasts on the floor, but keep your bottom lifted high, your legs spread.”

  “If I try to lean forward like this, I’ll smack my face on the floor.”

  She was right; he’d clearly not thought the practicalities through. He should have done the cuffs last.

  “Here, let me help you.” Careful not to allow his hand to brush her breasts, he reached around her body and supported her upper chest, so she was able to lean forward into the position he wanted without fear of hurting herself.

  In this position, he attached one cuff of the bar to her ankle and then spread her legs farther to attach the other one. A small chain connected each cuff to the bar, allowing some movement but not enough for her to close her legs to him. He’d never been this close to her before, not naked with her pussy spread open just inches from his face.

  Eric cleared his throat and forced himself to his feet. His job was to photograph her, not imagine how she would taste as h
e pushed his tongue inside her.

  He adjusted the lighting hanging from the rail on the ceiling and then picked up his camera. He started with shots of her face, one cheek crushed against the white paper-covered floor, her eyes wide and innocent, portraying her vulnerability. Such contrast to the pose she was in. He moved to her back and hands, taking shots of the metal bound around her slender wrists.

  Finally, he moved the camera to aim between her thighs, at the way her spread position exposed her pussy and ass to him in all their perfection.

  “Are you going to fuck me like this?” she asked out of the blue.

  He lowered the camera in shock. “That isn’t what this is about.”

  She twisted her neck as best she could and locked eyes with him. “What if that’s what I want this to be about?”

  “Anya ...”

  But he didn’t know what he was going to say. Surely he didn’t intend on telling her no? The position she was in, with her cheek pressed against the floor, her ankles forced apart, her perfect heart-shaped bottom pushed into the air, was just ripe for fucking hard. Between her slender thighs, the swollen lips of her vulva peeped out. He didn’t think he imagined the sheen on her pussy or the inside of her thighs.

  His balls ached and his cock lengthened in his pants. Her gaze shifted, resting on the increasingly obvious bulge in his crotch.

  “Anya,” he tried again. “It’s crossing a line. I don’t want to be that kind of man ...”

  “But I want to be that kind of girl,” she said. She spread her ankles wider, pulling the small chains between the spreader bar taut. The metal clinked in response. The position widened her stance, her thighs even more spread than before, exposing the star of her asshole and the delicate inner folds of her pussy.

  “Oh, God,” he moaned.

  Fuck it. He might want to be a professional when it came to his photography, but he was still a man.

  With one swift move, he undid his belt and whipped it from the loops of his pants. He dropped to his knees and took her bottom between his hands and lowered his face to her wet slit like a man starving. The scent of her juices filled his senses, a musky but sweet perfume. He buried his tongue between her folds, seeking her waiting hole. Hardening his tongue, he slipped inside her easily, her arousal and juices opening her up to him. Her cream covered his mouth, moistening his chin, and he moved in and out, feeling her inner muscles tighten and contract around his tongue.

  Anya writhed and moaned beneath his attention, but he wasn’t going to let her come yet.

  Eric knelt up behind her, admiring the view. He’d never had someone so submissive to him before, allowing him to do such things to her without any trepidation at the possibility that he might hurt her in some way. He knew she trusted him implicitly.

  He took the rock-hard length of his cock in one hand and gave it a couple of strokes. The head was purple and bulbous, the length ridged with veins standing out beneath the silky skin. His balls throbbed with a heavy ache and he longed to bury himself in her silken heat. It was what he’d been dreaming of doing from the moment she’d first walked into his apartment.

  With her head twisted so she could watch him, her cheek pressed against the floor, her gaze locked on his face, he slowly ran the head of his cock along the opening of her pussy. He groaned at the heat of her, smearing himself with a mixture of his saliva and her desire. Then he grasped her bottom, one cheek in each hand, and thrust himself deep.

  Anya gave a little cry of shock. She was tight, so tight. But he didn’t want this to be some sweet and gentle lovemaking. He wanted to fuck her, and fuck her hard. With her ankles joined and her hands locked behind her back, there was nothing she could do to alter his pace or try to stimulate herself. Everything she experienced was all him.

  Eric held himself deep, feeling her clench around him. He wished he could photograph her like this, a close up of her pussy lips stretched around the girth of his dick. Maybe one day he’d be able to, or perhaps she’d allow him to bring a male model in here to screw her while he took the photographs. The idea of watching another man fuck her almost made him come, so he forced the idea away, concentrating on not giving in to his urges.

  Eric slipped his pinky finger into his mouth, lubricating the digit with his saliva. He wondered if she’d ever had it in the ass. Probably, she was hardly the shy, reserved type. But when he pressed his finger against the star of her anus, she was tight enough to make him speculate.

  Anya groaned and pushed back on him, encouraging him to slide his finger into her ass. He did so, pushing past the taut ring and burying his finger deep in the intimate place.

  He moved slowly at first, gradually building speed and rhythm. She bounced back and forth in front of him, her cheek pressed hard against the floor as he fucked her.

  “Oh, yes, Eric,” she cried. “That feels so fucking good.”

  Her encouragement made him thrust harder, his eyes flicking down to where his cock entered her body, watching how her cream slicked his thick erection when he pulled out of her to the point of almost slipping from her body before pushing back in, deep.

  With his other hand, he reached around her body, sliding between her legs so his palm rested on her mound, his forefinger and middle finger finding her clit. The contact elicited a deep-throated groan from Anya, the sound causing his balls to tighten. He was going to come soon.

  His release came suddenly and abruptly, a buildup of energy pouring inside of her, as though he was sharing a piece of his soul with her, connected with her in that moment in a way impossible with anyone else. The world narrowed down to that tiny point of focus—how he felt releasing himself inside of her. He cried out as he came, his finger and cock buried to the hilt. He felt his hand on her mound tighten involuntarily, pressing hard on her clit as she came as well, her inner muscles pulsing around his still rock-hard erection.

  They held together for a moment, both their bodies lifting as one as they panted for breath.

  When his breathing returned to normal, Eric slid his finger from her ass and reached down and uncuffed her hands. She lay there, recovering herself, and then groaned again, releasing her shoulders and pushing herself up to her knees. Her cheeks and chest were flushed with a mottled pink.

  I did that to her, he thought.

  Her legs were still spread, his cum and her cream mixing together to slide from her pussy and down her thighs. How he wanted to photograph that sight, though he wouldn’t, not yet, anyway. He didn’t want to spoil this intimate moment. And he hoped that she would let him repeat their fucking and perhaps allow him to photograph her afterward then.

  Eric, still on his knees, reached out and slid an arm around her waist, his hand creeping up to cup one of her breasts. He nuzzled her neck. She twisted her head to kiss him and their lips met, the kiss long and sweet and intense, tongues exploring every inch of each other’s mouths. How strange that they’d shared their first kiss after they’d had sex.

  Anya broke the kiss with a giggle. “My ankles, Eric. My legs are about to collapse.”

  He grinned and retrieved the key, undoing the spreader bar. Together, they fell to the floor, curled up on the white paper of his photographic background. Eric held her against him, his arms around her waist, fitting her bottom against his softening cock, her back pressed to his chest.

  He pressed his face against her hair. “You know, I feel bad.”

  She twisted around in his arms to face him. “That isn’t exactly what I was hoping to hear, especially not after what we’ve just done.”

  He smiled. “That wasn’t what I meant. It’s just that we’ve been through so much, been on such a journey together, but I barely know anything about you.”

  “You know everything you need to know. You’ve seen me at my most vulnerable and my most empowered.”

  “But that’s not the same as knowing about you. I don’t even know if you’re actually a student.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “I’m studying fine art
.”

  His heart lifted, and he gaped at her. “Fine art?”

  She snuggled into his arms and lowered her head to feather kisses along his shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Rutherford. And I’ve known who you were since the moment I saw you. I’m a big fan and I’ve dreaming of fucking you for years.”

  “And yet you kept me waiting?”

  “I couldn’t let you think you had me at first sight.”

  “Are you saying I did?”

  “Of course. And now I have what I want, too.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Why, you of course. I’ll do anything for you, and for your work. Anything at all.”

  How far could he take this, he wondered? A photographer with the perfect model, a woman willing to push boundaries, to go to any extreme to please him. And he wanted to please her, to take her where she wanted to go, to give her pleasure and together create the ultimate portraits of sexual perfection.

  How far ...?

  Chapter Seven

  Anya

  The next day, Anya stood outside Eric’s building and schooled her face into that of the self-assured woman of the world she aspired to be. She reached out and pressed the button for his apartment.

  His voice came through the speaker, dark and sexy. “Come on up.”

  She loved that he’d not even asked who was at the door, knowing it would be her. Anya let herself think that meant there was no one else, but she had no idea if he was photographing any other women, never mind sleeping with them. He didn’t seem like the type of man to be dating several women at once, but really, what did she know? Perhaps his reluctance to have sex with her initially had nothing to do with his preference for keeping his professional and personal life separate, and everything to do with a girlfriend he had hidden away somewhere.

  The door buzzed open, and she caught the elevator up to his apartment. When the doors slid open, he was already standing in the open doorway to his place, leaning in a relaxed stance against the frame, his arms folded, one foot hooked over the other ankle. The sight of him sent a jolt through her. Immediately, the image of him binding rope around her bare breasts filled her head.