He moved back, cool air hitting her wet, heated flesh. She sensed, rather than saw, his adjustment to free his erection. And then he was back again, the smooth head of his cock pushing between her labia and sinking in deep.
Anya groaned, her hands fisting in the already rumpled sheets on the bed, bracing herself as he thrust. Her pussy was still swollen and a little sore from the sex they’d had the night before, but Eric wasn’t gentle with her. His hard length pounded her engorged flesh, their hips smacking together with the satisfying slap of flesh against flesh. His fingers dug into her hips, helping to increase her momentum as he fucked her fast and hard.
“Oh, God, Eric.”
Her orgasm hit, her inner muscles pulsating hard against his cock as the waves of pleasure powered through her body. He gave another couple of thrusts and then held himself deep within her, groaning as he did so. She could feel his cock jerking inside her as he came.
Eric exhaled a breath and then bent over her body from behind and planted a kiss on her shoulder. His softening dick slipped from her body, warm semen dribbling down the inside of her thighs.
Eric vanished into the bathroom and then reemerged, after, she assumed, cleaning himself up. “Shut the door on your way out,” he told her. “I’ll see you later.”
Anya climbed back onto the bed, pulling the bedcovers up around her naked, sticky, slightly sore body. Mixed emotions filled her. While she’d enjoyed her orgasm, now that she was left alone she couldn’t help but feel a little bereft and used.
Would he ever put her first?
Chapter Sixteen
Anya
Anya sat through her classes with little enthusiasm. Her thoughts were occupied by everything Eric Rutherford, from the exhibition that would happen in a week’s time, to telling her parents about the photo shoots, to the way they fucked. When her classes were finished, she resisted the urge to head straight back over to Eric’s apartment. She didn’t want to appear to be the kind of over-eager woman who had no life of her own. Letting him wonder where she was for a few hours wouldn’t do him any harm.
Instead, she went back to her room. She had a mountain of laundry she needed to do anyway, and an essay she needed to catch up on.
Anya’s phone rang. She checked her cell before she answered, and her heart sank. It was her mother’s number.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hey, sweetie. How are you? Just checking you’re still good to see your father and me next weekend.”
“Yeah, I am, Mom. I’m looking forward to seeing you.”
“We’re looking forward to seeing you, too. We miss our baby-girl when she’s so far away.”
Anya took a breath. “Listen, Mom, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Her mother fell silent for a moment. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just need to speak to you about something.”
“Can’t you tell me on the phone?”
“Not really. I’d rather tell you face to face. And there’s someone I want you and Dad to meet.”
Her tone changed. “Well that sounds intriguing. We can always come to the city earlier than the weekend if you really need us. There are a couple of smaller artists’ exhibitions happening over the week that your father and I were considering coming to see.” Anya inwardly cringed at the idea of them coming to exhibitions, though she knew the ones her mother was talking about were too soon to be Eric’s. “The only reason we didn’t was because we didn’t want you to feel like we were trying to smother you, or keep an eye on you. We know you’re a good girl, Anya. It’s not like you need us hovering over your shoulder twenty-four-seven.”
Anya put her forehead in her palm, rubbing at her temples. “You know I wouldn’t feel like you were watching over me. It would be lovely to spend an extra few days with you.”
They might be the last you’ll want to spend with me.
“Okay, that’s what we’ll do, then, and we’ll book a restaurant for tomorrow night, shall we? You can introduce us to this new person you want us to meet.”
“You don’t have to book a restaurant, Mom. We can come meet you at the hotel.”
“Don’t be silly. It’ll be our treat.” She paused. “But you’re sure there’s nothing wrong? You’re healthy?”
“I’m fine, Mom. I promise.”
“Good. I’ll call you when we get into the city.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you, too, sweetie.”
Anya hung up and let out a sigh which originated from the bottom of her lungs. She felt sick at the idea of the conversation which loomed in her immediate future. The idea of it occurring in a public place was even worse. Perhaps she could put off telling them until the meal was over and they’d walked back to the hotel? But she didn’t think she’d be able to eat a mouthful knowing what she was about to tell them. Plus, her mother was like a dog with a bone. She’d want to know what Anya wanted to talk to them about. Maybe she could pretend it was her relationship with Eric she’d wanted to talk to them about? She sighed again and lowered her head to join her other hand. Pressure weighed heavily on her shoulders, crushing her. This might be the last time her mom spoke to her without a cold tone to her voice.
Sudden tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them away.
The door opened, and Nadine walked in. She pulled up short as soon as she saw her roommate’s tears, and then hurried over to her. “Anya, honey. What’s wrong? Has that new guy of yours done something?”
Nadine sat down beside her on the bed and put an arm around Anya’s shoulders.
Anya shook her head and sniffed. “It’s not him, not really. It’s something I chose to do.”
“What are you talking about? You’re being cryptic.”
“Sorry.” She wiped her eyes. “I guess you might find out soon anyway.”
Nadine shook her head in bemusement. “Find out what?”
“The guy I’ve been seeing is Eric Rutherford.” She waited for a reaction, but Nadine was majoring in English and had no connection to the art world. Her expression remained blank.
“He’s a photographer—a very successful photographer—and I’ve been doing some modeling for him.”
“Anya!” She received an elbow in the ribs. “That’s awesome. You go, girl!” Then she must have realized her reaction was inappropriate to Anya’s tears. “So what’s the problem?”
Her cheeks heated. “The photographs are a little on the sexy side.”
Her friend’s dark, perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up her forehead. “You’ve been doing topless shoots?”
“Not exactly. It’s erotic photography.”
She frowned. “Erotic? But not topless?”
Anya sighed. How was she going to explain this to someone who clearly had no experience with the genre? “The photographs are intimate. He likes to use props to create a scene, like with ropes or handcuffs, or toys.”
She gasped. “Anya!”
“Stop saying that!”
“I just never expected it of you.” A twinkle appeared in her eye. “It sounds like fun.” Then her face grew serious again. “So why the tears? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No, of course not. He’s not like that. He’s completely respectful.” Just the thought of Eric made her heart sing. “The problem is that he’s having an exhibition of the photographs at the Blanc Art Space in a week, and my parents are going to be around.”
“Oh, shit. But aren’t your folks really strict?”
“Yeah, that’s the reason I’m upset. They’ll probably disown me when they find out.”
“Why would they find out? Can’t you just distract them with something else? Buy them tickets to a show they haven’t seen, and make sure they’re nowhere near the exhibition.”
She gave a weak smile. “It’s a great idea, but even if they don’t make it to the exhibition, they’ll find out about it. My parents are art critics, and run in those circles. The work Eric’s bee
n doing is completely different from anything he’s ever done before, and it’s likely to stir up a shit-storm in the art world. It’ll be everywhere, especially because Eric is refusing to sell any of the shots. It’ll only make them more desirable.”
Nadine was looking at her in a completely new way. “Holy shit, Anya! How can you have been doing all of this and not tell me?”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t something I could just drop into a conversation.”
“And what about this Eric? Are you sleeping with him as well?”
Anya blushed. “It’s more than that. We have something special. A connection. He wants to meet my parents when I go to tell them about the exhibition.”
“You’re actually going to tell them?”
“I have no choice. I’m seriously considering erotic art as my future, so they’re going to need to know at some point.”
“Wow, Anya. I don’t know what to say.”
Anya gave a half-smile. “Just wish me luck, I guess.”
Her friend enveloped her in a hug and squeezed her tight. “Good luck, sweetie. Sounds like you’re going to need it.”
***
Anya stood on the street corner right around the block from her college campus, the same spot where she’d gotten into Eric’s car after he’d punched Gavin. Though she still didn’t want him anywhere near campus, this time, when Eric had offered to pick her up to take her for dinner with her parents, she’d said ‘yes.’
She’d dressed in her most sophisticated outfit—a smart, navy blue skirt suit. It was the same suit she’d worn to her interview for her college course. She wanted her parents to see her on Eric’s arm, and view her as the adult she was, rather than the little girl she was sure they still thought of her as. The smart outfit and the entry with Eric—a mature, sophisticated man—was supposed to make them realize she was a grown-up now, capable of making her own decisions.
But none of these preparations changed how she felt. She was sick with nerves. Her stomach was twisted into a knot, her throat almost closed over. Shifting from foot to foot, she fiddled with the strap on her purse and chewed her lower lip until she tasted blood. She couldn’t believe she was about to have this conversation with her folks. She dreaded their reaction, certain she already knew what it would be.
Perhaps their reaction won’t be as bad as you’re imagining? Perhaps ... But she doubted it.
A car slowed and began to pull over. With relief, she saw Eric’s big Lexus. He pulled over, and she hopped in the passenger side, enjoying sliding into the soft leather seat.
“Hey,” he said, leaning over to kiss her on the mouth. “How are you doing?”
“Terribly,” she said. “But better now I’m with you.” And it was true. Being in Eric’s solid presence made her feel like she could breathe for the first time that day. All day, she’d been running over the imminent conversation with her parents in her head, and she started to worry that the photographs were trivial, just two people playing at sexy art. But now Eric was here, knowing how seriously he took his work, it didn’t seem that way anymore. He gave the project an authenticity that would be missing if he weren’t involved. She just hoped her folks would see it in the same way.
Eric pulled the car back out into the traffic.
“You’re nervous, huh?” he asked her, throwing a glance in her direction.
“That obvious?”
“Your knee is jumping up and down, and you haven’t stopped chewing your lip.”
She realized she still was and pressed her now sore lips together, forcing herself to stop.
“I feel sick at the thought of telling them. I don’t know how I’m even going to get my mouth to work when I’m actually sitting in front of them.”
He reached out and placed a hand over hers. “Would it be easier if I tell them?”
She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but this really has to come from me.”
“Okay, but if you change your mind, the offer still stands.”
She smiled, but it felt weak. “Thank you.”
The closer they got to the restaurant her parents had booked, the more her nerves ratcheted up. She felt like a tightly strung bow that was close to snapping. Her palms were soaked, and she was sure dark spots probably marked the underarms of her jacket. She hated feeling this way, especially next to Eric when she’d worked so hard to portray herself as a sophisticated woman. She felt like she was about to undo all her good work in one evening.
And what about all the years of good work you’ve done with your parents? Aren’t you about to undo twenty-two years of love and respect with them?
She didn’t want to listen. She had to believe she had no choice in the matter. If she wanted to be able to decide her own future, her parents would need to know.
Eric pulled the car up outside the restaurant and handed the keys to the valet. Anya stepped out of her side of the car and walked around to join Eric. He took hold of her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“And you look beautiful, by the way.” He reached out and twisted a lock of hair that she’d deliberately left free from her chignon. The back of his finger brushed her cheek as he did so, and shivers coursed down her body. “Absolutely stunning.”
She only just noticed how smartly dressed he was himself, wearing a dark gray suit which complimented her own outfit. That he’d made an effort to meet her parents pleased her. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
He smiled. “Why, is that a compliment, Miss Rhinne?”
She couldn’t help herself. Even under the circumstances, he still managed to make her smile. “Why, yes, it is, Mr. Rutherford.”
They grinned at each other, and then Anya glanced back toward the restaurant door, once again remembering the reason they were there. Eric leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“It will be fine. Try not to worry.”
She wished she could share some of his optimism.
She took a deep breath, and hand in hand, they entered the restaurant. The hostess met them, a young woman wearing too much makeup and a fake smile. “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”
“We’re joining another couple,” said Eric. “The name’s Bergman.”
She glanced over to the restaurant. “Ah, yes. They’re already here. Follow me, please.”
With her heart in her throat, Anya followed the hostess’s line of sight. Sure enough, her parents sat at a round table which was covered in a starched white cloth and expensive silverware and glasses. Her mother had already noticed her and was rising slightly from the table as she waved with one hand and nudged her father, who was immersed in the menu, with the other.
Her father’s blond hair had lightened to white, and while it was receding from the temples, he still had a mostly full head of hair. His strong jaw, light blue eyes, and six feet two build meant Trent Bergman was still a handsome man, even in his fifties. Her mother was more like her, small and curvy. Unlike her father, she dyed her hair, but the blonde appeared natural, and was pulled into a style similar to the one Anya wore now. Her eyes lit up at the sight of her daughter, and the twisting in Anya’s gut returned. She hated that she was about to make the light in her eyes go out.
Inquisitive, her mother’s gaze flicked to the man at Anya’s side. She smiled charmingly and rose fully from the table. Her father had finally torn himself from the menu and also began to get to his feet.
“Anya, honey,” Saara Bergman said, pushing her chair back to move from the table, enveloping Anya in her arms. She hugged her hard, and Anya had to blink to prevent sudden tears springing to her eyes.
“Hi, Mom.”
“It’s so lovely to see you. You’re looking fabulous.” Her gaze went to Eric. “And who is this equally fabulous man you’ve brought with you?”
Her father was staring at Eric. He lifted a finger and wagged it in Eric’s direction. “I know you, don’t I?”
Her mother frowned. “Now you say that, you do look familiar.”
>
Anya took a deep breath and plunged in. “This is Eric Rutherford, the photographer.”
A wide smile beamed from her mother’s face. “Of course, Mr. Rutherford! We’re both big fans. I’m so sorry we didn’t recognize you right away.”
“It’s Eric, please.”
“I’m Saara, and this is Trent.”
He gave an equally charming smile. “Yes, I know. Anya has already told me. It’s lovely to meet you both.”
She could see her parents trying to figure out the significance of Eric Rutherford accompanying her to this meal. Her mother glanced down at their joined hands and blinked in surprise. Perhaps she’d thought he was there as a kind of mentor.
Strangely, I suppose he is.
Her father reached across the table and shook Eric’s hand. “Good to have you here, Eric. Unexpected, but good nevertheless.” He turned his attention to Anya. “And how are you getting on, Anya?”
That was her father, short on the affection. He always had been, though she didn’t doubt he loved her. Her mother had always done her best to compensate for the way her father was, but that hadn’t changed the fact Anya never really knew what it was like to have her dad hug her and tell her how much he cared.
“Good,” she said. “Great, in fact.”
“That’s wonderful. I guess this calls for some champagne.”
He raised his hand to get the attention of the waiter and ordered an expensive bottle. Eric offered to pay, but her father waved him down. “It’s our treat.”
Dirty Shots Page 13
