Picture Perfect

by Jade C. Jamison

  Holy hell.

  Needless to say, as the scene progressed—and I imagined that very scenario—the kiss got a little steamier. He kept his tongue out of the action, although I wouldn’t have minded it, but there was no helping the saliva exchange as our lips got a little looser, softer, warmer, and I was pretty sure he was starting to feel the same desire I was. My body was betraying me, and if he’d pushed me against the wall (that didn’t actually exist behind me anyway), he would have felt the dampness in my panties. There was no way I could know for certain that he was experiencing the same furious desire, because his jeans didn’t show any bulging or throbbing—not that I had a chance to look. And, besides, the denim might have been snug enough to keep him contained.

  Greg just let us go at that point as Shane did pull me closer for a few moments, and I could sense the kiss was about to deepen when our photographer announced, “Great. Time to switch. Ivy, I need you facing the camera again—and how about we have you standing on the stool for this shot?” Shane turned around and fetched it from its place just a few feet away while Greg continued. “Shane, you’re going to be right behind her again, only this time, I need your entire arm covering her breasts.” In seconds, we were in position, both of us looking straight ahead at the man giving us direction. “Ivy, put your arm over his so that your hand is over his and then turn your head the other way.” As I obeyed, he then said, “Now, Shane, move your other hand to her belly, just over her panties, as if you’re going to make your way in there.” Oh, shit. Another gush as my horny mind imagined the thought. “Ivy, put your other arm on his.” He stood back. “Good. Now, Shane, this position might seem a little weird, but I want you to kiss her now. I’ve seen really hot covers like that.” It wasn’t awkward at all, though, as Shane adjusted his body so he wasn’t exactly behind me. I looked at him for just a second before he brought his mouth on me, and his pupils told me this was no game to him, either. If we kept this up much longer, we might just let Greg film us fucking, because I didn’t know that I’d be able to stand it anymore.

  Greg pulled me out of the moment and we paused for just a second as he adjusted my hair so that the fullness of my breast (nipple covered) was in full view. I noticed that the nipple of my other breast was barely covered by Shane’s arm. But I hardly cared anymore.

  “Open mouth, guys.”

  Yeah…only this time, his tongue did enter mine. It was slow, but it was probably the most sensual kiss I’d ever experienced. And with his arm covering one breast and his hand cupped over the other, the fingertips of his opposite hand tickling the top of my panties, holding me tightly, I thought I was going to explode. Had he bent me over the nearby stool and ripped my panties off to enter me, I wouldn’t have protested. I couldn’t remember ever feeling this aroused by any intimate contact…but I was, and it was getting harder and harder to not respond to the animal inside me. I remained professional, though—no moaning, no grinding, just doing whatever Greg told us to do.

  “Amazing,” I heard him say. “One more set of shots and I think we’ll call it a day.” Part of me inside was disappointed that we were almost done, but more of me felt relief, because I didn’t know how long I could keep this up. “For this, Ivy, I want you kissing and licking down Shane’s chest and stomach and then down on your knees in front of him.” Ah, more foreplay activities, but at least there was no more direction stimulation.

  But when Shane let go of me so I could do that, it felt like he gave my breast one last squeeze—or was that my imagination? I decided it was, because I was completely out of control internally. I did as our photographer boss requested and, once he was ready to begin shooting, my hands were placed on Shane’s torso as my tongue drew a line down the center of his flawless skin. Holy shit. It would take a lifetime to forget the taste of his skin coupled with the spicy smell of his cologne. His musculature was firm beneath my touch, making me wonder how much he worked out. I’d never dated a guy with muscles like this and I imagined it would be fun letting my fingers dance all over his body. But, I reminded myself, his body was not mine to play with.

  “Now, Ivy, on your knees, and I want your fingers on his waistband—pretend like you’re unbuttoning his jeans.”

  Oh…prelude to a blowjob. Would I even want to see all these pictures afterward? A fleeting thought rushed through my brain that maybe now would be the time to start reading romance novels, because then I’d get to see more pictures like this. Well, maybe after I earned my last degree. I didn’t have much time to read for fun. In fact, doing photo shoots was about the extent of my fun—but they would all pale in comparison to this one.

  As I laced my fingers underneath his waistband, my head slightly tilted toward the camera, I imagined I saw a response in that bulge stuffed in his jeans. Or it could have been all in my head. “Shane, grab her hair in your fist. Look forceful.”

  Jesus. I was done then. My panties couldn’t get any wetter.

  But then, just like that, it was over. “Great job, guys. Meet me out front when you’re dressed and I’ll pay you.”

  Suddenly, exposed under the harsh lights and no longer in character, I felt slutty. There was really no reason why, but I couldn’t shake that feeling. Half of my brain felt shameful but the other felt empowered, and I wasn’t sure how to reconcile the two. Instead of worrying about it, I looked around for my bra and hurried to put it on, and that helped. Shane was quiet, too, maybe feeling as odd as I did, and Greg was fussing with his equipment. It wasn’t long before I was dressed, though, and the three of us were in the front area of his studio.

  “Just a second, guys.” Greg walked into his office, probably to fetch cash out of his safe, and Shane and I stood in the lobby, enjoying the natural light flooding through the windows. In the dark of the studio, it was hard to gauge the passing of day, but it was quite obvious in the lobby. It would be dusk soon, but the way the sun shone outside belied that.

  Shane cleared his throat. “Is it always like that?”

  I felt a shiver run through my body. That sucked, because I was finally feeling in control of my hormones once more. His tenor voice sent a ripple throughout my entire being, and I began to question if I should even continue modeling for Greg anymore.

  I had no idea exactly what Shane was referring to, though, and I was feeling vulnerable. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Intense.”

  He’d nailed it. It had been intense if nothing else. That would be easy to answer. “No, not really. I, uh…I’ve never done a shot topless before.”

  His voice sounded matter of fact when he said, “You have a good body for it. I can see why he’d want to take advantage of that.”

  Why the hell did I feel so confused, so strange? I was grappling with how to respond next when Greg came out, cash in hand. He gave one wad to Shane, the other to me, and said, “I gave you an extra half hour’s pay. You earned it.” Yeah, and he was probably going to make a crazy amount of money on the shots. Not that I blamed him. It was his business. As for taking off the bra, I could have said no. Besides, no nipple shots. And I had to realize this had simply been the perfect storm—hot guy I felt attracted to from the start, super hot poses, first time topless. Next time wouldn’t be so bad. I’d be able to handle it more professionally. And, chances were, I’d never have to work with Shane again. There had only been one time I’d worked with the same guy twice. Greg had a lot of models at his beck and call and he liked to mix things up. It was better for business.

  We both thanked him and he said, “I’ll be in touch.” That was pretty much his way of telling us we were dismissed.

  In seconds, we were on the sidewalk, and I geared myself up for an awkward goodbye moment, but Shane said, “You wanna go get coffee or something?”

  I felt a lump in my throat. Or something. I knew at that moment that if he’d been feeling even half of what I had in there, he now had a shitload of pent-up sexual energy that needed to be expended. It would be easy enough alone with a hand in a bedroom,
but why not finish what we’d started?

  Except maybe he really did just mean coffee. Either way, I couldn’t decline. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Did you drive here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Want to ride in my car? I can bring you back afterward.”

  I nodded and followed him down the street. I wasn’t sure what kind of vehicle a guy like Shane would drive, so I instead tried to enjoy the fresh cool air and sunshine and not think about it. A few yards down the sidewalk, though, and he turned. I saw the headlights flash as he pointed his fob toward the car and that’s when it sunk in. He might hate his current job, but it obviously paid well. He drove a beautiful silver sporty car and, as I examined it, I saw the circular BMW logo on the hood. Wow. I was excited to see how this thing felt on the road. I started walking toward the passenger side but he beat me to it, opening the door for me. I didn’t know quite how to take that, but it was evident that he viewed me fully as a woman, or else there would have been none of that nonsense.

  For some reason, it didn’t bother me with Shane. I slid into the car seat and noticed that the inside still had that new smell cars have when you drive them off the lot. When he got in, he revved up the car and pulled into the street in a matter of seconds. I made a point of looking over at his left hand, more difficult because it was on the opposite side of me, but I had to try. I hadn’t noticed a ring when we were shooting, but I could feel the tension in the car escalating—and I just wanted to make sure I’d done my due diligence. I could have asked, I suppose, but I didn’t know yet if we weren’t just going to have coffee. You didn’t need to be single to grab a cup of Joe with someone who was essentially a coworker.

  He pulled up to a stoplight and, knowing there was a coffee shop just three blocks away, I figured that was where we were going. Usually, I went straight to the bank after a shoot, just because I didn’t like to carry that much cash around, but I had a big strapping guy as company. I’d be okay for an hour or two.

  His voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “My place is just around the corner. I could just make us coffee.”

  Then I knew for certain. Coffee was a mere excuse. I swallowed and considered for two seconds. I could play this game. “Yeah, that sounds fine.” I felt my wet pussy clench in anticipation. But, it turned out, his place wasn’t just around the corner; it was several blocks away, quite a bit farther than the coffee shop—not that I was complaining. He finally pulled off the road into the parking lot of an attractive apartment building.

  “This is home.”

  I smiled, but words escaped me. I wanted to add levity to the situation by cracking a joke, but I couldn’t think of one, and small talk was impossible as well. Desperation had my nerves frayed, my teeth gritted, my muscles tense. Pretending everything was normal was enough of an act; light conversation wasn’t something I could manage in addition.

  Shane met me on the passenger side of the car, but I’d let myself out so he couldn’t play gentleman again. Once more, it was one of those things that was nearly impossible to fake at the moment. Fortunately, he was doing all the talking—perhaps either better in control of himself or more acquainted with faking normal behavior when sexually aroused.

  Or, maybe, we really were just going to have coffee. That was a thought and an idea I needed to wrap my mind around. Man, wouldn’t I feel stupid and shocked—and a little disappointed—if he drove me back to my car and I was merely full of coffee?

  Not if I prepared myself for it.

  As we walked across the parking lot toward the building and I appreciated the cool breeze in the air, noticing that the sun had dipped behind the mountains to the west, I forced myself to accept that coffee might very well be the outcome of this meeting. I knew Shane was new to modeling and maybe he had a lot of questions he wasn’t comfortable asking the photographer. Maybe he wanted to ask someone else who’d been doing it for a while. And coffee was a great way to do that. Plus, if he was watching his money, making it at home was a hell of a lot cheaper than at a shop. More intimate, too.

  And snap! My mind wound up back at the place it had been earlier.

  We entered a lobby decorated with tall plants, two chairs, and mailboxes across from both elevator doors and the entrance to a stairway. “I’m on the sixth floor,” he said, pressing a button.

  “The top floor?”

  He nodded. “Great view.”

  In less than five seconds, we were in the chrome-and-mirror elevator, and it was hauling us up quickly. When we exited, a couple stepped inside, thanking Shane for holding the door till they entered, and then he led me down the hall. Once we were inside his apartment, my jaw nearly dropped. He might not have liked his day job, but it evidently paid well. Between his gorgeous car and the furnishings in his place, I could tell he wasn’t hurting for money. There was plenty of square footage—spacious for an apartment—and the place was decorated beautifully. We walked through the living area—light cream-colored walls, furniture the color of toffee, and carpeting that was a combination of various colors but somehow pulled the room together, accented with a wide-screen TV on one side of the room and chestnut end tables in two spots.

  I still felt a little tense but was calming down as we entered the kitchen area. It too was beautiful but stark. It had the feel of a man who didn’t spend much time at home—too clean, too bare, too perfect.

  Maybe that hearkened back to the fact that he was living a life he despised.

  Much as I hated to judge, that was the feeling I got. Soon, he was filling up the carafe in the sink. “Do you like your coffee black or with cream and sugar?”

  “I like it sweet.”

  He nodded as he poured the water in the pot. Shortly afterward, the coffee was brewing, and Shane turned to face me. I was standing near the island next to him, wondering if I should have asked him if there was something I could do to help. My brain wasn’t functioning properly, though. I tried but couldn’t read the expression on his face as he said, “I want to do something else with my life, but I don’t know that modeling is the answer.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t think I could handle it.”

  I felt a small smile cross my face, relieving the pressure on my brow. “What’s to handle? You just pose when the photographer tells you to pose. Well, and you have to be a bit of an actor, I guess. And maintaining your weight is a good idea.”

  “An actor? Were you acting back there?”

  Suddenly, the air felt charged. There was an electrical pulse humming through the atmosphere, waiting for me to spill my words. Gravity pulled on me and grew stronger as each second ticked the clock. My answer would be important, but I wasn’t sure why. “What do you mean?”

  “In Greg’s studio. Was that an act?”

  I wasn’t sure what he was getting at and I was afraid of acknowledging what I thought he might mean. Saliva pooled in my mouth and I swallowed before tilting my head slightly to the side. “Was what an act?”

  His brow furrowed as he got a little closer. “See, I’ve never done this kind of thing before. Is it—is it natural to feel a little something for the other person involved?”

  I exhaled the breath I’d been holding in my lungs before I spoke. I thought back over the past year and all the shoots I’d had, both with Greg as a book cover model and in other situations where I had played one half of a hetero couple. “No.” I shook my head as if I’d needed to emphasize the word. I’d never felt this way about a man I’d worked with before. There was something about Shane that tripped every trigger and every nerve in my body was aroused, standing on edge with expectation. “It’s not natural.” The light in his eyes waned and I realized that he then thought it was one-sided. Impulsively, I grabbed his hand. “But I felt it, too.”

  His pupils grew bigger then, signaling to me that those emotions were still there, just buried deep like I’d tried to do with mine. It had turned out to be next to impossible, though, because as long as he was next to me, my thoughts woul
d go in places they shouldn’t. As I watched him make up his mind through the window of his eyes while anticipating the heat of his kiss, I wondered if I’d be as drawn to him later after I was no longer in his presence.

  His lips pressed into mine, soft and warm and slowly at first, but our mutual desperation made it passionate in a matter of seconds. It wasn’t long at all before I felt my heart rate increase as I shoved my fingers into his hair, something I’d been dying to do all day. His hands pressing into my back pulled me close as his lips began to wander down my neck, and I dropped my head to the side, exposing all the flesh there, offering it to him for the taking. He kissed down to my collarbone as I felt his fingers wrap around the jacket I still wore—but not for long. In mere moments, as if we realized it was not only what we wanted to do but what we had to do, we removed both jackets and shirts, tossing them to the tile floor. His hand cupped one of my breasts—still inside the bra—and this time I could tell the difference. While there had been one moment during the shoot where I wondered if he’d crossed a line, I could now sense the intent of his touch. His thumb circled my areola, causing the nipple to stiffen at his touch, and I let my fingers respond, pressing my nails into the hard flesh of his back.

  But I wanted to explore new territory, and I let my hands drift around front to the button of his jeans. I played with the waistband a little, letting my fingers dip underneath the denim, teasing the flesh of a spot I hadn’t yet seen, and I could feel his strong palms against my back. Except they weren’t pressing or pushing or digging—I instead felt him holding himself back, as if he were a racehorse at the gate waiting to be cut loose.

  In effect, he was that horse.

  That thought made me want to put him out of his misery. After all, I’d teased him just an hour or so earlier when, at the shoot, I’d been down on my knees, all but pawing at his member. Now, though, there would be no simulation. And I’d been dying to do it since Greg had suggested it in the pose.