“It’s good to see you, after so long.” She stared at him “But the circumstances could have been better!”
Jason’s heart sank. Here it comes, he thought to himself. It was no more than he deserved. “I am so sorry, Zoë. All this trouble came from one glib remark I made to Gregory, years ago. I was stupid, showing off. I knew he fancied you, and I did the dreaded lad thing and told him some of the stuff that we got up to.”
“At least you’ve got the decency to look ashamed of yourself,” she remarked, and then sighed. “Gregory is such a sleazeball. He always was a sleaze, and he’s got worse, if anything. Kelly summoned him to the house when I went to collect the photographs. She was trying to get him to apologize to me.”
“You’ve seen him?” Jason was amazed at his little sister’s level of involvement behind the scenes.
“Yes, I’ve seen him. He told me that even though I had ‘the goodies,’ he still had a way of getting them from me.”
“Yes, well ... his plan is to put pressure on us for them. He’s got one of my friends, Georgie, and he’s holding her captive somewhere until we can resolve this.” He glanced away. He really was in a sorry situation.
“Kidnaping!” She shook her head. “Gregory doesn’t scare me; I doubt he could scare anybody. What’s this friend, Georgie, like?” She watched him carefully, weighing up his responses.
“She’s pretty tough, I guess.” He shrugged. “He’s got some rather unsavory friends he picked up in London, but basically I agree with you.”
“I think you’re falling into his hands too easily. There really is nothing he can do about it. If we take away his object of desire -- which is only the money he would get for publication -- then he’s got no reason to hold her, right?”
“Well, yes, I guess so. I also figured that you would have destroyed the photos by now ...?”
“But he still has your girlfriend?” She had avoided the real question.
“Friend,” he clarified.
She gave a slight nod, taking in the information.
“Greg has invested time and effort into this. He fixes onto what he decides is a winner, and he’s promised some sort of scoop to the press, your name having been mentioned. They are ready and waiting -- I had two big offers simply because he made a fundamental error and mentioned the photographer’s name. He thought that mine being a name recognized by the press would add to their value.” He shook his head. “The first thing they did was come direct to me and try to cut out the middleman.”
Zoë looked directly at him with curiosity. “And?”
“No, I would never consider selling photos in that way. You know I’d never do that without someone’s involved consent.” He went on to answer her silent question. “I kept the material out of sentimentality; I never thought either of us would find ourselves here, in this sort of situation.”
She listened to him attentively.
He didn’t want to deliver Greg’s ultimatum, but having no alternative was driving him toward considering it.
“You would have had control of them, as the photographer.”
He could see she was curious to know where she stood with him, as a friend, and in the professional photographer/model relationship. Jason smiled wryly in response.
“Ironically, no. If I had taken them without your consent -- without your knowledge -- they would be mine to do with as I pleased. It’s a crazy old world.” He shook his head. “It’s irrelevant, though, isn’t it? We took them for us, didn’t we?”
She nodded, slowly. “For your portfolio, too?”
“Yes, and it got me onto a course and where I am today.” His smile grew less cynical; he eyed her warmly, momentarily forgetting the issue at hand. “However ...” He cleared his throat, trying to concentrate. “Greg’s got himself into this stupid situation, and he’s clutching at straws trying to muddle through it and deliver on his promises.” He paused. “He wants a scoop. He says the press is begging for a hot piece about you because of all the plugs he’s put in, and if he can have something, he’ll let Georgie go. We just have to give him something ... anything?”
Zoë shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her jacket and stared at the window, as if gathering her thoughts.
Jason looked at her profile, his glance quickly taking in the shape of her breasts slowly rising and falling inside her jacket.
The waiter arrived with her coffee, and after he had retreated again, Zoë pulled one hand out of her pocket. Clutched in it was a crumpled photograph that she dropped on the table in front of Jason.
He recognized it immediately. It was a shot he had taken of her during their final summer together, just before he’d gone away to London to study. They had a blissful week in her parent’s holiday caravan, which her parents had reluctantly allowed them to use on the basis that they were just about to turn eighteen. He’d taken the shot when the sun was going down and the light was filtering through the frothy lace curtains on the small windows. He’d asked her to stand up against it, and the light poured in across her body as she looked out into the sunset. It was one of his favorite shots, natural and unaffected and very feminine. She lacked any self-consciousness about her nudity. It was extremely artful.
The print was rumpled and ripped on one side. It looked like she’d been going to destroy it, but had changed her mind. Perhaps she’d brought it just to make clear how upset she was with him. He felt a deep groan ebbing up in his chest, and he put his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands with a sense of despair. “I am so sorry,” he muttered into his hands.
“I’m not.”
Jason’s head shot up.
“I think it’s a lovely photo. I think the press would be happy with it, don’t you?” She stared at him. The challenge was in her expression, and he could see something else: a glint of mischief. Jason felt relief begin to flood his veins. She isn’t angry about the photos. She was putting him through the hoops because she was annoyed that he hadn’t got in touch with her since he’d moved away.
“I’ll give them the scoop myself, if the press are so keen to cut out the middlemen. I’ll cut out the lot of them.”
Jason’s eyebrows shot up, and he sat back into the banquette, stunned.
“I was approached by Gentleman’s Review about six months back. They wanted to do a feature on my ‘coming of age’ or some such nonsense.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand, as if that were irrelevant. “At first I wasn’t interested, but when I saw these old photos, I began to think about it seriously. I figured I could maybe make it work to my advantage if I could work with a photographer I trusted.” She paused to let her point sink in. “If it was done right ... Jason, I am so sick of being a teenybopper. I want to grow up!” She abandoned her bubble gum at that very moment, sticking it on the edge of the ashtray with an emphatic gesture of determination.
Jason felt a low rumble of laughter stirring in his chest.
She shrugged at him. “Well ... it would sort Gregory out once and for all, wouldn’t it? His contacts at the press would never trust him again,” she added, dipping one finger into the froth on her cappuccino and suckling it off slowly, while watching him over the edge of her cup.
He nodded, thinking to himself that image alone would make the cover of GR, the intelligent man’s high-class totty magazine, and half the readers would cream themselves just looking at it, never mind getting inside the covers.
“Who was it that approached you about it?”
“Some guy called Joel Elliot.”
Jason shook his head, giving a low, appreciative whistle. Elliot was behind the whole damned thing, however you looked at it.
She looked at him quizzically.
“It seems this Mr. Elliot is a very determined guy. He’s the one that Gregory is hoping to sell the photos to. He also had his staff approach me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Looks like he’s kept his options open with Greg while also pursuing all other possible avenues of enquiry.
”
“Hmm, makes sense, I suppose. He wasn’t happy when I turned his offer down.”
“The redeeming factor is that he contacted you first. Greg must have approached him; how else would he have known about the old photos?”
She nodded in agreement.
“That was coincidental, but he must have got narked with Greg because Greg went to other editors behind his back. That’s when he sent his guys looking for me.”
It was all falling into place. Elliot was tenacious, but he had started out with reasonable intentions. He’d joined the scrum later on, after Greg had come on the scene and complicated matters by being underhanded.
“It would be better if you dealt with Elliot up front and direct, though,” Jason said. “If it’s definitely your decision to go ahead with it.”
“Yes. And besides, it’s the photographer’s integrity that’s most important to me.”
She smiled her lopsided smile. His pleasure at seeing her smile at him quickly turned carnal. The blood was pumping hard in his groin. It was the look he had fallen for all those years ago. Her pout drew her mouth to one side. It was so cheeky and delicious.
“Have you got a particular photographer in mind?” He turned the photograph that lay between them toward himself, allowing himself for the first time to climb inside the space of the image and remember how he had felt with his lens on her.
“I was hoping you’d agree to work with me,” she murmured. “Although, we did get ourselves in a state when we did that before, didn’t we?” She leaned forward, questioning him directly.
How could he forget -- the combination of her and the camera always left him with a raging hard-on. Even the mere thought of it had his cock aching for contact. It was one of the reasons he’d stuck to travel shots and serious interview portraits. He didn’t trust himself to indulge in intimate photography, although he’d often wondered if it was a phenomenon associated with Zoë herself. He managed a nod.
Her pout slid to one side again. “Do you remember that time at the railway sidings?”
Jason groaned, allowing his hips to slide slightly forward on the banquette for the sake of his pounding cock. They had gone down to the deserted railway siding to take some shots for his portfolio. She was keeping him company and helping with his equipment, while he looked for the best images of contrast between stone and metal, rust and gravel. She got his attention back when she stripped off her knickers, straddled an abandoned sleeper, and hoisted her skirt up. She sat with her delicious pussy pressed against the rod of iron, thrusting mightily between her soft, bare buttocks. She had rolled back and forth, her plump pussy flesh squeezing hard against the surface while she mimicked groans of ecstasy, getting his blood up in a flash. Man, but she had looked hot.
It was all he could manage to take one shot from the end of the sleeper, capturing the rod disappearing between her soft thighs, before he had to go there himself. She had attempted to run off, giggling, but he caught her and bent her over the sleeper, grabbing her hips in his hands. He had struggled with his zipper, his need so urgent that he lost the ability to complete normal tasks effectively. He’d almost come the moment he squeezed the head of his cock inside her tight, juicy slit. He had to hold his breath and count to ten before taking her hard and fast from behind, while she ground back onto him with her arms braced stiffly against the sturdy old sleeper for support. That’s what she was like -- mischievous and provocative.
“I remember it like it was happening again, right now.”
She moved on the chair, her eyes bright, her hips rocking from side to side as she moved closer to him over the tabletop. “And the time in the cricket pavilion?”
“Oh, yes, I remember the time in the cricket pavilion.”
“If you take me back to the pavilion, I’ll do it again.”
The pavilion was the first time she had masturbated in front of him. She made him sit opposite her and watch but not touch, right until she dripped wet spots onto the bare floorboards, right until she had come. He had ached for the touch and the taste of her. He had wanted to bury his face in her sex and lick her till she screamed, and she’d known it, the minx. She let him do it when she was done. He had licked her while he wanked and spurted his load in seconds.
“I don’t think we’d make it as far as the pavilion.”
She sat back into her seat. “You do realize that you broke my heart, you bastard.”
He stared at her, his gut knotting.
“No ... I never realized ... I thought you were doing just fine.” What could he do but tell the truth?
She shook her head.
He’d always known he’d been stupid over Zoë, but now he knew just how much. Too much. “If it makes any difference, I’ve never stopped loving you.”
The silence seemed endless. She was the only one who’d ever been able to grab his heart and wring the emotion out. Even after all this time, that still seemed to be the case. This was killing him.
Then she smiled. “It makes a difference,” she whispered.
He nodded, breathing again, his chest swelling. She had indicated that they could move forward. He couldn’t have been more pleased.
He pulled some money out of his pocket, counting it out slowly on the table -- partly in an effort to regain his equilibrium -- and suggested that they leave immediately.
She climbed into the passenger seat of the jeep, glancing around the unfamiliar vehicle with curiosity, throwing off her baseball cap and freeing her hair, shaking it out.
“Let’s go somewhere private,” she suggested. “I just want to be sure we understand each other before we sort this out and get rid of Greg once and for all.”
Understand each other? He hoped she meant what he thought she meant. He nodded, kicked the jeep into touch, and sped off, heading in the direction of the pavilion, simply because it had been suggested as a goal and wasn’t too far off. But he was constantly scanning for alternative cover as he drove. He wasn’t prepared to wait much longer to get her into his arms.
Inside a minute, he spotted the old sportswear factory, somewhere they had rendezvoused because it was halfway between his and hers, back then. It had been long since boarded up, and he hoped it still was.
He hauled the jeep up and swore under his breath as the traffic lights struck red. He craned his neck. The warehouse was in sight and looked as it had several years earlier, but with a few hundred more billstickers to prosecute. Perfect.
He turned toward her, hauling her into his arms, kissing her madly. He could smell her scent. It coursed in his veins, firing him up even more. The jeep was ticking over at the traffic lights; people were walking across the road in front of the vehicle. Alarm bells were starting to sound in his head, but the thrill of touching her held him still for a minute longer. He fixed her eye with his, staring blatantly at her.
“I could pull in at the old warehouse ...”
She nodded, her lips softly parted. It was all the encouragement he needed. He roared off when the lights changed, and pulled into the alley behind the entrance to the derelict warehouse.
“You want me?” Her question was mischievous.
His mouth twitched on one side. He nodded.
“Here?”
Another nod. “Right here.”
“But ... how?”
He jerked his head to the back seat, quickly opening his door as he did so.
She followed his lead and jumped out, throwing off her sandals as she did so. When she climbed into the back of the jeep, her fleece gaped open, and he glanced longingly at her bare cleavage for a moment from across the length of the back seat. He groaned, his body taut with suppressed longing. She was as eager as he was; he could see that. Her baby-blue eyes were sparkling with pleasure. He reached over to kiss her long and hard on the mouth. She grabbed at him, holding his head in against her as she returned his kiss. Then her hands dropped to open up her skirt, fumbling with eagerness.
“Do you always go out with no underwear on nowadays
?” His hand slid inside the split skirt as it fell open, snatching at the plump flesh of her bare pussy.
“I was hot.”
Jason didn’t doubt it. The heat was emanating from her every pore, her porcelain skin made even more delicate by the flush of arousal that covered her body.
Her fingers moved across his thigh to his cock, where it reared up from his jeans. Another wave of lust pooled in his groin when her head dropped toward his lap, her lips parting. He mouthed a string of silent curses at the ceiling of the jeep as her mouth closed over the engorged head of his cock.
Her mouth was warm and wet, closing over him deep and sure. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to count to ten, again. He wanted to come inside her, and it had to be soon. He stroked at her hair. She lifted up and away.
“Zoë ... I have to have your sweet, warm slit on me.” He was desperate for her, shoving his jeans down and angling his hips on the seat. “Give it to me ... I want to feel you here.” His hand closed tight around his shaft and held still.
She straddled his hips, her legs folding against the seat and the taut hardness of his thighs. She rose up in front of him, and he pushed her jacket down the length of her arms and sucked heavily on her breasts. His hands rested on her waist as he moved over her nipples with his mouth and kissed her whole body through the source they offered. Then she reached for his shaft and drew it to her. She paused.
“Oh, please, take me there. Take me inside,” Jason whispered. Her scent, heavy with musk and honeysuckle, was tempered with smell of her sex, an intoxicating nectar to him. She was wet, like honey, and his cock slid up against her clitoris, the full head of it rolling against her. She sank down onto him in one gliding movement, and settled on his hips. The pull of her tight, moist slit sucking on his hot cock was exquisite. He groaned, his head going back against the seat of the Jeep. Their longing and need was entirely in tune, and Zoë’s head fell forward onto his shoulder as she moaned deeply with him. He closed his eyes, savoring the pleasure of his cock thrusting up inside the sheath of her sex. He moved his hands from her waist, over her breasts, and up into her hair as it fell against him.
Along for the Ride Page 16
