Teresa snapped pictures, eyes never leaving the sight of those beautiful men, tugging and pulling at each other.
When her film was running low, Teresa automatically reached for a fresh camera from one of her assistants. The assistant was there so that Teresa would not have to take her eyes away from the scene and possibly miss an important shot.
“Beautiful,” Trina whispered as she stepped up to the photographer.
“Yes, they are.” Teresa nodded. “And they photograph well.”
She smiled as Adan wrapped his arms around Blain’s waist and pulled the man backwards, making sure not to cover their faces or break a possible photo opportunity.
“I want the proofs as soon as we are done here.” Teresa’s voice was low and cautious.
“You expect something to happen?” The clicking of her camera slowed down as she gave more attention to her boss.
Teresa had photographed Dennis, and she felt more than a pang of sadness at the man’s death.
“I don’t know, Teresa. But I don’t want to give anyone any ideas. No one knows why they want to hurt the models or Irish Eyes.” She looked over at Edgar and Macey, who were huddled together underneath a shade tent, and shuddered. “But I’m not taking chances. I don’t want anything to happen to my baby. Irish Eyes is too important to die. I refuse to let it die. And I don’t want any more dead models to contend with either. The loss of their beauty…”
“I understand,” Teresa murmured, still snapping pictures as the men frolicked, getting several perfect shots. “I’ll get the proofs to you as soon as they’re processed.”
“Thank you, Teresa,” Trina whispered, narrowing her eyes at the men tugging and pulling on her Blain, then she smiled. Irish Eyes would not fall. Beauty would prevail.
* * *
“Okay, Raidon,” Teresa called. “Any time you are ready.”
“He’s really good,” Blain murmured to Trina as they all sat in robes and watched the Japanese man move into position.
Wearing nothing more than a hakama, the blousy pants that some advanced martial artists wear, Raidon was ready to move. His well-defined chest gleamed with a light coating of sunscreen -- as opposed to the oil Edgar had originally wanted -- but the effect was still devastating.
“It’s like poetry,” Teresa whispered, and began to snap pictures of Raidon moving gracefully across the field.
His arms flowed in complicated patterns, circling over his head and around his body as he feinted and twisted and kicked, fighting an imaginary enemy or two. His kicks were amazingly high, each one a split, and his punches were so powerful that she could almost hear the air crackle and submit to his blows.
The look in his eyes was focused, intense, and his concentration and balance were absolute.
Graceful, and powerful, and dangerous -- Raidon was all of those forced into a small beautiful package.
As he completed the last move, the last flying side kick, the last knife hand blow, he turned to face his audience and took one last bow, a show of respect, then he smiled.
“Got you!” Teresa grinned as she snapped the picture, capturing the release of tension on his face, the sheer beauty of his feeling of accomplishment and elation. This shot was definitely for the spread, she decided, a smile crossing her face as she handed her camera to her assistant. Cheerfully, she called out, “Do that again, Raidon. Maybe twice more before we lose the sun.”
The smile disappeared and he rolled his eyes at the grinning photographer. They had better get paid for this one! This shoot was turning into… a bother.
* * *
“Can you jump it?” Teresa asked.
Adan snorted, as if not deigning to answer such a stupid question.
Dressed in the boots and leather pants from earlier, he had added an open white poet’s shirt, and the picture of a gentleman rogue was established.
With his wavy hair flowing free, he sat atop his prancing stallion, easily controlling the beast with the muscles in his thighs while the creature fought against him.
But with one hand on the reins, the other resting on his hip, Adan easily held dominating position.
“What am I to jump?”
His voice, as always, was smooth and slightly accented, but he turned and grinned at his photographer, daring her to tell him to do something impossible.
Rolling her eyes, Teresa pointed to a low rock wall.
“They use it for amateur steeplechase!” she called back.
Nodding, Adan tugged the reins, making the magnificent black stallion rear, before turning and racing away from the wall, gathering distance to build up speed.
Teresa snapped pictures of Adan, his hair whipping around him, sticking to the saddle as if he were born to it.
When he reached a distance he deemed sufficient, he pulled up on the reins, drawing the horse up short so that again it reared before spinning around.
Then, as it blasted off toward the wall, Adan leaned low, over the straining neck, his muscles bunching as he fought for control and his seat.
Adan became one with the horse, leaning low over its neck, his shirt whipping out behind him, urging the creature to move faster and faster.
Everyone seemed to hold their breath as the horse neared the wall, and then, as silent as a wraith, it launched itself through the air, Adan clinging to its back, as they seemed to fly.
Time seemed to stand still as horse and rider flowed over the fence, Teresa snapping madly as muscles strained and both fey creatures soared.
Then Adan turned his head toward the camera and winked!
And Teresa got the shot.
They landed with a jolt and time seemed to speed up again, both horse and rider prancing in delight as the jump was landed perfectly.
“How was that?” Adan asked, staring at the grinning Teresa.
“Damn near perfect!” she shouted back, handing her camera to her assistant and wiping the sweat from her forehead. The more she was around these guys -- the more anyone was around these guys… This shoot was going to have a lot of sex appeal.
“Good!” Adan trotted the horse over in front of Teresa. “You know talent and skill. As a reward, sex at sundown!”
Teresa blinked as he turned the horse and cantered back to the stables where they had rented the beast.
Sex at sundown? Was the man insane? Like she would ever fall for a line like that!
But she stood watching until the horse and rider were out of sight, before turning back to the business of making photos.
* * *
Waterfall at sunset.
It was beautiful, with the colors of the sky, brilliant oranges, powerful purples, intense yellows.
And, in the midst of it all stood Blain.
The water of the falls roared around him, sounding almost peaceful as the sun continued its descent. His red curls pulled straight under the sheer mass of the water. Standing beneath that clear wall, obscured by the constant flow, he was hazy, fey-like, ethereal.
Then he stepped forward, his face angular and mischievous, the water flowing away from his skin as if he were Poseidon rising from the sea.
Then his eyes opened -- his bright, Kelly green eyes -- and the world shook.
He stepped out farther, as if coming from some magical portal, and the tight, muscular body was slowly exposed.
As he moved forward and away, the great curtain of water parted around his tall, lithe form, flowing around and emphasizing the strength in his body.
A playful fairy, Blain emerged from behind the waterfall, warrior of old, a modern day Finn MacCool. He stood at the edge of the small cliff, looking down, muscles clenching and tensing as droplets of water created the illusion that he was glowing.
Then he leapt!
Teresa gasped, changing the focus on her lenses as she snapped like mad!
This was sheer insanity, but it was such a perfect shot!
His body, knife thin, dove straight down, backlit by the darkening colors of the setting sun, the bright rainb
ow hues covering him, then there was a slight splash as he knifed into the gently moving pool.
“I need to get down there!” Teresa was intent on photographing the action and her well-trained assistants were already on the move.
Scrambling over rocks and greenery, Teresa raced to the edge of the pool, eyes searching the surface of the water.
Then she crowed in delight as a tossed red head popped up and Blain began stroking for the shore.
Holding her fresh camera up to her excited eyes and hoping that the stabilizing device inside it would stop it from shaking in her unsteady hands, Teresa snapped pictures. Blain rose from the sea, the proverbial birth of a male Aphrodite, and sleeked the water from his head with both hands.
Then he turned toward the camera, as if aware of where she would be, and grinned.
Turning, he gave her a perfect shot of the water flowing off his chest and arms as his powerful legs moved him forward.
“I hope that was a take!” he bellowed, and Teresa burst out into laughter.
“Done deal!” she cried back. “And ladies and gentlemen, that’s a wrap!”
* * *
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Macey whispered, tears flowing from her eyes, making raccoon trails down her cheeks as she stood before Edgar.
“We have to wait and see what happens,” Edgar growled. “And damn it, stop that crying. It is making you look like shit!”
“And you are a fine one to talk! You should be worried as well, Edgar! If this starts to work out, if these models are deemed perfect…”
“I know!” Edgar roared, then, looking around, lowered his voice again. “I know, Macey. We will just have to wait and cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“But…”
“Shut up, woman! Do you want to cause a panic?”
Her bottom lip trembling, Macey shook her head and tried to compose herself.
“We still have to make it through the announcement party. The proofs won’t be ready until after. So until then, we’re safe. After that, if the pictures are perfect, then maybe we’ll have to take action. But until that time, we play it cool and we wait and watch.”
“Watch?”
“Blain. He seems to be at the center of this, whether he wants to be or not.”
“If only he wasn’t so… perfect for this campaign.”
“Watch him. That’s all, Mace. Watch him, and we will deal with the shit as it hits the fan.”
Nodding, Macey turned and walked away, sniffing and wiping the pancake makeup off her face as she moved.
“Did you hear that?” Delsin whispered to Shen as they both pretended to actually have more to do in the dressing tent other than pack up a few belongings, which would have taken all of three minutes.
“I heard, and something still seems off. I have to talk to Barika.”
“What, Shen? Don’t leave me in the dark.” Delsin’s eyes shone purple as he stared intently at his friend.
“Nothing yet -- just a vague idea. But I have to talk things over with Barika before I cause a panic.”
“Understood.”
The two watchers rose to their feet and searched the grounds for their compatriots.
Adan and Raidon were both present and accounted for. The only one missing was Blain.
They started to panic, but then Shen noticed that Trina was absent too.
“Looks like the Irish Lothario strikes again,” Delsin chucked, after ensuring that both Macey and Edgar were still within earshot.
“Lucky him.”
“Yes,” Adan whispered as he turned and stalked off. “Lucky him. I’ll return. I have to see a lady about a opportunity.”
The others nodded, but said nothing as he disappeared. Adan did that sometimes.
“Play your cards right and you might get lucky too.”
“Ohhh!” Delsin perked up a bit and stared up at Shen from beneath long lashes. “Do tell, baby.”
“Sure!” A sly smile crossed Shen’s lips. “Edgar likes long hair!”
“Shen!”
* * *
“Oh God, Blain!”
Trina had never been faced with anything quite like the tall Irishman, and she was sure that she never would again!
When she followed him out of the setup site and into the woods, the last thing she expected to see was the man himself, naked, and leaning against a tree.
And she definitely didn’t expect to see him stroking an impressive erection that seemed to keep growing with no signs of stopping.
“Trina,” he offered, his green eyes darkening as he stared at her through the setting sun. “I had a feeling you would follow me here.”
“And why do you say that?” Did her voice sound nervous? Because she wasn’t really. She was just… affected! Yes, affected was a good word.
“Because your panties have been wet from the moment you laid eyes on me.”
“Arrogant,” she breathed, eyes growing wide as she placed a hand against her chest, as if to still her rapidly beating heart. Was it hot out here or was it just her? Her, she decided, as she watched his bronze nipples pebble up into hard beads and his free hand travel over the wide planes of his chest.
He stopped at one bronze nipple, to tweak and tease, his eyes locked onto hers.
She licked her lips as she watched that hand move over the skin she was tempted to touch, to kiss, to lick.
Yes, she wanted him -- she made no bones about hiding what she wanted, and now was the time to go after her desires.
Blain was sheer perfection.
“Not arrogant,” he replied, taking her mind somewhat off his body. “Just truthful. I’ve wanted you from the moment you walked into that room and defended my honor.”
“Your honor is hanging out,” she said, nodding at his erection, noticing that the foreskin had pulled back, leaving the purple head glistening with the early drops of his desire.
“It’s standing up and saluting you. It likes what it sees.”
“You’re uncut,” she said, taking a step closer, reaching out to caress him with one curious finger, taking that precious droplet of clear liquid from his cock to her lips, tasting the saltiness of him.
“And shaven. Shows off the form and keeps things from getting stuck between your teeth.”
“And who says I’m going to go down on you?”
Man, she wanted to! Her mouth watered at the thought. She could almost feel his velvet hardness filling her mouth, caressing her tongue, tapping at the back of her throat.
She moaned and licked her lips again.
“I say,” he said, smiling at the naked desire on her face. “And your body says. Can you feel yourself growing even wetter for me? Soon we’ll have to wring out your panties, if you’re wearing any.”
She groaned at that. “I’m wearing panties. Silk stains so easily.”
“Frugal lady. But you are wasting it.”
“What?” She looked a bit confused, but her hand went back to caressing his hot, hard cock.
“Those juices that are going to be running down your thighs any moment. Won’t you let me have a taste?”
Fun time, her mind seemed to scream and before her thoughts could catch up, her hands were tearing at her clothing, scattering them all around the clearing, exposing her soft skin to his hot gaze.
“We are going to practice safe sex?” she growled, dropping to her knees in front of him, her tongue lashing out to graze his penis.
“Never practiced unsafe sex, love. I have my body to think about. And soon, I will have yours. So be a good girl and open up.”
The hand still gripping the thick base of his cock lifted it to her trembling lips, running the purple head teasingly over her mouth, making her lips shine and gleam with his essence.
The muscles in his thighs quivered as her warm soft hand enveloped him gently, tugging at him as the heat from her breath sent flashes of lust down his spine.
Trina growled as her hands locked onto his hips, pulling him deeper into her
mouth, devouring him, relishing the taste of him.
He groaned as one of her hands crawled from around his hips and slid down his thighs.
Of course, he opened his thighs more to accommodate her, and her hand gently cupped his balls, rolling them carefully around in her hand.
“Keep that up and this will be over before it begins,” he snarled, and she chuckled, pulling down on his sac, drawing a growl from his throat.
His hands tangled in her hair, pushing her deeper against his crotch.
He began to pump slowly, teasingly, not wanting to end it, but to prolong the pleasure.
“Damn it all, girl! Your tongue!”
She was doing something with the flat of her tongue, rippling it in a counterpoint from the way her mouth was moving, stroking his cock while she applied hard suction, the hot velvet of her mouth enclosing him.
Then the tip of her tongue danced along his length, teasing and stroking.
His eyes bored into Trina’s, demanding that she give him more.
She stared back, lust and satisfaction glinting as she held him within her power.
It was that look, that abject joy, that steeled his resolve.
Reaching down, he fastened his hands around her shoulders and pulled his cock from her hungry mouth.
“I see your game, little bird,” he purred as he reversed their positions, pushing her against the tree he had been leaning against. “You like the power. Well, you can have all the power you want, thrusting between your pretty little thighs!”
That said, he dropped to his knees and shoved her legs apart, forcing her to grip his shoulders to keep her balance.
“Blain,” she groaned, but was too far-gone to care.
She did this, she worked him up to this frenzy, and now she was going to enjoy what she had wrought! The smell of her hit him first, peaches and cream, two of his favorites.
The soft hair he parted revealed an almost shy clit hiding behind its protective cowl. That would not do! Running his fingers along her wet flesh -- and she was absolutely soaked -- his moisture-coated thumbs gently exposed the milky white bud of her desire. His hands trembled as he felt the heat pouring from her body.
“Baby is all wet,” he purred.
Shelby's Angels: When Irish Eyes Are Dying Page 6
