Dirty Shots Read online

  Eric smiled, his eyes lighting as they settled on her. “Anya.” He straightened and stepped toward her and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. His five o’clock shadow grated as his lips met her skin, and the scent of him sent a thrill through her. “You look beautiful, as always.”

  She brushed off the compliment, not knowing what to say without appearing to agree with him. Instead she said, “I’m looking forward to what you have planned for me this evening.”

  His eyes twinkled. “You think I plan these things? And there was me thinking this was all spontaneous.”

  “What? Ankle spreaders and handcuffs can spontaneously appear?”

  He chuckled. “Okay, you may have a point.”

  She swept into his apartment, pulling her coat from her shoulders. Whenever she was seeing Eric she always made an effort with her clothes. She didn’t want him to think of her as some penniless student.

  She glanced around. The blackout blinds on the floor to ceiling windows had been pulled down, and the far corner of the apartment, where Eric had his studio set up, was brightly lit. On the other side of the lighting props, she spotted a box which she knew contained many of Eric’s toys for photographing her—ropes, handcuffs, gags, spreader bars—and she was sure some toys he’d not yet introduced her to. That was the exciting part.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” he offered, following her into the apartment and closing the door behind them.

  “Dry white wine, if you’ve got it.”

  He headed toward the kitchen area, reaching onto a shelf to take down a couple of expensive looking wine glasses, and then opened a special chilled wine rack with a glass front and selected a bottle. “Sauvignon Blanc?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Lovely.”

  Anya wished she wasn’t so nervous. Before tonight, she’d known her place in Eric’s apartment, throwing herself into the role of his model so she didn’t have any time or space to doubt herself. Now, after Eric had stepped over that line between personal and professional, she sensed the relationship between them had changed. No longer could she cling to the cool and aloof persona she had tried to wear. Her heart longed to reach out to him, to allow him to see her for the person she really was. When she’d left his apartment the previous night, it was with soft kisses and promises to return the next day. Now she was here, she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be here as a date, or simply as his model again. The uncertainty made her anxious, and she hated feeling like she wasn’t in control.

  Eric walked back over to her, a glass in each hand, and passed one to her. The cold of the wine had already chilled the glass, causing condensation to moisten the outside. She longed to touch him, or for him to touch her. There seemed to be a gulf between them that hadn’t existed last night, and she just wanted to place them back into that intimacy, that moment. Had something happened she wasn’t aware of?

  “Eric,” she started. “About last night—”

  He held up his free hand. “Oh no, there’s no need for you to say anything. I crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed, Anya. I’m sorry about that.”

  She studied his face, her stomach dropping. “You are?”

  “I mean, I’m not sorry about what happened. But I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

  “Eric, you didn’t take advantage of me. I’m pretty sure I made what I wanted perfectly clear.”

  “But you were tied up. You couldn’t move.”

  “I know. That’s what made it all the more sexy.”

  Something in his face darkened.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He gave his head a slight shake. “When I was thinking about what happened, I started to worry that I had taken things too far, or that I misunderstood what you said to me. In the position you were in, you wouldn’t have been able to do anything to stop me.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You worried that you’d ...” She couldn’t even bring herself to say the words. “Forced me?”

  “No! Well, yes ...” He ran his hand through his dark hair. “Hell, I don’t know what I thought.”

  “What about afterward, how you held me? Do you really think I would have stayed and let you hold me if that was true?”

  His shoulders sagged. “You’re right, of course you are. I just ... I’ve lost track of time in the past, not known what I’ve been doing for hours at a time when I’m lost in my work.”

  “Is that how you think of me still? As your work?”

  “You are my project,” he said, his dark eyes meeting hers and focusing on her with a passion she almost found frightening. “You’re so much more as well, but you and this photography are the most important things in my life right now.”

  Her heart contracted, her stomach flip-flopping. While part of her wanted to be at his very center, his focus purely on her, the other part of her was intimidated by his intensity. But then she’d known he was like this. Eric Rutherford, the photographic genius who would vanish from the world to work on something, only to emerge months later, exhausted and missing half his body weight. His bouts of depression were well documented in fine art magazines. Though he was reported to have fought and beaten the black dog with regular exercise and a strict healthy eating regime, in that moment she glimpsed the person he might have been in those darker days.

  He must have caught the expression on her face. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his full mouth curving at one corner in a bashful smile. “I’m freaking you out. Please don’t freak out.”

  The smile made him seem more like himself again. She took a big gulp of the wine—expensive and delicious—and felt herself relax. “I’m not freaking out. I promise.”

  He took a drink of his own wine and placed the glass on a small side table. “Good. Then where shall we start?”

  “Do you still want to photograph me?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want to be photographed?”

  During her time with Eric, she’d never felt so sexy or in control of her own sexuality. It made her feel powerful, as if the whole world was focusing on her through the lens of Eric’s camera.

  She nodded.

  He took the wine glass from her hand and set it down beside his. “How do you feel about being penetrated, Anya?”

  She suppressed a smile. “After last night, I’m surprised you need to ask that question.”

  “It’s something that came to me while we were ... you know.”

  “Having sex?” she offered, widening her eyes in mock innocence.

  He grinned again, that boyish charm. “Yes, that.” He crossed the room to the leather box with the lid—the type someone might use to store work folders in—removed the lid, and delved inside. She watched with curiosity, her stomach tight in knots of trepidation. She trusted that he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want to do one hundred percent, but she still didn’t like the idea of having to tell Eric ‘no.’

  He found what he was looking for and straightened. In his hand was a slim box in royal blue. The exterior held no clues as to what was contained inside. He flipped open the lid. She almost expected to see a designer watch, but instead a silver cylinder met her eyes, wider at one end and then tapering off, with a flat end on the thick part.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  He studied her face, as if trying to gauge her reaction. “It’s a butt plug. Have you used one before?”

  She stifled the giggle that tried to burst from her lips. She wanted him to think of her as experienced, but she couldn’t lie to him. “No, I haven’t. Will it hurt?”

  He gave a shy grin which made her want to jump him. “I’ve never had one inserted, so I couldn’t say for sure. But they’re supposed to be for pleasure, not pain. If at any point you felt uncomfortable or you weren’t enjoying what we were doing, all you’d need to say is stop.”

  “Aren’t we supposed to have some other kind of special word?”

  “I’m not going to beat you, Anya.”

  “I know. But what if I say �
�don’t stop’ and you mishear me?”

  He laughed. “Very well. What would you like to use?”

  She thought for a moment and then said, “How about elephant?”

  “Elephant? Why elephant?”

  She shrugged. “You’re not likely to get that mixed up with anything else.”

  He seemed to be trying to suppress another smile. “Okay, elephant it is. I think if you yell that in the middle of everything, it’ll be enough to break the mood anyway.”

  They grinned at each other, and Anya relaxed further. Perhaps it was the wine, but she suspected it was that they could still be at ease with each other. He still wanted to photograph her, and she still wanted him to. Yes, they’d had sex, but that didn’t mean their situation had changed.

  Something occurred to her. “Um, Eric. The butt plug hasn’t been ... umm ... used before, has it?”

  He frowned. “No, Anya. Of course not. Everything here is all for you. I went out and bought it specially. I would never use your props on another woman.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t admitted there might be other women, but at least she didn’t need to worry about whose skin the handcuffs had last been pressed against, or whose breasts the ropes had last bound.

  “So when do you want to get started?”

  “I’m ready now.” She picked her glass back up and gulped down the last of her wine, feeling the slight burn down the back of her throat, the flush of color the alcohol brought to her cheeks. The studio was set up much as it always had been, with the white paper rollers providing the background, and more white paper on the floor. Eric never needed to photograph her with any other kind of background. It was her body he was interested in, nothing else.

  She’d worn a fitted black dress and a pair of heels. She was normally a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl, but she’d wanted to make an impression. Where the previous times she’d been to his apartment she’d felt like she was going to work—albeit wonderful work—this time she’d felt more like she was going on a date. Her clothes reflected that, and the fact he’d poured her a glass of wine. Even so, it was like no other date she’d ever been on.

  Eric stood close behind her, the heat of his body filling the inches between them, his spicy aftershave in her nostrils. His hands reached up and swept her hair to one side to expose the zipper holding her dress together. He rested one hand on her shoulder, as if to keep her grounded. With the other he took hold of the zipper and slowly pulled it down. Her breath caught in anticipation, the comparative cool of the apartment kissing her skin. She wished he could have removed the dress to discover her without underwear, but her curves meant there was no way she’d go out in public without a bra.

  He pushed the straps from her shoulders, allowing the dress to slide down the rest of her body and puddle around her feet. Anya stepped out from the circle, so she stood in just her heels, lacy black bra, and matching thong. Eric caught her hand and slowly turned her back around to face him. His dark eyes ran across her skin, drinking her in. She fought her natural instinct to cover herself, remembering who she was in Eric’s presence, how he’d given her the confidence to show off her body in a way she never had before. She’d always been so self-conscious, thought of herself as being too small, too curvy. It had taken all of her self-control to act the way she had in front of Eric in order to get the job as his model. She’d known who he was, known he’d need someone who was comfortable with her body. The way she’d acted that first day, just walking across his apartment and stripping off her clothes, had taken every ounce of courage. She always longed to be tall and slender, but Eric didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t seem to mind at all.

  He caught her hands and lifted them out from her sides so he could study her. “You look amazing, but you know you’re going to have to lose the underwear.”

  The effort she’d made embarrassed her. “Of course, I know that.”

  “Allow me.”

  Suddenly, she no longer cared about being self-conscious.

  He reached around so his arms laced behind her back, his fingers finding the catch of her bra. The motion brought him close to her, her mouth and nose against his throat, her senses swamped in him. With a deft movement, he unclipped the bra and removed it with one hand, dropping it to the floor beside her. Instantly, her nipples responded, tightening at the cool air and the proximity to Eric. Her breath was shallow and fast, her breasts lifting and falling with every gasp.

  His eyes raked down her body. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  He hooked his thumbs into her panties and slowly rolled them down her thighs, crouching as he did so. She used his shoulder to balance, and stepped out of them. He was still on his knees, his mouth aligned with the little puff of blonde hair she allowed to remain on her mound when she got a wax. His breath heated her sensitive skin, and her shallow breathing became one long inhale as he leaned forward and placed his lips against her lower ones.

  Automatically, Anya reached down, her hand lacing in his soft, thick hair. Her eyes squeezed shut as his probing tongue pushed against her folds, licking slowly up and down, opening her to him. His tongue flicked her clit, sending sparks racing through her, and she gave a little whimper.

  “Oh, Eric.”

  She stood in nothing but her heels. Eric fully dressed in a dark shirt and slacks. He made her feel so wanton. His hands slipped around to clasp her bottom, one cheek in each hand, pulling her closer to his mouth. His tongue delved deep, and her legs began to tremble.

  Then he pulled away.

  Anya let out an involuntary groan. “No, don’t stop.”

  He looked up at her, his mouth slick with her juices, and smiled. “We’re supposed to be working.”

  “You’re too cruel.”

  Eric got to his feet. “Nah, I’m just getting started.”

  She had a sudden urge to taste herself on his mouth. She slid her arm around his neck and pressed herself to him, her breasts crushing against the material of his shirt, the buttons leaving small imprints on her skin. Her mouth found his and she lapped gently at his tongue, tasting her own musky desire. His hands traced light lines on her back, running from her shoulder blades to the dimples at the bottom of her spine. Then he went lower, fingertips dipping between the cleft of her buttocks, to brush gently over her asshole.

  She shivered in a mixture of desire and anticipation.

  He broke the kiss. “Are you ready for this?” he murmured against her mouth.

  She nodded against him.

  From the back pocket of his pants, he pulled out the silver vessel. With it, he also removed a small cylinder of lubricant. He held out his palm to her, showing her the two objects. “You’re going to want me to use the lube,” he said. “Trust me.”

  “I do.” Her voice came out hoarse, ragged in her throat. Every muscle in her body was taut with anticipation. She was frightened of the pain. She was frightened of letting Eric down.

  “Go down on all fours,” he told her.

  She did as he told her. She was still wearing her shoes, the heel a three inch stiletto, slender straps around her ankles holding the shoes to her feet. If she sat back, the points of the stilettos would dig into the fleshy part of her bottom. She suspected Eric would like that.

  Eric’s hands kept up movement across her body, a steady relaxing flow, smoothing from her shoulders, down her back, and to her bottom. She arched against him like a cat, part of her having to resist the urge to purr in pleasure. They hadn’t even gotten started yet.

  One of his hands left her, and she heard the crack of a lid opening. “It’s going to be cold,” he warned her. Not trusting herself to speak, Anya simply nodded again.

  His finger ran down the crack of her ass, pausing to apply pressure to her anus. She stiffened, and the cold gel dribbled onto the sensitive spot. She gave a little gasp, tensing further, but as her skin began to warm the gel, and Eric renewed his attention on her body, her shoulders dropped. A slow breath exhaled from deep in her lungs.
/>   “Relax, baby,” he murmured. “This will be easy as long as you don’t tense up.”

  That’s like telling someone not to look down.

  She’d had his finger before, but she thought it might have only been his pinky. Now he used his index finger to massage the lubricant into her ass. Just the touch on the outside was enough to send her heady with arousal, and she closed her eyes to focus. Her pussy quivered, wishing it had something to clench against.

  Could I come like this? From anal penetration alone?

  He slipped his finger inside her ass, and Anya gasped. She felt him stretch her, a strange combination of pleasure and pain. Her fingers clutched at the paper beneath her, pulling it up into little rifts, like a crinkly bed sheet.

  His voice came from over her shoulder as he kneeled behind her. “Is this okay?”

  “Oh, yes,” she managed.

  He worked her, loosening the tight muscle until he was able to thrust his finger in and out of her ass with ease. “Think you can take another one?”

  She was panting now, barley able to speak. But she nodded. An orgasm was so close, her pussy begging to be touched, her clit swollen and unsatisfied. She knew just a little pressure against the sensitive nub would send her over the edge.

  Eric’s other hand had been placed against her lower back, but now it lifted and she felt more lubricant squirt onto her skin. She wished he would put it on his hand first to warm it up, but with one of his hands busy, his finger embedded in her ass, it would be a difficult maneuver to pull off.

  He eased a second finger into her ass, the slight sting of pain as her back passage widened to allow him in making her hiss air in over her teeth. He paused. “Still okay?”

  “Yes,” she managed. “Don’t stop.”

  He worked slowly and gently, using the two digits to fuck her. As it got easier, she found herself pressing back on his hand, increasing their pace.