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“How does it feel,” I demanded in a broken voice.
Esteban looked at me again. “It fills me up the way I want you to...”
“Oh...”
I’d tied men up. Blindfolded them. Spanked some, beaten a few with floggers, dressed more than one in frilly panties. But I’d never yet fucked one in the ass with a strap-on. The thought of that sent another thrill of pleasure through me.
And why? Because Esteban wanted it so much. Because he’d approached me on the subject of pegging so casually hopeful, so obviously afraid I would recoil in horror, or maybe mock him, that I couldn’t think about taking him that way without remembering how hard it had been for him to even ask me, and how beautifully grateful he’d been when my answer had been, “I would love to.”
It could’ve been about the domination—what makes a man more submissive than being the one getting fucked instead of the one doing the fucking? It could’ve been about control and power, because those were things that turned me on. But really, it was because my sweet boy wanted it, craved it, yearned and ached and burned for it, and I was the only one who would give it to him.
Because it made me something to him that nobody else had ever been.
I wasn’t touching myself, but it wouldn’t take more than a stroke or two to send me toppling toward orgasm. I almost slipped a hand between my legs, but a couple walking a dog was due to pass us in about a minute and a half, so I took my hand off his crotch. They’d see only two people in conversation. Nothing more.
“I want that,” I told him. “I want to be inside you. Fucking you. Taking you to the edge, over and over, until you beg me to let you come.”
“Please,” he breathed at once. His fingers had curled tight in the fabric of his pants, digging. He rocked his hips again, the tiniest amount. “Please, will you...?”
The dog-walking couple had just passed by, so I leaned close to nuzzle his neck and breathe into his ear as I pressed my hand to his cock again. “Yes, baby. I will. And I will love it.”
Esteban let out a low, gruff gasp. Under my touch, his cock throbbed. Heat spread against my palm. His entire body quaked as he turned his face toward me to press his cheek against mine. We were both breathing hard. My nipples ached; my clit throbbed. I wanted to rub myself all over him.
I sat back, instead. He blinked rapidly before he could focus on me. I wanted to touch his face. I wanted to kiss his mouth. Instead, I pulled a package of tissues from my center console and handed them to him without a word.
He laughed, embarrassed. “I am like a boy.”
“You’re my boy,” I told him. “And that was very sexy.”
“But you didn’t—”
“Next time,” I told him.
That’s when I finally understood why he was acting so strange. It took only a second or so to see the look on his face. To figure it out.
I should have known that his urgent desire to see me outside of our routine had to mean something bad. I should’ve guessed it, no matter how loving he’d been. I should’ve known better.
“Oh.” I sat back, surprised. Stunned, actually. And stung. “There is no next time?”
“Querida...”
I knew that word, at least. “Darling.” He’d called me that a couple times before. I’d always liked it, but this time it felt too much like an apology and not an endearment. I sat back.
“Don’t call me that,” I said in a cold, distant voice. I turned to face the windshield, my hands on the wheel.
Neither of us moved. I could hear his breathing quicken, but I didn’t look at him. I caught sight of his hand, reaching as though he meant to touch me, but in the end he must’ve decided against it because he let it settle again on his thigh. After another few moments, I heard him unzip, the crinkle of the tissue package, some shuffling. He cleared his throat.
I knew he was waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t know what. In the past, even before I’d learned him so well, I’d still never doubted what I wanted to say. How I wanted our scenes to go, the reactions I wanted to elicit. I’d been wrong a few times and missed the mark, but I’d adjusted. This time, I had no idea what Esteban needed from me.
“Please don’t hate me,” he said.
I swallowed a rush of emotion. “I don’t hate you. But you should get out of my car now.”
He didn’t, not at first. I thought I would have to face him, and I didn’t want to, not with my emotions printed all over my face the way I was sure they were. He was breaking up with me. I didn’t need to know why. I didn’t want to know. At the sound of him starting to speak, I cut him off.
“Out.”
And, as he always had, Esteban gave me what I wanted.
6 (#ulink_2d416dd2-8977-5d5d-a4de-1a787f3fda00)
“Put your hand on her hip. Lower.” The camera whirred and clicked. Scott paused to shake his blond hair out of his face and look at the picture he’d taken. He frowned. “Jack, I want you on your knees.”
Jack and I both laughed, and I said, “Woo!”
Scott, serious, smiled but put the camera back to his eye. “Head bent...okay, tell you what. Elise, you do whatever you’d...do.”
I put my hand on Jack’s dark hair. Thick and glossy, he wore it a bit longer in the front so it had a habit of falling over his eyes. I threaded my fingers through it from his forehead back, getting a good grip and tugging his face up to mine. The camera whirred.
I said in a low voice, “I won’t hurt you, but I’ll still need to know if you’re uncomfortable, okay?”
“Go ahead and hurt him,” Scott said.
My fingers tightened a little more, and Jack laughed. I glanced at Scott. “This is just for the pictures. I don’t really think we need to get a safe word or anything for the sake of art, do we?”
“If you don’t need a safe word for art,” Scott said, “it ain’t very good art.”
I looked back to Jack, and I let my smile fade. My fingers tugged the tiniest bit. “I’m still not going to hurt you on purpose. You tell me if I do.”
Jack grinned. “I’m good.”
I tipped his head back harder, watching to see if he winced. I really didn’t want to hurt him—even if this had been a real scene between us, I wasn’t particularly into causing pain. I liked the reactions to it more than giving the pain itself. For the sake of a picture I could make it look like I was being totally sadistic, though, if that was what the photographer wanted to see. With Scott’s murmured words of approval, I looked down at the man in front of me on his knees and waited to feel something. Anything. He was gorgeous, thick, dark hair, a killer smile, a lean athletic build and a very, very pretty half-hard cock that I wasn’t going to stare at, because that just wouldn’t be polite. I appreciated the package, but that was it. No spark of attraction.
Modeling is sometimes about acting as much as it is posing, so I put on my best resting bitch face and worked it. And I worked Jack, who was a good sport and an excellent partner. We didn’t fuck or anything like that, not even simulated. There was lots of skin to skin, though. He was totally naked, and I wore lingerie that was too small, a fact I’d pointed out when I put it on and had been told by a grinning Scott that the size was perfect. When we paused for a break, Jack did apologize for getting hard.
“Honey, I’d be insulted if you didn’t,” I told him. I shrugged into the silk robe I’d brought along. Jack had wrapped a towel around his lean hips. We were both drinking sodas that Scott’s assistant had brought up from the shop downstairs while the photographer himself pulled up the first set of shots onto his laptop to preview for editing.
Jack stretched out long legs on the chaise in one corner while I took a spot in a comfy armchair. We’d spent the past hour mostly naked and entangled. I’d met him only two hours ago. He felt like one of my oldest friends at this point.
“You work with Alex, right? Olivia’s husband,” Jack asked.
I sipped soda and rolled my head on my neck to crack it. “Yep.”
“Yeah, my girlfriend is like, her best friend.”
“Sarah?” I laughed. “Wow, small world.”
“Yeah, tiny.” Jack nodded.
“I don’t know her,” I added. “I mean, I’ve heard Olivia talking about her, but we haven’t met.”
Jack nodded. “You have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend? I guess I should’ve asked that, sorry. Didn’t mean to be whatever you call it, genderist.”
“I don’t. Never had a girlfriend, thought about trying it once or twice but I’m kind of hardwired for cock. The last boyfriend I had was a long time ago.” I leaned back in the soft chair and forced away thoughts of Esteban. He’d never been a boyfriend.
“How come?” Jack leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
I shrugged. “It ended badly. Haven’t really wanted to have another since.”
“How long is a long time ago?”
I paused, sort of embarrassed to say it aloud. “Something like four years.”
“Whoa.” Jack shook his head. “That’s too bad.”
I laughed. “It’s okay. Really. I haven’t suffered for lack of a boyfriend, trust me.”
“Come look at these,” Scott said from the desk.
Jack and I got up to see what Scott had done. He’d pulled up a black-and-white shot from earlier in the day. Jack on his knees, my fingers in his hair. Scott had captured a small, assessing smile on my face. Jack’s eyes closed, his mouth slightly parted. His cock not yet erect but clearly getting there.
“Beautiful,” I said, meaning Jack.
Jack snorted soft laughter. “Pretty hot, man.”
Scott didn’t look at either one of us. His fingers continued smoothing and shifting the image in tiny increments. Enhancing, not changing. I loved the way he made me look. I’d worked with a few other photographers who always tried to make my tits bigger, my belly flatter, my ass rounder. Scott always made me look just like I do, only a little...better.
He looked over his shoulder at us with a grin. “Pretty, huh?”
I hugged him from behind and pressed my cheek to his. “Gorgeous. And I look okay, too.”
“Are you kidding?” Jack said. “You look fucking amazing.”
I gave him a small smile. “Thanks.”
“You guys need more of a break? I have a few more things I want to try.” Scott twisted in his chair. “You up for it? I want to take you outside.”
We were both up for it. And let me tell you, I’ve never really been an exhibitionist, but there is something awfully exhilarating about stripping down to bare skin out in the middle of the woods with a totally attractive guy wrapped all around you. We had fun, too. Splashing in a small waterfall, both of us with teeth chattering and goose bumps. Lying out in the sun to dry, our fingers linked companionably while we chatted, and Scott took picture after picture.
“Good,” he said finally with another look at his camera. “That’s it. We’re done.”
Back at the studio, Jack and I hugged goodbye. We exchanged numbers and promised to keep in touch. Scott made sure we both took postcards for his upcoming gallery show, which would, he promised, feature some of the pictures he’d taken today.
“I’ll be there,” I promised.
“You’d better,” Scott said and kissed me firmly on the mouth, then the cheek, and hugged me close to whisper in my ear, “I don’t see you often enough. You okay? What’s going on?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
He gave me a suspicious look. “Uh-huh.”
I wasn’t going to tell him about Esteban, especially now that I’d been so unceremoniously dumped. “Really. I promise. I’ll see you at the gallery show.”
“You’d better see me before that,” he told me, and I said I would, though I think we both knew it wasn’t likely.
He gestured to me just before I left. “Look at this before you go.”
He showed me the rest of the shots he’d taken. Even without editing, they were stunning. Anyone who didn’t know that Jack and I had been strangers at the start of the day would’ve thought we’d been lovers forever.
“You’re beautiful,” Scott said, slow-clicking through a series of images. “Look at you.”
I looked.
I saw what he meant. Lines and curves and shadow. Tits and ass and lips and hair. There was beauty there, all right. But it was like looking at a picture of someone else. I was a stranger to myself. That woman in the photos was someone adored and cherished and worshipped, and that was no longer me.
7 (#ulink_2ca7364d-cb51-50e0-8bd7-7f1b8e555582)
Funny how best friends just know when something’s wrong. I hadn’t talked to Alicia in weeks beyond a few texts, but that didn’t matter. The second I saw her number on my screen I answered, and within minutes we were laughing as much as we always had.
“So, what’s new, what’s going on with you? Feels like I haven’t talked to you forever,” she said finally. “I got a Connex invite to Scott’s gallery show. I guess you’re going to be in it? Sexy pictures. Woo woo.”
“If you’re into that sort of thing,” I said archly, as though Alicia hadn’t been my best friend forever and hadn’t gone with me on a late-night run to the hardware store to pick up laundry rope and carabiner clips for a booty call. “Weird he invited you, though.”
“He probably invited everyone in the area, one of those blanket invitations. I can’t be there, unfortunately. I thought about it,” Alicia said. “My mom would love it if I came home. Can’t get the time off. Bummer.”
“Well, shit,” I said. “That sucks.”
“I know, I miss youuuuu,” she cooed. “When are you coming to Texas?”
“It’s hot in Texas,” I told her.
“The men are hot in Texas,” Alicia said. “You totally need to move out here with me. We can be roomies!”
I’d lived with her already for a few months just after college. That our friendship had survived it was more a testimony to how nice and patient and forgiving Alicia is than anything else. Some people are not meant to live full-time with other human beings, and I’m one of them.
“You know I can’t do that,” I said. “Where would I find a job as good as the one I have?”
She sighed. “True. Lucky bitch. But you could come visit me, Elise. It would be fun. And I miss the hell out of your face. You get vacation time, don’t you?”
“Sure. Oodles of it. Alex is a big fan of vacation.”
We chatted a bit longer about when would be the best time for me to come out—not in the summer, I told her. Not until after William’s Bar Mitzvah, anyway, and in the fall, the days in Texas wouldn’t be so brutal. “I’m a wilting flower, you know.”
“Oh, you,” she said with a laugh. “It’s not so bad. You stay inside, that’s all. Yay! I can’t wait! And neither can Jimmy.”
I paused. “Who’s Jimmy?”
“Guy I want you to meet.” I pictured her blinking innocently. “You’ll like him.”
