Dirty Shots (11 page)

Taking hold of both sides of her shirt, he yanked, causing buttons to pop and scatter over the floor. He’d ruined the shirt, but he’d buy her another one. He fell to the soft, pale skin of her throat, his mouth and tongue working their way across her skin with tiny bites and nibbles. She tasted fresh and fragrant, the slight citrus tang of her perfume against his palate. He moved down to her breasts, sucking one hardened nipple through the lace of her bra, scraping the nub with his teeth, and then repeating the motion to the next. Her chest heaved with her breathing, her fingers running through his hair.

“Now,” she said above him, her voice breathless. “I want you now.”

Wasting no more time, he lifted his head and stood straight, before he turned her around to face the desk. He placed his palm against her lower back, bending her over again. He lifted up her skirt, balancing it on her lower back so he exposed her round, creamy bottom. Hooking his fingers in the tiny slip of her panties, he slid them down her thighs and around her feet before letting her step out of them. He stood up again, the length of his erection bumping against the soft skin of her ass.

His fingers found the smooth head of the butt plug. He took hold of it and carefully pulled the toy from her body, placing it on the desk beside her.

“Lube,” she said, suddenly. “We need lube.”

“Shit.”

He’d thrown the tube in his desk drawer after their last session. Quickly, he kicked off his pants and shoes, and then, feeling ridiculous in just his shirt, stripped it off, too. Naked, his erection bobbing out in front of him, he moved around to the other side of the desk and pulled open the drawers, rummaging through until his fingers closed around the necessary item.

He moved back around to stand behind Anya where she was still positioned bent over the desk. “Ready?”

She nodded.

Eric squeezed cool gel onto his hand, massaging the silky liquid down the length of his cock, until his body began to heat it up. Then he applied some to Anya. Her asshole was widened from the plug, and he easily used his fingers to slip some of the gel inside. Being shy with the lube wasn’t an option when it came to riding her the back way.

Anya moaned and gasped as he massaged her, her fingers opening and closing in small fists, as if she needed something to grab hold of but didn’t know what. Eric removed his hand from her to close his fingers around his cock, and positioned himself at her asshole.  “Breathe deeply, Anya, and relax. If you need me to stop, just say so.”

“Elephant, right,” she managed, turning her face to him, a smile dancing in the contorted expression of arousal that had taken over her features.

He returned the smile at the mention of their as-yet-unused safeword. “Yeah, elephant.”

He pushed gently but firmly in the center of her anus. The head of his cock swelled against her tight hole. At first he thought he was going to be too big, but then he slipped inside, the tight ring of her sphincter gripping him. Anya moaned again.

He was panting now, “Is this all right?”

“Yes, Jesus! Keep going.”

The inside of her body was so tight and hot, like a heated fist gripping him. He nudged again, gently, slipping in a little farther.

“Oh, God,” Anya groaned.

He felt her press back on him, encouraging him. He applied more lube, greasing the way, and then pushed deeper. He was almost half way in now. Not wanting to go in any more than she could take, he began to pull out again, just an inch or two, to give him room to thrust. His hands gripped her bottom, one cheek in each palm, and he began to move inside her. With each thrust, he felt her widen for him, allowing him deeper. Anya was making small moans of pleasure, her body rocking with his movement. He increased his rhythm, the pleasure building in his balls, starting to take over his head. Would she want him to come in her ass? They should have discussed it beforehand.

“Anya, I’m going to come, should I ...”

She seemed to know what he was going to say. “No, I want you inside me. I’m close now, keep going.”

He reached beneath her body, his fingers finding the swollen nub of her clit, rubbing in the fast but gentle circles he knew she liked. The moment he made contact, her whole body tightened, and she pushed back on him harder, driving his cock deeper.

He pounded into her, his balls slapping against her pussy as he thrust. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he was hurting her, but even as her small cries turned to mewls of lust, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop even if she wanted him to. He’d never been this wound up sexually, as if the need to come had taken over his mind and body, and he’d have to come whatever else happened. His orgasm built, higher and higher, his balls tingling and hot.

“Oh, fuck, Anya. I’m going to come.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Even as she said the words, her whole body tightened. He felt the pulse of her pussy contracting in her back passage, too, thrumming against his cock.

Eric shattered, his climax exploding through him. Her ass clamped around his cock as he came, spurting inside her in long, hot streams of cum.

He pulled Anya up against him and lowered his forehead to her shoulder, holding her tight as the final spasms of orgasm released them from its hold. His legs were weak, his head spinning from the intensity of what he’d just experienced. Had he ever fucked a woman like that before? He felt as though he’d emptied his power and strength into her, as though he’d shared with her the essence of who he was. He’d never before experienced such connection and oneness with another human being.

He grew soft and slipped from her body. Knowing they’d make a mess, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bathroom.

She laughed, thumping his shoulder playfully. “Eric, I’m not a child.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I know you’re not, but I still want to take care of you.”

He deposited her gently on her feet, and reached into the shower and turned it on full. He removed the small amount of clothing she was wearing and pulled her beneath the spray. He’d thought he’d be exhausted, but being with Anya had given him renewed strength. He stood behind her, her back and bottom pressed against his chest and groin as the hot water ran down their bodies. But his sexual desire had been sated for the moment, at least. With care, he soaped her body, cleaning her intimately, washing away the residues he’d left on her skin.

“I only have men’s shampoo,” he said, holding up the bottle.

She smiled. “That’s fine.”

He tipped her head back slightly, the water running through her blonde locks, darkening the color. He squeezed some shampoo onto his hand and gently soaped her hair and rinsed it. She turned to him, taking the bottle to return the favor. Her small hands ran over him, stroking the soap over his body. This was different from the sexual frenzy they’d been in before. This was intimacy, the simple yet personal act of washing one another.

They rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, wrapping themselves in thick, cream towels that were warming on the radiator. They hurried across the apartment, toward his bed, and climbed beneath the covers.

Anya twisted in his arms to face him. “I never asked how your meeting went this morning.”

“Well. It went well.”

She laughed and playfully shoved his chest. “Come on. You can give me more than that. This friend of yours must have had something else to say.”

“He thought the photographs were beautiful. He warned me that I may get some backlash from the press and the art world because of their nature.”

“Because they’re so sexy, you mean.” She reached down and cupped his balls, but for once he didn’t respond to her.

Why was he struggling to tell her? The nervous energy he’d put down to the anticipation of the change in his career grew stronger. Perhaps he misread his own emotions. Was he actually anxious over Anya’s reaction?

“What’s wrong?” she asked, removing her hand, worry tightening her lovely features.

“Nothing.”

“Yes, there is.” She squeezed his hand in reassurance, and his unease deepened. “Come on. You can tell me. Did your friend not like them, really?”

“No, he did.” If he was going to go through with the exhibition, he had to tell her. Letting her find out because she’d seen a poster at college or an article in a magazine would not do. It wouldn’t do at all. Still, he had to force the words from his mouth. “The friend I saw this morning is Logan Blanc, the owner of the Blanc Art Space.”

She smiled and nodded encouragingly. “I know it.”

“He loved the photographs so much he wants us to have an exhibition there. One night only.”

She stiffened in his arms. “But I thought none of the photographs would be sold.”

“They won’t be. This is purely an exhibition. People can look but not buy.”

“And when is this exhibition happening?”

He took a breath. “In ten days.”

She pulled away from him, shock written on her expression, her blue eyes wide, her face pale. “What? Ten days from now?” Something fluttered over her expression and a hand went to her mouth. “No, it can’t be. My parents are in town that weekend.”

“Can’t you put off seeing them for one night? I want you to be there.”

“It’s not that! What if they want to see the exhibition? What if they recognize me?”

“They won’t see the exhibition. I can make sure tickets are sold only to people in the art scene who we know.”

“You don’t understand. My parents are Trent and Saara Bergman.”

Eric felt as if she’d punched him in the gut. “The art critics?”

She nodded. “They’re who I got my love of art from.”

“But your name? Your surname isn’t Bergman?”

“I use my mother’s maiden name of Rhinne. I didn’t want people at school to think I was getting a special deal because of who my parents are.”

“Jesus.”

Her eyes widened. “My father is Catholic. If he gets any hint of what I’ve been doing, he’ll probably disown me.”

“Anya, why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I didn’t want you to treat me different if you knew who my parents were.”

“As if it would have made any difference!”

“Wouldn’t it have? Really?”

He dug deep, trying to figure out his own emotions. Would he have been as open with her if he’d known? He’d like to think he could have been, but doing such things to Trent and Saara Bergman’s daughter, knowing he’d want the art world to see the photographs eventually ... would he have truly expressed his art in the way he’d wanted? He’d have been editing himself, knowing whose daughter he was photographing so intimately.

His chin dropped, his eyes closing briefly. “You should have told me,” he repeated.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I just wanted this so badly—wanted
you
so badly. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, and I hoped you wouldn’t need to find out.” She took a breath. “It’s the reason I told you I didn’t want to be paid. I thought as long as you didn’t have to see my real surname because you weren’t writing a check or transferring money into an account, then you would never even need to think about who I was.”

He let this sink in. He felt as though he had the right to be angry—she had deliberately deceived him, but she was too important to him to lose over some stupid thing like a name. They needed to find their way past this.

Eric moved back slightly in the bed, so he could look directly into her face. “You’re going to have to tell your parents.”

Her eyes widened in fear. “No, I can’t do that! I told you, they will never speak to me again.”

“Then you should have thought of that before!”

“What about if you don’t use any of the pictures where you can see who I am? And then I just won’t go to the exhibition.”

“No, Anya. The photographs where we can see your face are the best images. Even Logan Blanc said so. He thought exactly what I did, about how you have this ethereal quality, while still looking so sexy.”

She looked horrified, withdrawing farther from him. “No, you can’t!”

“I have to use the photographs with your face in them, Anya. Can’t you see?” He reached out and touched her cheek, but she jerked away. “It’s your face that brings such an innocent quality to the photographs. Yes, they are erotic, but the photographs that show your face stand head and shoulders above the rest. You look like an angel.”

She sat up, swinging her legs off the side of the bed so she sat perched on the edge. “So what are you saying? That you’re going to go through with the exhibition, no matter what I say?”

“You must have realized other people would see the photographs, Anya.” He was starting to get angry now, his voice restrained but heated.

“Yes, but I hadn’t realized it was all going to be quite so ... public.”

“I’m a photographer, and photographers display their work. I promised you I wouldn’t sell the images, and I meant that. I have no intention of allowing your naked form to be hanging in some other man’s house for him to enjoy anytime he wants, but I do want my art to be appreciated.”

She stared at him, angry tears beginning to well in her eyes. “But my parents? They don’t even believe in sex before marriage.”

“What do you want me to do, Anya? Am I supposed to never show any of your pictures? Destroy them and hire a new model to do the work all over again?”

Her face paled at the mention of a new model. “You would replace me?”

His emotions were in a whirl. He was so confused right now. He was furious with her, yet he cared about her more than he wanted to admit. He hated how her innocent face was tightened to the point of looking as though she might shatter into a million pieces. He wanted to comfort her and tell her it would be all right, but at the same time a voice in his head yelled ‘all that work!’ If she wouldn’t allow him to show his photographs, then there was almost no point in all those hours he’d spent agonizing over them.

Maybe this was his fault. He should have been more specific in the contract, made her understand that, though he had no intention of selling the work, so no one else would have her beautiful face or body hanging on their walls, he always intended for the work to be seen. Perhaps then the implication of who her parents were would have stood more soundly in her mind.