Dirty Shots (8 page)

He bent down, placing his mouth to her pussy and giving her slit a couple of long, slow licks.

She whimpered. “Just take me Eric. I need you.”

He straightened, lifting his body above hers, positioned his cock at her entrance, and gently pushed.

She felt the resistance of having her ass filled with the plug, while his erection pushed firm but unforgiving into her pussy. Eric’s face twisted in pleasure, his breath ragged. She was so wet, it should have eased his passage, but even though the plug was relatively small, she’d never been so full. She forced herself to slow her breathing, relaxing her muscles further, and then Eric gave another push and he was deep inside.

“Oh, God,” he breathed. His eyes were shut, but then flicked open to focus on her face. “Does this feel all right?”

“It feels fucking amazing.”

And it did. She’d never been so full in her life. He began to move, sliding in and out of her, his balls slapping against the head of the butt plug, causing fresh sensations of pleasure to build inside her. She didn’t think she could take much more, lifting her hips to thrust against him. She raised her feet from the floor and hooked her heels onto his shoulders so his thrusts were as deep as they could be. Then he reached beneath her, his fingers finding the plug, and he applied more pressure, pushing it deeper where it had begun to slide out. Her orgasm broke, washing over her in waves of excruciating pleasure. Her head spun with its force. And Eric exploded inside her, slamming into her as he yelled out, thrusting again and again and again.

They held together, panting, until their breathing returned to normal. Eric slid from her body, deftly removing the plug as he did so, and using some of the paper they’d been lying on to clean themselves up.

“Don’t go home tonight, Anya,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “Stay here with me.”

She twisted to face him, their bodies pressed together, content and sated. “But I don’t have a change of clothes. I can’t go to campus in the morning wearing a little black dress. What will I look like?”

“I’ll buy you new clothes first thing. Whatever you want.”

“You’re crazy.”

“You’ve made me that way.”

A dark shadow fell over his words. He had once danced on the periphery of madness. She only knew what she did from the things he’d revealed during magazine interviews, and then, of course, the few things he’d mentioned to her.

She pushed her thoughts from her mind and snuggled down into his arms. What he’d gone through in the past didn’t matter.

All that mattered was the here and now.

***

A
nya woke to find herself
alone. Sitting up in bed, she ran a hand through her messy hair, and looked around for any clue as to where Eric might have gone. On the end of the bed was a bag from Calvin Klein. She got to her knees and reached down to fish it up toward her. A note was pinned to the top:

Sorry, had to get to the gym. Didn’t want to wake you. Promised you new clothes – hope you like them. Make yourself at home. Hope to see you later???

E.

He’d left.

Her stomach dipped in disappointment. It wasn’t as if he’d gone to a business meeting or anything. How could a workout beat a morning with her? But then she remembered how she’d told him she needed to be back on campus that morning. Hopefully that was the reason he’d gone, thinking she had class. She did, but not until mid-morning.

Curious, she pulled the clothes from the bag. A simple pair of dark blue, boot-cut jeans, and a white, fitted t-shirt. Being a man, he hadn’t considered that her underwear was black and so would show through the t-shirt. But then she saw another bag, La Perla, and pulled out a gorgeous but simple t-shirt bra and matching panties. He had thought of everything. Except the shoes, but she could get away with walking in heels.

She quickly showered and dressed, then caught a cab across town to campus. She needed her laptop and books, and her feet were killing her. She longed for a pair of sneakers.

The cab pulled up outside, and she paid the driver, feeling curious eyes glancing her way. Most of the students couldn’t afford to get cabs, and if they did they were saved for a Saturday night, not a Wednesday morning. Her heels sank into the grass as she cut across campus, trying to save a few minutes. A wolf whistle cut through the general bustle of the students. Instinctively, her head turned to source the sound, but as soon as she saw who it had come from, she whipped her head back around again, trying to pretend she hadn’t noticed.

“Where are you going in those shoes, Anya?” Gavin called out. “You look like you should be a stripper. In fact, is that where you were last night? We missed you at the party.”

“Get lost,” she muttered.

He hurried the last few steps and then grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. “So what’s with you never showing at our parties, huh? Did you have somewhere better to be?”

She shook him off. “Unsurprisingly, Gavin, yes, I did.”

His top lip lifted in a snarl. “You need to stop acting like you’re better than everyone else.”

She couldn’t help herself, forcing a snarl of her own. “Maybe it isn’t an act.”

“God, you’re such a bitch.”

She put her head down, her heart hammering, and kept walking. She needed to ignore jerks like Gavin. He was the sort of guy who expected women to throw themselves at him, and if they didn’t, he took it as a personal insult. She didn’t know why he’d focused on her in particular, but she just wanted to stay off his radar.

Unfortunately, Gavin didn’t seem to have the same opinion, his words chasing her as she walked. “Just remember karma’s a bitch, bitch.”

––––––––

A
nya sat through her classes,
one eye on the clock, the other on her cell phone. She wanted to send Eric a message, but didn’t want to appear needy. Finally, the phone vibrated in her purse and she snatched it eagerly, holding the screen below the level of her seat so her lecturer wouldn’t notice.

Sorry I couldn’t stay this morning. Hope you liked the clothes. Same time tonight?

She hugged herself in excitement. The memory of his touch on her skin stayed with her, her body aching in that pleasurable way that reminded her of all the things they’d done the previous night. She found her mind constantly filled with Eric, the scent of him, the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel as though they were the only two people in the world. It was hard to believe they’d only known each other for a week now. How had she filled her time before he’d entered her life?

Later that day, as afternoon turned to evening, Anya made her way back to Eric’s apartment. She was surprised to find him standing outside on the sidewalk, his hands shoved into the pockets of a smart suit, giving a casual look to the outfit. His eyes scanned the street, and as soon as he saw her, he straightened, a smile breaking on his face. Unable to help herself, she smiled back, a reflex as natural as anything they’d done.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked as she approached.

“Waiting for you.”

“Did someone throw you out of your own place?” she teased. She’d rarely seen him outside of his apartment.

He laughed. “No, but I figured it was about time I threw myself out. As much as I want to keep your beauty all to myself, I thought you deserved to be wined and dined.”

A little ball of happiness swelled inside her. “You mean we’re going out to dinner? Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have dressed up a little.”

He glanced down at her outfit—a knee length leather skirt, soft cream sweater, and heels. “You look beautiful just as you are.”

She glowed with pleasure, glancing down at the sidewalk. “Thank you.”

He held his hand out to her, and she took it. They walked down the main road, and then turned off onto a side street. Up ahead, a couple of small tables were positioned on the narrow sidewalk, an old fashioned canopy protruding from the restaurant. A couple sat, sipping coffee and reading—the man a newspaper, the woman a paperback—not speaking to one another.

Eric pushed open the door, and, above their heads, a bell tinkled. The restaurant was tiny, only about ten tables, none seating more than four people. It was still early, so only a couple were taken, but the air was redolent with the scent of garlic, tomatoes, and some kind of spice. A waiter in his late fifties caught sight of them entering. He bustled from around the counter, his stomach straining at the small white apron he had tied around his middle, and opening his arms in greeting. “Mr. Rutherford! You came back to see me.”

Eric laughed and Anya glanced up at him, enjoying the sound and the recognition in Eric’s face. “No offence, Mateo, but I didn’t exactly come here to see you. It’s your pasta I’m here for.”

He waved a hand. “No offended, no offended. And you bring beautiful lady. What more could I ask? Come, sit. Sit!”

He guided them to the table in the window, pulling the chair out for Anya, before placing a couple of menus in front of them. “I can get you drinks?”

“Yes, please.” Eric looked up at her. “White wine okay? Or would you prefer something else?”

She smiled. “White wine sounds lovely. Thank you.”

He ordered, and they both studied the menu.

“This is wonderful,” she said. “Do you come here often?”

He smiled at her. “Is that a pick up line?”

She grinned back. “Why, do I need one?”

They stared at each other, caught in a moment. It became too intense, and Anya glanced away, her cheeks heated.

Eric cleared his throat. “In answer to your question, yes, I do, though more often than not I get Mateo to deliver.”

“The waiter?”

“No ... Well, yes. He’s the waiter but he’s also the owner. His food is wonderful, but I don’t take much time to sit and eat out very often. I’m normally too busy with work.”

She was pleased he’d taken the time out for her.

“So what do you recommend?”

“I guess ‘all of it’ wouldn’t be much help?” He glanced back down at the menu. “I love anything with seafood. The calamari and chili is amazing and goes perfectly with the wine.”

“Sounds good.”

Mateo—the owner—took their order and disappeared into the kitchen.

Eric reached across the table and took her hand. She was surprised and touched by this small gesture of intimacy, as if they were a real couple. She didn’t know what they were; they’d not exactly had a talk about their relationship or future. Being a model he’d screwed didn’t automatically make her his girlfriend.

“Actually, Anya, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Her stomach did a nervous flip.
Uh oh.
Was this where he told her they were getting too serious and wanted to break it off? Was he dumping her? Or firing her?

She voiced none of these concerns, just looked at him with her tongue tied and her stomach in knots.

He continued, “I spoke to a friend of mine who owns a big gallery here in New York. He wants to get together tomorrow, and I wondered how you felt about me showing him some of your photographs.” He rushed on, almost at a ramble, and she realized he was nervous, too. Somehow, knowing this made her feel better, as if they were on more of a level playing field.

“This is a big deal for me, Anya. It’ll be the first time anyone other than you has seen the new direction my art has taken. It will cause some ripples when people start finding out, and I could really do with some of his advice about how to handle any negative publicity.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that likely to happen?”

“Possibly. The portrait work I’ve done before has been highly regarded ...”

“I know that, Eric. I knew who you were before I ever met you.”

He blushed, the sight endearing in his strong, handsome face, and glanced away. “Yes, of course. I forgot. So I hope you understand why I’d want to get feedback from another professional.”

The thought of other people seeing her photographs made the butterflies in her stomach flutter madly, but she told herself not to be stupid. Of course Eric would want to show his colleagues.

“You don’t need to ask my permission, Eric. It’s your work, not mine.”

He let out an audible breath of relief. She’d clearly made him feel better, though she wasn’t completely sure how she felt herself. Something uneasy sat inside her, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Naturally, she was nervous about someone else seeing such intimate images, but she knew Eric had taken the shots beautifully, and they were tasteful and erotic, not pornographic. Perhaps it was just the idea of his work being out there, available for others to criticize should they want to.

Their food arrived, steaming plates of pasta sprinkled with fresh parsley. The smell made her mouth water. She’d always loved her food, something her figure had so far not hated her for. Sure, she was curvy, but those curves hadn’t yet morphed to fat. At twenty-two, she knew she had time on her side, but she would probably have to try to curb her appetite as she got older, and perhaps even make a trip or two to the gym. For now, she was going to enjoy her meal. The calamari was tender, the pasta cooked perfectly with just enough bite. The zing of fresh chili heated her tongue, and she relished the fresh tang of lemon juice and capers.

They ate in companionable silence, both of them seeming to realize that long pasta probably wasn’t the best date food, but neither caring. They cleared their bowls.

Anya sat back with her hands on her stomach, giving a sigh of contentment. “You were right. That
was
amazing.”

“So you don’t have any room for dessert?”

“Are you kidding? I love dessert.”

Eric didn’t order any, opting only for a double espresso. Their orders arrived and she glanced at her own dish of layers of sponge cake, cream, coffee liqueur, and chocolate, and then at his tiny shot of caffeine.

“Now you’re going to make me feel like an absolute pig,” she said.

Nevertheless, she dug in, pushing the silver spoon through the soft, creamy layers.

He watched her mouth closely as she licked cream from her spoon. She noticed his tongue sneak out, licking his own lips, his teeth biting gently.