Photo Play (2 page)

The hateful man intercepted her before she’d gone two steps. “Darla.”

She tried in vain to twist out of his grasp. He was too strong, his big hands searing her upper arms, the clean, masculine scent of him filling her nostrils. He was so close. She couldn’t think with him so close.

“Wait a second,” he said.

“Where’s my purse?” She craned her neck, trying to see past a pair of wide, muscular shoulders, trying not to let this self-important creep see how much he’d gotten to her. “Where did you put my stuff?”

“Relax,” Kon said, “you can have your stuff, I just...” He squeezed her arms over the cotton blouse. “You need to see something.”

He pulled her toward the camera. She resisted. “I’ve seen enough. I’ve heard enough. Let me go.”

Kon tapped buttons on the camera and angled the viewfinder screen toward her. Darla went still, transfixed by what she saw there. She opened her mouth and shut it without speaking. She glanced at Kon, who studied her with an unreadable expression.

Darla leaned in closer to the small image, her voice an awestruck whisper. “How did you do that?”

The question socked Kon in the solar plexus, though he managed to keep his features neutral. The picture on the viewfinder was a close-up of Darla’s face. She glared at the camera, her dark eyes burning with emotion. Long, straight chestnut hair framed her face, a few errant strands clinging to her flushed cheeks. Tendons stood out in her throat. A vein bulged in her temple.

She looked sexy as hell.

“Really,” Darla said. “I mean, that’s not what I...” Her voice trailed off.

“Yes, it is, Darla. It is what you look like.” Kon clicked rapidly through the series of photos he’d snapped. Together they watched as frustrated anger seized Darla by the throat and gave a good shake. In the last shot, her eyes glistened with tears of helpless rage.

Why? Because he’d told her how hot she looked. She’d thought he was lying.

She turned toward the backdrop, looked at the lights, the umbrellas, then the camera.

“I’m good.” Kon shrugged.

“You’re a prick.” There was no heat in it. The anger had drained away, leaving her deflated. “And a bully.”

“Your point?” Kon stepped into the shadows behind the backdrop and reemerged with a little padded bench, which he placed right under the lights. An antique piano bench by the looks of it, the curved legs delicately sculpted, the top upholstered in rose and cream brocade.

He led her by the hand, settling her on the bench and rechecking the light.

“I find I’m no longer in the mood,” she said.

Kon grinned. “I can always get a lady in the mood.” He started undoing the buttons on her blouse in the most matter-of-fact way.

“What are you doing?” She yanked on his long fingers, but they kept right on going.

“I thought you were here for sensual photos.”

“I am, but—” Darla tried to slap his hands away, “I can do that part myself. And anyway, I still haven’t decided whether to stay.”

Kon suppressed a grin of triumph. She wasn’t going anywhere. “Well, you’d better make up your mind pretty quick, because my time is precious. You said so yourself. Ha! Beige. I knew it.”

She looked down at herself, at the sturdy beige bra he’d revealed. He saw the battle going on behind those wary eyes, saw her fighting the urge to cover herself.

“It’s okay, I’m gay,” he soberly informed her as he stripped the blouse from her shoulders and tossed it into a corner. “This doesn’t do a darn thing for me.”

Darla grasped at this morsel. She started to relax and even offered a relieved little smile—for a good two to three seconds, long enough for him to unhook the bra.

Those dark eyes narrowed. “A gay guy with three ex-wives?” she demanded, clutching the bra to her chest as she came to her feet.

“Yeah, that gay line rarely works.” He unzipped her pants.

“Wait a minute. Stop.” Darla clamped one arm over her loose bra while struggling to haul up her pants even as Kon tugged them southward.

Her filmy silk thong was beige, too, but color was the only thing it had in common with the frumpy, full-coverage bra. “Oh yeah.” Kon’s cock gave a little twitch of approval. “We might be able to do something with this.”

“White pants,” she explained. “I hate VPL.”

The dreaded visible panty line. As if she had to justify sexy underpants. He peered around her for a better look.

“Do you mind?” Darla scooted backward to thwart him, losing one of her sandals and practically tripping over her slacks in the process. “Just point me toward the changing room.” She squinted past the lights, obviously looking for that damn tote bag. Her security tote.

“Darla. Listen.” Kon pressed a palm to his chest. “Do you trust me?”

The look she gave him said,
You have got to be kidding
.

“I mean as an artist,” he said. “You came to me because I’m the best. You’ve seen my work.”

“How refreshing.” Her tone was arid. “A man with a healthy ego. The changing room?”

“There is no changing room.” Kon spread his arms. “What you see is what you get.”

She huffed out a breath. “Turn around, then. I’ll change... over there.” She nodded toward the far corner of the room where assorted pieces of cloth—drapes, scarves and the like—spilled from a cut-off refrigerator carton. “Better yet, you can hold up one of those drapes—high—to give me some privacy.”

“When I’m going to see you naked anyway? Come on, you can’t be that repressed.”

“Stop saying that. I am not repressed.” Darla’s pants slipped from her fingers and puddled at her feet. She struggled to keep her breasts covered as she bent to pull them up.

“If you say so,” Kon muttered. Obviously Darla Carmody had no inkling of her physical appeal. She was shy. Self-effacing. Vulnerable. Kon knew the type well. He should. He’d married three of them.

Which was why he had no intention of letting this one get close. It was just as well she was engaged.

“And I’m not going to get totally naked for you,” she said.

“It isn’t for me,” he reminded her. “It’s for your fiancé. Are you telling me he hasn’t seen you naked?”

“You know what I mean. Will you—will you just—” Darla emitted a growl of frustration as she tried to refasten her pants while holding up her bra. “Will you at least fasten this thing so I can pull myself together here?”

Kon stepped behind her and took hold of the ends of her bra. The instant she released it, he flicked the ugly thing off her and slingshotted it over her head. Darla grabbed her breasts. The pants fell. Kon seized her around the waist and lifted her as he kicked her pants and sandals halfway across the room.

“How dare you!” she howled, fighting like a tigress against his hold, her back pressed to his front. They stumbled around like that, tripping on electrical cords and nearly knocking over Grandma Drummond’s Victorian piano bench.

Darla wore only that wispy, nearly invisible thong, and the muscles of her ass pummeled his cock as she squirmed and thrashed. Not too shabby as cheap thrills went. Her skin was hot satin. She smelled of vanilla and lavender and woman.

“We don’t have time for garter belts and shit like that.” Kon’s words came in harsh grunts. Her hair whipped his face and caught in his mouth. “Settle down.” If he had an extra few hours to kill, he’d let her do the sexy-lingerie routine, let her gradually get comfortable with the process, and with him, while gently coaxing her toward the full monty. But time, as they said, was money, and as usual, “they” were right.

“If you’ve seen my work,” he huffed, “then you know I don’t do cheesy lingerie shots.”

“I’m the goddamn. Paying. Customer.” She punctuated her words with blind backward kicks to his shins. “I get to decide.”

Kon hauled her off her feet, inadvertently grabbing a breast as he did so. It was a fine, firm breast and made a more than decent handle as he wrestled her crosswise onto the bench, pinning her body with his and shackling her wrists behind her back one-handed.

They remained that way for long seconds, panting from their exertions, her butt angled high and still pressed to what was now a blue-ribbon hard-on. Kon felt his heart pounding—felt her heart pounding, too, against his other hand. He eased his grip on her breast, letting it fill his hand like a ripe, heavy fruit. He weighed the silky flesh, gently stroked and molded it. The nipple pulled into a tight bud, teasing his palm.

Kon sucked in a breath. Darla was still breathing hard, but said nothing. Still holding her wrists, he leaned down and kissed her neck. She trembled. He gave in to the impulse to lightly bite the place he’d kissed.

A ragged whimper issued from her throat. “What are you doing?”

“You’re delicious.” He drew the scent of her deep into his lungs, the perfume of desire she was helpless to suppress. “I can’t resist.”

And he couldn’t. Kon was going to fuck this woman. He was going to take her right there, right then, on Grandma’s piano bench under the blazing lights. His cock was practically bursting out of his pants. Darla Carmody was one of the hottest women he’d ever met, a woman of stunning natural sensuality, and the best part was, she had no clue about this part of her nature.

Which, of course, only made her hotter—to him, at least. Kon was going to use Darla’s body in every way possible and he was going to enjoy the hell out of it. Because it would be strictly a one-time deal. After she strolled out that door, they’d never set eyes on each other again.

That part was nonnegotiable, a self-preservation tactic he’d learned the hard way. Three expensive times. Do not let her get close. Do not let her get under your skin.

Kon stroked his fingers around the side of Darla’s breast and down her back, savoring the feminine curves and hollows. He ran a finger along the edge of the thong to where it dipped between her ass cheeks.

She jumped and glanced at him over her shoulder. “Kon... I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I think it’s the best idea I’ve had all day.” He skimmed his fingers lower, over the drenched silk that declared her a liar. “And I think you agree.”

Darla’s body tightened like a bowstring. She gasped and reflexively tilted her pussy into his touch.

Kon smiled. He leaned back a little for a better view, still manacling her wrists with his other hand. Holding her captive excited him, and he sensed it did the same for her. Perhaps the physical domination helped her to mentally let go and give in to the pleasure overtaking her. If so, he could think of plenty of other ways to enhance her submission experience.

He kneed her legs farther apart and looked. The beige silk, sheer to begin with, was practically transparent now where her juices dampened it. “Why did you shave your cunt?” he asked.

She took that as an invitation to renew her struggles. He tightened his grip on her wrists and forced her thighs wider still. “It was for the boyfriend,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “One more thing to add some jazz to a drab love life. Did it work?”

She went still, breathing hard.

He answered his own question. “Guess not, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

And here was where she was going to stay until he’d made her come more times in one afternoon than she had in all her time with the fiancé.

“What’s his name?” Kon asked. “Your unappreciative betrothed?”

Darla shot a scowl over her shoulder. She blew hair off her flushed face.

“That’s okay.” He patted her butt. “We can just call him Mr. Right. Me, I love a hairless cunt.” He also loved landing strips, topiary trims and bushes in glorious full bloom. He didn’t care how a woman chose to display her nether regions as long as the display was for his benefit.

“So. Tell me.” Kon’s tongue traced the curve of Darla’s throat. “You on the Pill?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“Any STDs?”

She scowled again. “Of course not. How can you ask me that?”

“Excellent! Me neither.” He glanced around his train wreck of a studio. “Latest lab report’s around here somewhere if you want to see it in black and white.”

Her only response was a disgusted sigh. He stroked his knuckles between her legs, relishing the caress of her swollen labia under the thin silk. A shuddering moan rose from deep in Darla’s throat. Her hips moved in time with his caress—he didn’t think she was aware of it.

“Does Mr. Right make you feel like this?” Kon’s voice sounded low and thick to his own ears. “Does he take his time with you? Does he get you this hot and wet?”

Darla opened her mouth to say something. To tell him to stop?

He didn’t give her the chance. One long finger nudged aside the edge of the thong and pushed deep inside her.

She cried out, bowing her back and forcing his finger deeper still. He watched it happen, watched her slick, tight passage accept first one, then two rough fingers, moving in the age-old rhythm.

“Tell me you want it,” he growled. “Tell me to fuck you.”

Her response was a long, keening whimper, more animal than human.

“Say it.” Kon released her wrists to give one round butt cheek a stinging slap. She shrieked. “Say it, Darla!” His self-control was a fragile thing. When she refused to speak, he landed two more quick spanks,
whap! whap!
, feeling her pussy tighten with each blow.

He’d spanked her just hard enough to leave rosy handprints on her lovely ass. With her hands free, Darla tried to push up from the floor as if preparing to push him off her. He twisted a third finger into her then, stretching her, trying not to rush it, a challenge of the highest order with his cock battering the fly of his pants, trying to get at her.

“Oh...oh...” Darla groaned. Kon’s aching balls throbbed with every “oh”.

That was enough. It was time. He withdrew his fingers and ripped open the silk shielding her mound.

Darla gasped, and gasped again at the sound of his zipper. “Kon!”

His cock sprang into his hand, hard as tempered steel and glistening with pre-come. He touched the tip to her sweet, swollen clit. It might as well have been a cattle prod, the way she sprang off the bench, disentangling their limbs and tumbling onto the floor in one graceless motion.

“Whoa!” she hollered. “Whoa! Whoa!”