Test Shot (17 page)

“Again, can’t say this is surprising information.”

She brushed crumbs off her lap. “At the beginning, we only took the dominant-submissive roles once in a while. But it got to the point where he liked doing it more and more, and we started growing further apart. Lately I’m more intimate with my toy collection than I am with him.”

Yep, he’d definitely entered a parallel galaxy. One where it made total sense to discuss his lover’s love life with another man. “Why is he such a control freak?”

“He’s a doctor. Used to holding lives in his hands. Hard to turn that off when you’re in your own domain, I suppose.”

“Shouldn’t be that hard if you trust your partner.”

“Sometimes I think it’s not me he doesn’t trust but himself.” She stared at Sawyer as if she couldn’t believe what she’d said. “He loves me. I know he does.”

“I’m sure he does,” Sawyer agreed, driven for reasons he didn’t care to explain to confirm her assertion. She gazed at the cookies she’d stopped eating. “You clearly care for each other a lot. He must love you, if he can share you with me.”

He didn’t believe that, not really. Oh, sure, there were probably situations where people in love could have sex with other people, assuming their lover consented. But what he’d seen between Aidan and Layla hadn’t been his idea of love. Possession, certainly. Even a deep affection. But eventually he’d begun to realize how fucking
desperate
Aidan and Layla seemed. For what, he didn’t know. But that wrenching sense of need had flowed between them as freely as the lust they clung to instead.

He hissed out a breath and bit into his cookie. Christ, what was he now? A shrink? Lust had obviously addled his brain too.

Not just lust. Stop lying to yourself.

“I used to fantasize about my wedding when I was a little girl.” The wistfulness in her tone made him glance at her. “Even staged mock weddings where I pretended to marry my brother.” She laughed at his frown. “We were young. Really young. I made the dog the ring bearer and my other brother my maid of honor. They didn’t enjoy the festivities.”

“I bet. My sister only made me kiss her friends.”

“What?” Another laugh.

“Yeah, she used to sell kisses from me for a dollar. This was when I was about eight or nine and they were ten or so. Her friends always thought I was pretty, because back then I had long curls like a damn girl. And I’d started kissing girls early.” He shrugged and forced a grin to his lips that felt foreign. Layla’s admissions had affected him more than he’d ever expected. “Never had any complaints.”

“So that’s when you discovered you could make money off your looks, huh?”

“Probably.”

“You certainly drew me in.” She traced a fingertip around his mouth, and it took every ounce of control he possessed not to shudder. “I’d pay a lot more than a dollar to kiss these lips.”

He whisked away crumbs from her chin and realized that they’d sprawled out lengthwise facing each other as if they were longtime confidants. Which was exactly what it felt like, though he’d known her for one measly week. How much longer would he know her before Aidan snatched her back again? “You, lovely Layla, get my kisses for free.”

“I’m a lucky girl, then.” None of the amusement in her voice touched her face. Her pained expression never changed. What a pair they were.

He cupped the nape of her neck and drew her closer, keeping his eyes on hers as he swept up the bits of cookie on her lower lip. Mint and chocolate and Layla, a heavenly combination if he’d ever tasted one. He needed more. Was damned afraid he’d never get enough.

Slowly, he licked her lips open and captured her tongue. His playful sucking extended into a lazy, relaxed kiss that belied every frantic emotion pounding in his body.

None of those emotions made sense. He barely knew this woman. Wanting her so much that his skin flamed and his balls tightened, that was logical. But the other needs, the ones he wouldn’t acknowledge, those had to be mistakes. False positives because he ached so badly to find a woman like her, someone he could be himself with. A woman he could trust to be waiting at the end of a long day. Someone he could turn to at night and laugh with and love in the darkness.

She shifted on top of him, crushing the cookie boxes in her rush. Neither cared. He fisted his hand in her hair and relished her moan as he tugged her head back to kiss her throat. That spot just beneath her defiant chin, the hollows under her jaw. She’d spritzed her fragrance here too, so that he tasted a bitter hint of the perfume itself along with her skin. She rode him with abandon, a ripping sound accompanying her urgent attempts to widen her thighs.

God, how wet she must be if he could feel it straight through his jeans, smell it with every harsh intake of breath—

The doorbell rang. Rang again.

“Dinner,” she gasped, her mouth meeting his with a furor he matched. In a minute, he would’ve been buried inside her. “Sawyer, dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He palmed her breast and gulped down her sweet moans when he stabbed his tongue between her lips. Not only did she not seem to mind it when he got rough, she behaved as if he was freeing a trapped part of herself. An unexposed section hidden behind glass.

Just be careful.

He pulled back. Her voice echoed in his head, a warning he had to heed. Especially since he didn’t understand what it meant. Obviously she liked getting down and dirty. So what was her admonition about? How could he hurt her?

“What did you mean?” He grazed his thumb over her wet lower lip. “When you asked me to be careful?”

Layla climbed off him as the bell chimed again. “What’d you think?”

“That you didn’t like rough sex, no matter what you said. But that can’t be it.”

“Maybe someday I’ll tell you what I meant.” She gave him another of those secret smiles she flashed him just often enough to make him crazy. “If it turns out to be true.”

They ate in bed, with cookie containers, napkins, and Hot Shots’ paraphernalia spread out around them. Layla didn’t bother getting out plates and forks, instead insisting they eat out of the takeout boxes with chopsticks.

That she didn’t know how to use chopsticks didn’t discourage her in the slightest. Sawyer showed her his technique, which turned out to be stellar. Hers was not, so he ended up feeding her pork lo mein and laughing as she dropped more on her faded nightshirt than she got in her mouth.

She glanced down at herself, still amazed she’d felt comfortable enough to pull out her Hello Kitty nightgown. He was a new lover, and beyond that, the guy made the word
hot
seem positively tepid. But he’d never blinked at her choice of attire. His gaze even warmed at the worn spots near her breasts that occasionally allowed a glimpse of nipple.

And he’d called her beautiful. Whispered it as he kissed her and brought her against his side, then fed her and made her laugh.

God, he was dangerous. No wonder she’d warned him to be careful. Too bad she hadn’t done a thorough enough job warning herself.

“You’re a tapestry of food.” He flicked his nail over her nipple, missing the spot a noodle had left entirely. “A little pork here. Some sauce there. And here”—he grabbed her other nipple and twisted—“just sweet, no sour.”

“The chopsticks weren’t the best idea. I should change.”

“Why? You look edible.” He nosed her hair back from her cheek. He’d wasted no time unclipping it, despite her complaints it would get in the way. “You’re going to be naked soon anyway.”

She shivered at the promise in his tone and busied herself collecting the boxes and discarded napkins. “Let me clean this up.”

“Leave it for now.” While she stared, he gathered everything into the takeout bag and dumped it on the floor.

Aidan not only didn’t like eating in bed, he always cleaned up right after a meal. They’d never had takeout, then swept aside the boxes and fucked like bunnies in dirty clothes. That didn’t happen in her world. None of this did.

When Sawyer started to do the same to the stuff spilling out of Con’s expandable folder, she laid a hand on his arm. “Wait. I want to see.”

Together they sorted through the assorted items, commenting on some. Chuckling over others.

“Whoa.” He opened a trifold brochure for a specialty massage center. Not only were the female clients naked on the tables, the masseuses themselves were about a hair away from indecency. A man in a doctor’s coat stood next to a prone woman and appeared to work on her back, his obvious erection tenting the jacket. “Where is this place?”

“The bad end of town.” She leaned her head on his shoulder and tapped the address.

“Aren’t there a few bad ends in the city?”

“Yeah. And we service a lot of them. But some of our customers have more money that you could shake a stick at.”

“Or a dick,” he said drily.

She rolled her eyes and picked up a magazine, flipping through it until she found the centerfold. A pair of guys lounged on a leopard-print couch, their hands in each others’ pants and their tongues down each others’ throats. On the next page, it wasn’t tongues in the guys’ mouths, but thick, erect cocks.

“These are our guys. Clint and Jacob. They’re both sweethearts.”

“Maybe I should’ve been more specific about what poses I wouldn’t do,” Sawyer muttered, glancing at the pictures as she held them up.

She laughed at the faint blush staining his cheeks. He was so adorable sometimes. “They get paid primo bucks. This is actually a terrific magazine for the gay community. Their articles
are
pretty incredible. No lie.”

“You’ve read them?”

“Sure. Why not?” She came to another pictorial spread. In this one, three naked women cavorted in a pile of multicolored feathers. “Think this’ll be more to your liking.”

He turned the magazine sideways, cocking his head in obvious appreciation. “Hot. Also yours?”

“Yep. Misty, Sharon, and Ella. We’ve gone clubbing a few times when Aidan had to work late.”

“Now when Aidan has to work late, you invite me over.”

“You’re more fun than drinking any day.” She snatched the magazine and continued turning pages, eventually stopping at a photo of Clint and Jacob again. Clint knelt at Jacob’s feet and stared up into his eyes while he wrapped his hand around the other man’s hard-on.

After a moment or two, Sawyer cleared his throat. Evidently she’d spent a bit too much time fixated on that photo, no matter its artistic merits.

“Would you ever take pictures like this?” she asked, shocked that her throat tightened on the question. He’d already indicated he wouldn’t, so why press the issue?

“No.”

“Not even if the money was amazing?”

“No,” he repeated. “Not even.”

Layla forced herself to meet his gaze. “Why not?”

She was sure he’d dance around the question, as she suspected Aidan might’ve. He always seemed reluctant to part with his erotic leanings, though he couldn’t seem to hear enough about hers.

“The big appeal to photographs is the fantasy they sell. A big part of selling it is the shot’s inherent honesty. If you can’t make the person looking at the picture—or movie or whatever—believe what you’re depicting, then it won’t work.”

Hoping he would say more, she remained silent.

“Seeing a guy come on camera doesn’t shut me down.” He didn’t break their eye contact. “Watching any orgasm triggers the right neurons in my brain, if you get me. But beyond that visceral feeling when I’m already turned on, I’m not aroused by guys. They don’t push my buttons.” He threaded his fingers through her hair, adding another tactile link between them. “Aidan coming on you was hot, but not because of him. It was that moment of losing control that shoved me over. And knowing you were so close too.”

She nodded. “Seeing someone come is arousing to me, male or female, but women themselves don’t make me wet.”

“Humans are sexual creatures.” He brushed a kiss over her temple. “There’s nothing wrong with getting turned on by the same sex. Also nothing wrong with pursuing them or falling in love with them, if that happens to be your thing. It’s just not mine. So I couldn’t be a part of pictures depicting that, because I’d be lying. No money’s enough to compensate me for portraying a lie.”

Her lips curved, more to hide the sheen in her eyes than because she felt like smiling. Why what he’d said had nudged her to the verge of tears, she didn’t know. Nor did she want to. “I haven’t met anyone like you in so long, Sawyer Blake.”

Had she
ever
known anyone like him? So honest and open? He made her feel tainted just by virtue of sitting next to him. She wasn’t that pure or truthful, that was for damn sure. But he also made her wish for more. Ache for it.

Believe it really existed, if she could summon the balls to go after what she truly needed.

“Ditto, Layla Palmer.” He kissed away her smile, then he picked up the next item. “A DVD. Uh-oh.”

“Two DVDs. Here’s another one.”

“Man. Gotta see these.” A line formed between his brows. “If you’d rather not watch, I can view them at home.”

This time she didn’t have to fake her smile. “Even after everything, you treat me like such a lady.”

“You
are
a lady.” He leaned in to kiss her nose. “So yea or nay?”

“Yea,” she said, already rolling over onto her stomach to watch.

“Okay.” He rose and crossed the room to the flat screen TV mounted on the wall. After a few muttered curses, he loaded the movie.

“Just like a regular date,” she teased. “Too bad we don’t have popcorn.”

“Funny girl.” He flopped down beside her on the bed and slung an arm over her waist. “How bad can this get?”

“We don’t do anything too hardcore. Most of the movies we’ve provided people for are for Etienne Gagnier’s production company. Softcore marital aids, they’re called. Upscale porn,” she said, inclining her chin when Etienne’s logo splashed across the screen. “Yep, there you go.”

“Con didn’t like me calling them pornos.”

“Well, we sell an image. Classy sex. The term porno’s a bit too crass for Hot Shots.”

“Whatever you say, Nebraska.”