by Vic Tyler
“And as a fairly logical person, I like when things are concrete,” he murmured, so close I could feel his breath.
I prayed at this point to anyone or anything listening, promising I wouldn’t ‘borrow’ bottles of Tabasco from Chipotle so long as he couldn’t hear my pulse violently pounding — flooding my ears down to the throbbing hot mess between my legs.
His face was inches away, and for a second, I stupidly hoped he would kiss me.
“Ironclad. Irrefutable. Evidence,” he murmured.
His hand slid between my thighs.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his — now dark like the underbrush of a forest. If he made a move, I wouldn’t be able to say no. In fact, the floodgates to my thirst would burst open, and I didn’t know what I was capable of.
But his fingers didn’t touch me down there. Instead he raised them to my face, brushing against my lips. His fingers were hot, calloused, and sticky. I instinctively licked my lips and immediately felt my face burn.
It was my own salty, creamy taste.
Benji noticed my juices soaking into his sheets and made me taste myself. It was demeaning. Yet here I was, practically naked and offering myself as a sacrifice for him to eat.
He had every upper hand, and we both knew it. But it was so hot. He was so hot. And I was overflowing with carnal greed.
His face which had been staring so intensely at me suddenly broke into an arrogant grin.
“I’ll let you get dressed.”
He stepped back nonchalantly as though nothing happened in the past minute.
Benji went to the door and down the stairs. I was frozen to the bed.
My mind was racing, my thoughts so loud, cacophonic and deafening.
My emotions thrashing in wanton turmoil.
Adrenaline. Humiliation. Lust. Excitement. Confusion.
I picked out a different outfit from the pile that was still sitting where I left it — khaki capris that were slightly too tight around the hips and a crew neck sweater that would hide my braless chest — and headed downstairs. Benji was nowhere to be seen, so I peered into the one room left ajar and found him in his personal office. He was fully absorbed in the monitor on his desk, which was probably more work.
“Um.”
“Tomorrow. Eight AM sharp. Fired if you’re even a minute late,” he said, his voice brisk and cold again. An icy feeling plunged through my stomach. “Dismissed.”
He was the cat, and I was the mouse. Him the big, bad wolf, and me Little Red Riding Hood. He was temperamental, hot and cold. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stab him or blow him.
But he was different from any other man I’ve known. More arousing than any man I’ve touched.
He was sexy. Dangerous. Thrilling.
This just might be fun.
CHAPTER TWO
Coming Down - Halsey
There are few things I like better than my craft.
Privacy. Solitude. Silence.
People ranked high on the list of things I generally despise. If someone told me ten years ago that I would be in a line of work that required customer service and lots of figurative dick-sucking and cunt-licking, even with all the attractive people that walked in here, I would’ve laughed before throwing the nearest heaviest object at them.
There were a few exceptions to the rule, of course, which included Grant and Cheddar. Although Grant really liked to test my patience. Like he was doing today.
It’d been a few weeks since Maria Lennox came on board, and to my surprise, she surpassed all my expectations. Sometimes I shocked myself by how pleased I was with her assistance.
But all that gratification was negated by that fat fucking smirk on Grant’s face.
“We should give her a raise,” Grant drawled, beaming with all his pearly whites out.
What was everyone’s huge fucking deal about Maria working here? Grant was milking the situation, more intolerable than usual. Even Cheddar prodded and teased about my interest in Maria when I was considering hiring her after her impeccable work the first day.
I took an extra long drag of my cigarette, annoyed. Jesus, these days I was smoking like I wanted lung cancer. Mental note to self: cut down the smoking, idiot.
The cravings sucked. I was getting dependent on these fucking tar testicles, and it took so much time to go out to smoke that I gave up and started smoking in the studio.
“It’s your money,” I said dryly. “Although if you give her a raise so soon, people will start to think she’s sucking you dry under the table.”
Grant’s smile twitched into a mildly annoyed one. How someone managed an annoyed smile so well was beyond me. But Grant was capable of it, especially when I directly suggested something about his sexual nature. He was a weird prude about that.
Grant Bayer was handsome in a blonde, all-American, steamy vanilla fuck sort of way. He almost looked too perfect, like a Ken doll and just as creepy with his perfectly branded smile and his switch permanently flipped ‘on.’
I never saw him go home with a woman. Or a man. I used to think he was missing his balls altogether until I saw the way he looked at his Cheddary ‘childhood friend.’
In fact, their parents probably would’ve been thrilled if they both got together. Tom and Daisy Buchanan-esque, East Egg style, old money merger.
But he acted like she was completely off-limits. Whatever was holding him back was totally beyond my understanding. He always chalked it up to something about the importance of true friendship and bullshit I didn’t care to understand.
Anyway, Grant started coming in more frequently since Maria started working, with the same frosty smile streaked with all the unrestrained smugness and delight. I’m pretty sure that was genuine. And he was annoying me right now, so sue me if I took a barely underhanded jab.
But the idea of Maria under a table blowing Grant — or anyone else — irritated me, and I couldn’t think of any reason why it should. We hadn’t even touched each other. Besides the time I dragged her naked ass from the shower.
In fact, Maria acted like she did a 180° and lost interest. Which I would’ve shrugged off if it weren’t for the times I caught her stealing glances when she thought I wasn’t looking.
It took all my self-control that time in my loft not to ravage her, when she was soaking my sheets with that milky cream from her honeypot. But I didn’t want her thinking I was interested in something more. God forbid her ass getting all clingy on me and shit.
Maybe that was why I felt irritated. It’d been a while since I got laid, and here was the first woman exposed to all my ‘charm’ 24/7 who wasn’t throwing herself at me. And as long as she wasn’t throwing herself at me, I didn’t want this woman near any other dick until she thoroughly milked mine.
Jesus Christ, look at me. Thinking about that woman like a horny teenager.
“No thanks,” Grant said with the tiniest bit of disgust dripping from his voice.
Good Grant. Glad we felt the same way about that.
“By the way,” he grimaced. “Some bad news. I got word from Reuter that Cooper is the creative director for the new Vogue project. And they want you on as the photographer.”
“No.”
End of discussion. I didn’t even need to consider it. “Turn it down. I’m never working with Cooper again.”
Grant sighed, running his hand over his sleek slicked hair.
“I know. I was going to, but —” his lips tightened. “— Brie was signed on as one of the models.”
I hissed the smoke out of my lungs. Goddammit Cheddar.
“Tell her to drop it.”
“She won’t,” he said. “She can’t. It’s the first time she’ll be working on such a big project.”
“She’ll get more offers,” I snapped.
Cheddar was undeniably talented, intelligent, charming, and gorgeous — the Barbie to Grant’s Ken. She was going to wipe through high fashion like a tornado unless her luck ran out soon, and I couldn’t tell if this little ti
dbit of news was good luck or bad luck.
“I already tried to convince her,” Grant growled. His normally relaxed demeanor cracked stormily under his frustration. “She’s not even picking up my calls anymore.”
I faked a cough to hide a smile. Cheddar was usually the one chasing after Grant, and he tried his goddamn hardest to distance himself from her. But once in a while, if he really pissed her off, she gave him the cold shoulder, and it drove him crazy.
On the other hand, the thought of working with Herbert fucking Cooper dampened any enjoyment I might’ve derived. He was one of the creative directors at Draper Advertising, which worked often with Brie’s modeling agency and BAYRE Studio. His hands always found their way up any skirt within a 50 feet radius. Age wasn’t a deterrent for the fucking creep. If it were up to me, I’d ban models from working under the age of 18 just to prevent any of them from coming into contact with Cooper. There were too many girls that were naive enough to trust him to be the adult.
Unfortunately, he was being protected by someone high up in the agency. And even with Grant’s connections, there was little anyone could do to get rid of the self-indulgent pig. Thankfully his direct superior, the art director Molly Reuter, was a woman who shared our sentiments. She also appreciated a greater quality of work than Cooper was capable of even imagining in his dull little brain.
I didn’t bother to hide the fact I despised Cooper, and he didn’t like that. He made it a personal vendetta to sabotage every project I had with his agency, even to his own detriment. Irredeemable shitbag.
“Fuck, fine,” I groaned. I jabbed my cigarette at Grant. “But you tell her that next time she signs onto a project with Pervert fucking Cooper, she’s on her own.”
“Done,” Grant chirped. He slapped on one of his genuinely thankful smiles at me.
I couldn’t help but scowl in response. As much as those little moments made me think we shared a so-called ‘brotherly’ bond, I also wouldn’t be surprised to find out this motherfucker wore each one of his charming smiles as condoms when he was fucking someone over.
The small but firm knocks that recently became familiar pounded on the door. It opened, and Maria popped her head in.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she piped, enthusiastically.
She was strangely chipper and energetic everyday, which was weird considering she passed out the first day she worked with me. It was simultaneously energizing and exhausting to be around.
“W magazine emailed back with the final prints they want edited, and you got a call from Stratford & Co. about taking some portraits of their top execs.” She shifted nervously and glanced at Grant.
“And I took a few stabs at editing the Elle prints you asked me to do,” she started, cutting off confusedly when I violently waved her away. “Well, let me know what you think when you see them.”
Her head disappeared and the door closed.
I didn’t have to look at Grant to see the shit-eating grin on his face. Goddammit, that fucking idiot. Didn’t she have more sense to know not to say that in front of Grant?
“Handing over the reins to post-production editing,” Grant chuckled, gleefully. “Times are a’changin’, Mr. Reed.”
I puffed on my cigarette only to find it already burned out.
“I don’t know why I didn’t convince her to work here earlier,” Grant said.
I thought the same thing, although I’d rather stab my eye before I said that aloud.
“Oh, that’s right. Because you stuck your dick in most of the women that walked into the studio,” he mused.
“They came onto me,” I said, shrugging. “And so far, Maria’s as celibate as Tesla. There’s no issue.”
Free, easy pussy served itself on a platter whenever it walked through the door. It had been nice for the first year I worked here, but it got boring real fast and worse, it complicated work.
It was always too vanilla or too crazy. There was no art in the way they fucked. It was always mechanical and bland or berserk and deranged. The decent fucks always wanted something more, so those had to end. Even though I told them relationships were a no-go from the beginning, I suppose they thought they could ‘change me.’
These days I only had a few numbers I booty-called. The women I shared a mutual understanding with that we were using each other. We only called each other when we needed release or sometimes out of passing loneliness. Detestable moments of weakness.
No feelings, no attachment, no relationships. Period.
“Your lady friends must’ve found it weird when they saw Maria here, huh,” Grant chuckled. “You should call them to your apartment instead of the studio. Don’t make Maria uncomfortable.”
I never called women to my apartment. All exercise sessions were in the tiny bed in my studio loft or at their place. Usually the latter. I didn’t want to deal with kicking them out after, and I sure as hell didn’t do sleepovers. Besides, letting crazy people know where you live always sounded like a bad idea. And there was way too much crazy I regretted sticking my dick into.
Jesus, this goddamn nosy bastard. How long was he going to stay here? I fought the urge to let out a fat, exasperated sigh, debating whether it was a good time to kick Grant out.
But the longer I didn’t say anything, the wider his eyes got.
“No way,” Grant whispered, melodramatically awestruck. “When’s the last time you saw one of them?”
“There’s been a shitload of work lately,” I snapped, obviously crossed. Fucking busybody. “And it’s very busy right now, as my assistant subtly hinted, which you obviously didn’t get.”
“I can stay here all day.” Grant shrugged, leaning back with that self-satisfied mug.
“Jesus fuck, will you leave if I tell you?” I hissed. “It’s been a month. Maybe two. I don’t goddamn remember. What does it fucking matter?”
Four and a half weeks. My balls were sore from masturbating so much these past few weeks. Fuck her for leaving her traces on my sheets. There was something so innocently seductive about Maria soaking my bedsheets with her arousal. Those big round eyes looking at me, pure and ignorant. Was she a virgin? Hopefully not or she might ask me to fucking marry her afterwards.
But if she wasn’t, I was more than willing to defile and dirty her pearly white body. Plow her in and stretch her, fill her with my own cream and spread it thick over her ivory skin.
The need to know what she’d feel like wrapped around my cock — in every single one of her holes — drove me mad every day. Sometimes multiple times a day… Which were most days.
“Oh, shit. Oh, shit,” he chanted excitedly. “Oh, shit.”
“Get the fuck out,” I growled. “Your photographer needs to get back to his fucking work.”
Grant’s face suddenly dropped. He looked so solemn that I actually felt a twinge of fear in my chest.
“When you feel your testicles, does they feel unusually big? Did you notice any lumps or irregularities?”
“Get the fuck out.”
But it was me who ended up practically flipping my desk over as I stomped up and left the room, loudly cussing him out and drowning out his relentlessly nosy interrogation,.
I was debating whether to burn the studio down with Grant in it when I saw the recent object of my lust across the studio. Maria was reaching up to adjust one of the lights, her shirt sliding up the tiniest bit to reveal a sliver of pale skin.
Even though I dressed her that first day, I hardly looked at her bits. Initially, I just wasn’t interested, but moreso because unlike Cooper and Cosby, unconscious girls weren’t my thing.
But now that she was awake and her juices forever stained my bed, any itty bit of skin I saw ignited my urge to rip her clothes off and map every inch of her body with my own hands and mouth.
I’d never admit it, especially to Grant, but sometimes I gave Maria ridiculous tasks so I could watch her curves accentuate and jiggle when she jumped and stretched for something above her. Or her full, round ass in the air w
hen she bent down.
It gave me a migraine the days I agonized over whether I really was no better than Cooper.
“Lennox,” I barked. She whipped around, surprised. “Get me the Canon EF 85mm f/1.2 and f/1.8 lenses. Then organize the SD cards by the dates in the contents.”
“I organized the SD cards yesterday,” Maria said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. How cute. “I’m going to move them somewhere higher so you stop kicking them over.”
I pretended to consider it.
“No,” I drawled, leaning against the wall. “I like them in the bottom.”