by Fox, Erin
“Oh my god,” I sing. His hot cum is inside me, and I welcome the warmth in my belly as Blake slips out and joins me on the floor.
He is panting hard and sweating, which emphasizes his chiseled, sculpted body. He turns to his side and runs his hand over my hip and waist.
“Y-you were an animal,” I stutter, and he smiles at me. “Like, what the actual fuck, Blake?”
“I told you we were going to make love,” he says.
“Nobody makes love like that, Blake. That was fucking. Pure, animalistic fucking!”
“Fucking is what you do with a woman with no substance, someone who isn’t worth remembering her name.” His lips search for mine and he kisses me until I am out of breath. “But Viv, you aren’t a no-name woman to me, and what we did now was making love.”
My heart flutters and I find myself looking into his blue eyes. Blake isn’t Alistair. The character Georgette Heyer conjured was hot-headed and unreasonable. The man on top of me is sweet and gentle — and oh my goodness! I may just be falling in love with him. That’s what’s making me think the whole marriage thing isn’t so crazy.
He picks himself up and grabs for his scattered clothes. “We have to finish the shoot today, Viv.”
I blink my eyes, wondering what has just happened between us. I go over the clothes rack and pick a white robe to wear. I don’t tie it around my waist and just let the fabric hang over my shoulders.
“Just grab some pantaloons from the rack and a pair of boots from one of the prop boxes while I readjust the focus of the camera,” I say.
Blake grins at my attire — naked and unashamed underneath a loose-fitting bath robe. “I’m tempted not to continue with the shoot and just make love to you all over again.”
I blush and laugh at his suggestion. “No can do, mister. We have to finish this today or Dusty will bite my head off.”
“As much as I like how you’re standing there without anything on, I am disappointed to tell you that you need to put your clothes back on before Dusty comes back with our coffees.” He bends over and pick up my panties. “But I think I’ll take this as a souvenir.”
I let him have my panties and quickly put on my clothes. As soon as I finish tying my hair and Blake unlatches the door, Dusty barges into the room with our drinks and muffin in hand.
“Seriously! That coffee shop at our corner has the slowest services ever, Viv.” Dusty pauses in the middle of the room and sniffs the air. “What the hell is that smell?”
“W-what smell?” I stutter.
“I don’t know — it’s kind of musky in here, and kind of warm…?”
“Oh,” I whisper. Blake and I look to each other and blush. “Must be the lights, Dust.” Certainly isn’t that scent of oh, we just fucked. That never happens in romance novels anyway...
Dusty shrugs his shoulders and hands our cups. “Could be. So, how’s the shoot doing? Have you taken any great shots, Viv?”
“Not yet. I’ve been telling Blake how I want the shots to look like.”
“You always do take time with your briefing.” He rolls his eyes.
With Dusty now in the room, Blake and I concentrate on the shoot, but his sharp stare tears into my focus. With every shutter of the camera, I keep recalling what happened between us in this room. The shoot finally finishes quickly, and Blake leaves with his coffee cup in hand. I lean over the tripod, rejoicing that nothing else happened.
The next day, the photos arrive at Dusty’s office and he and I look them over. Dusty is thrilled with the shots and he coos at how H-O-T-T Blake is.
“I tell you, Viv, he is just the H-O-T-T-est male model we’ve ever had the chance to work with.”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
The pictures, although edited beautifully to capture my imagination of a man standing with sex written all over his face, remind me of my time with Blake, and his cock has been in my mind ever since. I want to see Blake again, feel him, hold him in my arms, and make him take me back to heaven. He is a sex god that I must not let go! But more than his cock or body, Blake is sweet.
“The pictures are amazing, but it’ll be great if we get Blake’s opinion on them. What do you think, Viv?”
I nod. “Can you book me a table for two for that fancy restaurant you took me last week? The one I liked.”
“You mean Claude’s?”
“Yes, please.” I want to see Blake so badly it’s making me insane.
7
Blake
I am on my bed, my head against the pillows, but it feels like I am swimming — paddling and kicking hard on warm water. This must be what cloud nine or head in the clouds mean. It is a high, a feeling which keeps me awake and smiling stupidly at who knows what hour in the morning.
I have had clients — men and women — who enjoyed my performance at a shoot and are more than willing to pay me beyond the agreed amount. The women always have other ideas of extra pay — a blowjob or a make out session. I make it a rule to never sleep with clients, no matter how tempting they may be. But I broke my own rule and crossed a dangerous line with Vivienne. And, my god, I am glad!
I knew that line was crossed but now… I honestly want to find a way to make her my fake bride, and I’m not sure how fake it should be...
My phone rings three times before I answer it. The signal crackles and a shy, small voice says, “Blake…?”
“Vivienne,” I say in surprise. I quickly leap out of bed and walk to my window. “How’s it going?” I sound like such a dork, and if I were a dog, my tail would be wagging right now.
“Nothing much. The photos from yesterday’s shoot are here with me now. I was wondering if you could spare me just an hour of your time and look over the photos?”
An hour of my time? I will gladly give her all of it, 24/7!
“Sure. I think I can squeeze you in,” I lie between my teeth. In truth I’ve nothing planned for the day, except go to the gym.
“Great! You know this restaurant called Claude’s?”
“Ah! The one close to your publisher’s office, downtown?”
“Yes! 5th and Lexington. Can we meet there in an hour?”
A string of incoherent replies escapes me. I dash to the shower and scrub myself clean as fast as I can. Excitement is not what I want to call this sudden adrenaline rush and wish to get to Claude’s in a hurry. I am going as quickly as possible because this is work and Vivienne is my client, albeit a client I had sex with twice.
I get to Claude’s right on time, and just as I walk into the restaurant, I see Vivienne on a corner table — a private and intimate spot where other tables are far apart, and people barely pass by — and she waves her hand up in the air slowly and elegantly.
I cock a smile at her. “Hey,” I say and take the seat closest to her. Vivienne’s knee bumps against mine but she does not move it away and presses her arm against mine.
The waiter comes and we order two plates of bœuf bourguignon and a crème brûlée.
While we wait for our food, Vivienne leans closer to me until there is no space between us, and I easily put my arm over her shoulder.
“I want to know you,” I say, and Vivienne blushes profusely. “I Googled Georgette Heyer, by the way.”
Her eyes twinkles and she smiles at me. “You did?” she gasps.
Our conversation flows easily. I learn that Vivienne never wanted to be a romance writer while she was growing up. It was not until her grandma told her of Georgette Heyer and her regencies. It was a sexual awakening to her, she says. In return, I tell Viv that modelling is not my career choice while I was a kid. I dreamt of becoming a doctor. Hah!
My parents’ divorce, though a touchy subject, also comes into light of our exchange. I have always thought that my mother’s love for romance novels is the root cause of the divorce, but now I’m hearing myself share it to someone else, I am beginning to doubt that reasoning.
The food finally arrives, and Viv and I share the crème brûlée with gusto. After eating, the waiter co
mes and clears our table, and Viv, in an apparent good mood, orders for a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
“Oh god! The pictures,” she moans and digs through her bag. “I was having such a good time that I forgot to show you the photos.”
Our champagne comes and the waiter pours each of our glass.
“Viv, we can look at the pictures later. You and I need to celebrate the success of the shoot.” I hand her her glass and raise mine in a toast. “To your accomplishments and hopefully getting the number one spot in the New York Times Bestseller list.”
She clinks her glass and quirks her lips in a small, impish smile. “To our hard work and to more projects with you in the future.”
We down our glasses and refill them. We continue our talk until we finish half of the bottle, and both of us are red and a little tipsy.
“Now I have to show you the photos.” Vivienne lays the pictures on the table.
I have no artistic eye when it comes to choosing the best photo, but holy! The pictures are amazing. I am standing shirtless with one hand splayed over my abdomen. Another photo is me with my hand running through my hair. In all the pictures, the background is an English cottage with lattices covered in vines and flowers.
“Your body moves lithely. It was easy to take your picture since you seem to understand the kind of book covers I like,” she says over the rim of her glass.
I put my glass down and lean close to Vivienne’s ear. “Do you want to get out of here?”
She turns, her breath fans my face. “Blake,” she whispers huskily in my ear. “I’ve one more photo I want you to see.”
“Yeah?” I nod my head.
She plucks a small, square photo from her bag and place it over the other pictures. My heart races at the erotic image. It is a picture of Vivienne on her knees, her mouth wide open, and I am standing over her, my cock erect and throbbing hard for her.
“Shit! Viv, what if someone saw this?”
She smiles. “I personally printed this one. There are no other copies aside from this — ” she points at the photo. “ — but I bet it would be better if we do this in real life rather than just stare at it. Don’t you think so, too, Blake?”
8
Vivienne
Blake’s Adam’s apple bobs. There is a glint in his eyes as I tap my finger against the photo. It is a pretty, erotic picture of me bending on my knees, my mouth gaping wide open, eagerly welcoming his cock. A blush creeps on his face and I purr softly close to his ear, “I couldn’t sleep last night while look at this. I tried to use my fingers, but they just aren’t the same as your — well — you know.”
He gulps hard and quickly empty his glass of champagne. “Y-yeah?” he says in a squeak.
I smile and press my lips against his earlobe. “Yeah. So, I went and looked for Eric.” His eyes are burning with — jealousy? Arousal? I am not certain, but the heat of his body burns my skin as I lean myself closer to Blake.
“Eric?” he gruffly asks.
I give a little, mischievous laugh and answer him in a low, suggestive voice, “My purple, 12-inch dildo.” My hand follows the shape of his inner thigh, and slowly, in measured timing, I put it over the huge bulge in his pants. He groans as I unbutton his jeans and work my hand to his massive instrument.
His cock is hard and Blake stares blankly at the space beyond our table. With the restaurant busy with customers eating their lunch Blake and I, at least, have a semblance of privacy, and the tablecloth, which covers our lower bodies, perfectly hides what I am doing in this hot male model’s pants.
“The dildo wasn’t enough, though,” I continue.
“T-ten inches aren’t enough for you?” he stutters.
“Oh honey — ” I squeeze his balls, and Blake hitches a breath. “How can any woman be satisfied once she has tasted this god given cock of yours? Not even a 12-inch dildo will please me now.”
I have power, a sense of control over him while I am holding onto his cock and Blake’s eyes are dilating, and his heart, I assume, is racing just like mine.
Blake raises his hand and tells the waiter in strangled voice, “Check, p-please.”
I pout at him. “But we haven’t finished our bottle yet,” I whine and let his dick go. My hands are now on my lap and Blake quickly zips his pants.
He clenches his teeth and sharply looks at me. “We can take it and go.” He shoves my photo into my purse when the waiter finally arrives and hands over our bill.
It takes a while for the waiter to process Blake’s credit card and return it to him, but when the ordeal of paying for our meal is through, he does not waste any time. Blake yanks my arm and drags me to the sidewalk. His grip crushes me, but this must be what I deserve after what I put him through in the restaurant earlier.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He doesn’t look at me when he answers, “To my apartment. Or do you prefer your place?”
Blake doesn’t give me time to reply. He hails for a cab and shoves me inside. I sink against the seats and he slides into his in a hurry, as though he can’t get into the taxi fast enough, gives the driver directions to his apartment.
“Blake.” All thoughts and words dissolve when he locks his lips with mine. Blake tastes of wine and strawberries, and I let his tongue tease me, coax me into playing whatever game he has in mind.
His hand, unashamed and without shyness, dives under my shirt, and his fingers brush the cup of my bra. He squeezes one boob and I whimper, begging him to do more than just touching. I hop onto Blake’s lap and rub my groin against his tent. He is in pain, evident in his hard breathing, but I continue moving my hips, feeling myself getting wet in the process.
His lips trail the shape of my jaw and throat and kisses the hollow on my collar bone. I don’t stop grinding myself against him. He groans and I shower his hair and eyes with soft kisses.
“You make me go crazy,” he admits in between kisses.
My hands find their way underneath his shirt. I feel his flat stomach, his chest, his heart that is pounding wild. He is definitely hard for me, for my fleeting touches. I run my tongue along his throat and plunge it deep into his gaping mouth.
Blake holds onto my waist as we tongue kiss each other. There is too much space between us, and nothing can satisfy me until I can have him inside me again. I want him now. I want him to fuck me in this taxi. Who cares about the driver? I can pay him to get out of the cab and leave Blake and I alone.
The taxi screeches to a halt, and the driver asks for payment.
Blake and I groan as we pull away from each other. I throw a 20 to the driver, and Blake drags me again to the sidewalk. We can’t be separated for more than five seconds, but we have to wait until we can get to his apartment.
He fumbles over his keys, saying fuck under his breath more than twice. He shoves the key into the keyhole, and when the door finally clicks and he shoves it open, I jump into Blake’s arms and kiss him. He turns and closes the door with a kick.
“Fuck me,” I beg.
I have lost my control over Blake and this time he has power over me. His touches and tongue are irresistible, but I have yet to hear him agree to my plea.
“Didn’t I tell you? Fucking is what you do with a whore, making love is what you do with a woman with substance,” he says.
His answer makes me blush more than his kisses. “Then, will you make love to me?”
He barks a laugh and cradles my face in his large hands. He doesn’t need to say anything, the warmth in his eyes say it all. I won’t be leaving his apartment the same as the me from thirty minutes ago.
9
Blake
Vivienne and I are still standing by my door, but I can’t wait any longer. There is a need in both of us to be as close as physically possible. I want to touch her skin, caress her throat with my lips, and drive my cock into her pussy as hard and as deep as she begs me to.
Her delicate fingers claw at my collar and a distinct ripping sound echoes in our ears. Ou
r eyes fly open and dart at my ruined shirt. Vivienne breaks her lips away from mine and giggles an uncertain, “Oops! Sorry. I’ll buy you another one.”
“You just gave me an idea,” I say. My eyes heavily-hooded as I watch her bob her head to the side. This shirt is nothing. I can buy a dozen more or get it for free from one of the brands I model for. But my cock in my pants is demanding for freedom, for release!
I tear my shirt and toss it to the side. The vixen stares at me with stars in her eyes and a wide, excited grin on her mouth. Her warm hand gently strokes the length of my torso, and adoration is in her voice. “Mmm, delicious!”
“And it’s all yours,” I whisper in her ear, flicking her lobe with my tongue. “Tell me you want me, Viv. My God! I want you. You’re making me insane.”
“Then, say that you want to fuck me, not make love. Fuck me hard and dirty!” Her lips caress my jawline and her perky nipples graze my skin.
“Oh Viv,” I hiss in her ear. She isn’t a whore, but if she demands it that way, then I have no choice but obey. “Let me fuck you. I’m going to make your pussy take the shape of my cock until no other guy’s dick will please you!”
“Oh, baby, I dare you to make me forget other men!”
The elegant author I met two days ago is now unbridled and unhinged. She unbuckles my belt and pops the button of my jeans like a thirsty she-devil. She is a succubus while she licks the precum damping the front of my boxers.
“Babe,” she whines. “Take it out for me, please.”
I do what she tells me. My cock snaps out of my boxers, dripping with white frosting, and Vivienne eagerly licks it off as though it is nothing more than butter frosting. The onslaught of her mouth and tongue begins. Her lips go over the tip of my cock to my balls, and her eyes glitter in happiness.