Her gaze fell to the bulge in his jeans, and he noticed the trip in her breathing. She was very aroused. Her body was emanating waves of desire, her glance becoming bold. This appeared to be going exactly where he thought it might.
“Does that feel good?” She gave an insinuating smile, looking up from his groin to his face, where the paintbrush traveled through his beard in regular strokes.
Was she referring to the brush, or to the obvious bulk of his growing cock?
He caught the teasing look in her eye and squatted down beside her, leaning on the strong, taut line of his thighs.
“It feels good, yes. You should feel it, too.” He gave her a dark smile and leaned forward, stroking the outline of her face with the dry brush. He followed the fullness of her cheeks, slowly, in a firm but gentle caress. Her mouth opened. He could see the tip of her tongue behind her teeth and sensed the rapid increase in her breathing. He wondered if she was aware of just what a hot little fireball she was.
He traced the line of her jaw, and she dropped her head back, her eyes half-closing as the brush slid down over her neck. Then her hand was on his arm, guiding him. She lay back over the cushions and drew him down with her.
Cal knelt beside her, leaned over her, and followed the lines of the brush with his mouth, tracing them around the voluptuous curves of her body. Beneath her breast the prying brush released a quiet moan from her throat, and he pursued it there. His tongue nestled into the warm moist crease of skin, his senses immediately immersed in the tangy salt of her skin and the aroma of exotic flowers that danced together with her own scents. He took a subtle bite. Her body writhed and lifted. His hand automatically closed over her undulating hip. He wanted to feel that movement from the inside; he wanted to feel her body writhe like that against his cock.
He closed his eyes and concentrated. Her breathing was louder, the scent of her body growing denser as her craving deepened. He turned his face to her legs and ran the brush down the inside of one thigh, then back up the line of the other. Her pelvis flexed up, her mons moving, exposing a glimpse of the hidden silkiness below. Cal contained his urge to bury his face there. He contained the need to press his erect cock deep inside her warmth. Instead, he gently rolled her over.
She was awash with heat. She was opulent, yet taut with restrained lust. He looked at the back of her knees. The hollow was so perfect, like the wind-smoothed surface of the sand dunes.
“I want to find all your most sensitive spots.”
She moaned into a cushion.
He smiled. “You are a very beautiful woman.” Cal whispered as the brush traced her spine. She hid her face in her hands, her breasts crushed hard against the cushions. She wanted him badly -- every atom of her body told him that. Deep in his core, something primitive roared with pleasure.
“Your spine is so supple.”
He dropped to trace her spine with his mouth, moving down her body, crawling down the length of her. She wriggled, whimpering, when he brushed a teasing line of sensation across the top of each thigh, under the curve of her buttocks, her thighs rolling apart to reveal her pink slit.
He darted his tongue down into her cleft, feeling the soft, damp flesh of her sex give way. She swore aloud, twisting her head to look back at him. She was flushed, her hair wild, hanging over her face. A quiet plea escaped her open lips.
“You’re like a cat in heat,” he whispered. “I could smell you from across the room.” He gave a dark chuckle.
“You’re in a similar state yourself, if I’m not mistaken.” Georgie nodded at his fly.
“How was I supposed to work, with such a distraction, hmm?” He lifted his eyebrows, accusingly. “Now all I want to do is fuck you.”
Georgie groaned, her fingers brushing against his thigh. “I couldn’t help it; I wanted you.”
The brush clattered to the floor. He knelt up, swiftly drew his T-shirt over his head, cast it aside, and moved to undo his jeans.
“In that case, it looks as if we’ll have to sort this little problem out ... right now.”
He quickly pulled his cock free, fisting the rigid shaft in front of her. She looked down from the bare skin of his chest to the erection that sprang from his jeans. He ran his hand over the length of it as she watched, his cock twitching with need in response. She moved, her body turning toward his. She had barely rolled over to open her legs wide and let him in and he was down on top of her, his hands moving along the inside of her thighs, the shaft of his erection hard against her pelvis. He ran the swollen head of his cock back and forth over her clit. She squirmed and gasped, her arms out, her hands making fists against the floor. He increased the pressure and speed. She began to shudder -- she was very close. He continued the assault, observing as her mouth opened and she panted. Her body arched and she wailed, pulling back as her hips bucked up in release.
He pinned her body down with his hands on her shoulders, then leaned down to take a kiss, his tongue probing hers.
“Keep still,” he ordered when her body lurched up against his. Then he was inside her, his blood pounding inside hers. Her hips were angled to take him in, her flesh melting onto the hard, hot shaft.
“Christ, you’re wet,” he uttered through gritted teeth, and rammed inside her. Georgie cried out in ecstasy, her head falling back. Her hands clutched at him, then closed over his back. He moved his face into the curve of her neck, his mouth sinking against her skin; she felt so good. When her warm, wet sheath clutched at him, it sent torrents of sensation through his groin. He drew back then reached further inside, each internal jolt freeing a demand for more. She met his movements, matched each rhythm. Their eyes were locked, urging each other on in the quest. She struggled for breath, pleading for more. Her hands tightened on his arms, her sex contracting and beginning to spasm.
He fought for the release, his hips jerking frantically. She had him so very deep, he struggled with it to last, or be finished. He felt the heat of her climax sucking at him, its gossamer caresses tightening on his throbbing cock. Then his hands were on her hips, holding her down hard and tight as he thrust fiercely for the prize.
“Don’t move,” he instructed. She watched him, panting. He pushed one hand between them, arresting her throbbing clitoris with the stroke of his thumb, the stem of his cock inside the curve of his fingers. She cried out in ecstasy, another sudden climax springing free from the pressure of his touch, inside and out. He gave her a dark smile, then rammed his cock home. Her head rolled back, her body clutching at his throbbing, distended cock, over and over. He jerked mightily and came in a sudden, dazzling rush that drew a curse from his lips.
He pulled his clothes on and wandered barefoot to the easel. Georgie watched his gorgeous arse disappearing into the jeans with a slight sense of regret; she was all too ready to sink her claws into it and keep him beside her for a whole bit longer. She felt mellow inside, like liquid gold settling into a mould. She smiled to herself; she was almost purring aloud.
The sound of the door opening drew their attention. A man came in, whistling as he walked, drawing a pair of cobalt Oakley shades away from his eyes. He cooed with pleasure when he saw that Cal was at work and walked over to the easel, looking beyond, toward Georgie. He put down the metal camera case he had in one hand, and a small black backpack he had slung over his shoulder. As he studied the painting, then the model, he wafted the collar of his shirt, white linen, crisp and cool and very suited to his dark, almost Latin looks. To Georgie’s surprise, his voice had a slight Scottish lilt to it when he spoke.
“Mm, hello,” he purred. “What a babe.”
He grinned and walked toward Georgie. He warbled in song, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth, as he looked his open appreciation over her body. The sound was like some ancient mating call, like the music some African tribes made in their throats when they danced. He squared his fingers, framing her up and walking around her, looking at her from different angles. His inquisitive gaze took in every inch of her naked body.
The shades perched in his short, spiky black hair. He put out one hand, expectantly. Georgie smiled and rested her fingers in his. He drew her hand up to his mouth and brushed his lips against the back of her hand. Then he grinned at her again, his teeth a flash of white against his gypsy coloring.
“I’ll introduce myself, shall I? Calvin sometimes forgets his manners when he’s in the middle of his work.” He spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone, smiling at her. “Jason. Jason Sutherland.”
“Hi ... Georgina Montgomery, but call me Georgie; everybody does.”
“Georgie girl, huh?”
She nodded, smiling. That was cute, but then, so was he. They were still staring appreciatively at each other when Cal came over to join them.
Taking Georgie’s hand, Cal drew her up to her feet. “Look at this.” He squatted down and stroked the back of her thighs. The touch coiled up through her body, and Georgie’s head went back in response. Jason began to circle her, that low warble in his throat again. Cal placed his mouth in the hollow at the back of her knee. It wasn’t a kiss. He was feeling the shape with his mouth.
Jason dropped down beside him. “Yes, yes,” he whispered. “It’s like the surface of an unbroken egg shell ... true beauty, and hidden from the eye. It’s a crime, isn’t it?” He chuckled.
Georgie looked down at them over her shoulder. She wondered vaguely if she should get on her feminist high horse and remind them not to talk about her as if she were an object, but she felt too languid to even consider it -- aside from which, she felt as if these two gorgeous men had just put her on a pedestal to adore. She wasn’t about to argue about how good that made her feel. Jason glanced up. He smiled mischievously and then bent to kiss the place they had been admiring. She laughed gently when he let his breath tickle her and then ran the tip of his nose up her thigh.
“Smells good.” He looked up at Cal with a knowing smile. Cal glanced at Georgie and stood up. Their eyes locked, rekindling the rush still so fresh in their physical memories. The scent of pleasure hung heavy in the air. Georgie looked from one to the other of the men. A ripple of something, something instinctive, passed between the three of them. A dart of anticipation leapt up within her body, and Georgie shivered gently.
“You’re cold.” Cal’s expression became concerned. “I’ve kept you here too long. Let’s pack up now; we’ll continue another day.”
He moved to collect her clothes from a chair and passed them to her. Jason had stayed where he was, looking up at her, his mouth moving with that mischievous smile again. When he stood up to let her dress, he ran his hand the length of her legs, then stepped away from her.
He wandered back to where Cal stood, observing the exchange. She looked at the two of them together. Were these two more than friends? They were at ease with each other, uninhibited and relaxed, and more. They were subtly responsive in the slide of their bodies together. Georgie had an observant eye, and this quickly drew her attention. Were they lovers themselves, or did they perhaps share their women?
Her heart rate stepped up a notch, and she felt a hot, responsive tick inside. She was a little startled, yes, but she was very curious, too. She wanted to know more.
“Can you come over again on Saturday?” Cal asked as she pulled on her skinny-fit shirt and hipsters. Georgie nodded, her fingers finding their way through the chunky buttons over her groin.
“Maybe we could try a different approach,” he added with a suggestive smile.
“Sounds great. I’ll see you then.”
She was already getting hot at the very thought of it. She walked toward a chair by the door, clipping her hair back as she went. She slipped into her strappy sandals and then collected her bag from the chair.
Before she left, she turned back to wave and saw that the two men watched her disappearing through the door, in mirrored poses. They were stationed either side of the canvas on the easel, like two statues guarding the entrance to a sacred shrine. Her own image stood between them, larger than life and confronting her provocatively.
Chapter Two
Jason tried to find a clear spot on his desk big enough for his Coke can. The surface was strewn with the contact sheets that he’d spent the morning looking over. He should have done the job at home. The noise in the agency office was at an unbearable level today. The heat was making everyone loud and raucous. He rolled the ice-cold can across his forehead before setting it aside and then sat down, pulling the magnifying sheet back into place. He resumed his hunt through the shots he had taken of a minor royal the day before, looking for the perfect image to fit a feature on her latest toils: shaking hands with the local women’s institute contingent in a Lancashire village.
“You jammy bugger. You get all the best assignments.”
Jason glanced up to see that Dave Turner, a fellow news agency photographer, was looking over his shoulder, squinting down at the contact sheets with curiosity.
“You wouldn’t have said that if you knew what I’d had to put up with at the time.”
“Demanding subject?”
“Demanding everything. The light was crap and the surroundings unhelpful in that and every other respect.” He gestured at one of the images as an illustration. The subject was sitting in an austere armchair in a gloomy interior. “And, as you can see, the subject had a knack of looking as if she were suffering from a case of terminal boredom at all the wrong moments.”
Dave chuckled. “Here, this will put a smile on your face.” He shook open one of the day’s tabloids, giving Jason an eyeful of the cover.
Jason frowned. Was he ever going to outlive the minor notoriety he had gained with Dave since his unfortunate episode of laddish bragging? There, right on the front cover, was a grainy photo of press darling Zoë Mac, teetering on platform shoes, a sports bag flung over her shoulder as if she was on her way to the gym. She was turning back to give the photographer a cheeky wave, consciously playing up to the paparazzi. Her breasts were in profile, and the headline was punched right up against them and declared: Zoë Mac Looks Well Stacked.
He groaned aloud. He’d had to put up with Dave’s constant harassment since he’d told him about his relationship with Zoë, over a jug too many of vodka and Red Bull. Dave wasn’t going to let him forget that he knew all about Jason’s teen-dream come true, shagging the lovely lady, long before she ever became the hot pop singer and paparazzi favorite that she was today. He’d since learned his lesson about letting his mouth run off regarding his conquests, but this one looked as if it had enough mileage to run on and on all by itself.
“Come on, man, give me a break.” He gestured at his swamped workspace. Dave lurched off, a grin on his face. He sat down and made a big show of putting his feet up on his desk, opening up the paper to have a good read. Zoë was still staring over her shoulder, waving in his direction. Jason groaned loudly. Dave stuck his head round the side of the paper and waggled his tongue suggestively. Was there was no escape from it?
He pushed the magnifier out of the way and spun his chair to the workstation. Snatching for the mouse, he opened up his calendar to check events for the following week, to keep his mind off Zoë on the front page again. God, they loved her. The paparazzi followed her everywhere, reporting her every move. It was like some warped dream haunting him. If he thought about it for too long, his gut started to ache.
He scanned the calendar. Everything was in place for the week ahead. He often had to drop everything and head off across the country in a pool car for a shoot, responding to the demands of the press. It was a lifestyle that he thrived on, but it was difficult to keep track sometimes. He pulled up his email. Scanning down through the spam, his eyes hunted out any relevant messages.
“Bloody hell.” There was an email from Gregory, his cousin. The subject line read the same as the newspaper headline that was blaring at him from the other side of the office: Zoë Mac looks well stacked. That old, familiar gnawing feeling was creeping into his gut. Guilt and loss were a powerful means to undermine a guy’s
confidence. He deleted the mail without opening it, stood up, grabbed his backpack, and stomped out of the office.
Of course, going to the gym to escape her image probably wasn’t such a good idea, when it looked as if that was where she was headed in the photograph. However, that’s where he usually went on his lunch break, and he needed to sweat that image out of his mind.
“Hi, Jason, and how are you today?” The blonde nymph on the reception desk at the health club simpered at him as she put his membership card through the scanner. She glanced back toward the CCTV screens. A guy working with weights filled one screen, and a lone female swimmer moved across the other. The club looked reasonably quiet for lunchtime. The heat must have sent everybody off into the wine bars instead.
“Hi ...” He glanced at her left breast where her nametag was stationed. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipple nudged up under the plastic badge. “Susie. I’m just fine. You?”
“Great, thanks. Here’s your towel.”
She gave him a pouting, bubble-gum-pink smile and a wink. Jason often wondered whether the staff in these places flirted with everyone as part of their health club patter, or to relieve the routine of watching other people working out all day. He glanced back as he went into the gents changing rooms and found that she was leaning round the edge of the counter, watching him.
Twenty minutes on the cross trainer pushed the thought of tacky tabloid headlines out of his mind. It was probably more to do with the CCTV cameras than the exercise, though. Susie was watching; he knew it. That helped a guy forget. He grabbed a cup of water and stood under the camera as he poured it over his head. He grinned cheekily, then moved to the rowing machine. He felt obliged to keep the poor woman from getting bored out of her mind. When he finally left the studio, he gave the camera a wave and then saluted.
Along for the Ride Page 2