He takes them from my hand, saying, “Thanks.” His eyes never glance up to me. So much for facetime with the boss. Feeling the unspoken dismissal, I work my way through the disorder back toward the elevator, only to be stopped when the bald guy freezes mid-tantrum right in front of me to yell at what seems to be his assistant.
The man explodes, “Where is our model!? She was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago!”
The assistant shakes her head, pointing at her phone. “Francois, Cassie said her flight got delayed. She hasn’t even landed yet. It’ll be at least two more hours.”
I try to discreetly dodge around them, but Francois starts pacing and I back out of the way, not wanting to draw his ire.
“Dammit!” he screams, actually stamping his foot like a toddler. I have to hide my smirk because who does that? He throws his hands in the air. “We’ll have to forget the paired shots. Helen’s gonna have my ass for this! She specifically asked for sexy couples images,” he says before stopping, as if inspiration just struck him. “Wait a minute. Get someone else to take Cassie’s place.”
The assistant looks aghast, immediately shaking her head. “Francois, I know this is important, but we can’t just replace Cassie. There are contracts, consent forms, payments—”
“So what!” Francois interrupts, as if all his problems have evaporated. He snaps, “Get the paperwork started and get out the checkbook. Still cheaper than Cassie’s irresponsible ass. Find someone.”
The assistant sighs, nodding in defeat but obviously still not quite sure. “But—”
“There.” A voice cuts through the noise of the room and everything goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I turn to look where the voice came from and am shocked to see Mr. Blackstone pointing at me, his eyes burning into my skin. The nearly feral pull of his gaze freezes me in my tracks. I feel like I’m the prey and I’ve just been targeted by a predator.
Everyone in the room who’d been curiously watching the exchange between Francois and his assistant is now ping-ponging back and forth between Mr. Blackstone and me. I can feel their eyes, making me hot, the flush of the attention bringing up some painful, awkward memories. Having years of practice is the only thing that saves me from wilting under their judgment.
Still, I’m barely able to utter a squeak as people suddenly start moving toward me, intent on following Mr. Blackstone’s orders. “Me?” I finally force out, still confused. I clear my throat, getting my voice back to my usual pitch. “I mean . . . me?”
Mr. Blackstone’s lips spread into a sexy, cocky grin, and he nods, shooing everyone off as he waves me forward. For some reason, instead of running for my life to the nearest fire escape, my feet move without my even telling them. I walk toward him, my eyes never leaving his.
“Yeah, you,” he says. “You look like a doll, perfect and fragile. Sexy and sweet.” His eyes caress my face and trace down my body. The body I know has whiplash hourglass curves that make men stupid for no good reason. Usually, I feel defensive when guys look me up and down, like they know something about me just based on my body, but when Mr. Blackstone does it, I feel like standing tall and letting him peruse his fill. His words are probably one of the best, maybe only, compliments I’ve ever gotten. Maybe that’s sad, but it’s just my reality. I usually get filthy catcalls and assumptions, not kindness. “You’ll do the photoshoot with me.”
The photographer lights up like a light bulb. “Yes! She will do. Someone get some makeup on this girl!” His evaluation of me leaves me feeling inadequate, like I don’t already look good even though I’m wearing my best daytime, professional look.
But I don’t even have time to think about how I’d like to bless him out because Francois’s assistant jams a piece of paper into my hands. “Sign here . . . here . . . initial.” As she points out each spot to me, she chatters casually. “Haven’t you heard? Sexy, young, rich CEOs are all the rage. Books, movies, television . . . it seems that’s the recipe for fantasy nowadays!”
“You mean, it hasn’t always been?” I ask, a hint of sass in my voice before I can catch myself.
Oops. Did I say that out loud? I meant to think that, not actually say it!
“Cutting Edge Magazine wanted to do an interview and a photoshoot,” Mr. Blackstone explains. “Something about my being the hottest ticket in the business pages, and any press is good press, so here we are.” He says it in such a casual manner, like this is all just business as usual for him.
Francois does a little jump and clap before turning to me. “What are you waiting on? Come on, girl!”
That’s twice he’s called me girl. I do have a name, but I’m still too tongue-tied to correct him. “I–I don’t know the first thing about modeling,” I protest weakly, panicked. “I mean, I’m just an intern here.”
Francois waves his hands again. “Don’t worry. All you have to do is listen to me and stand beside Mr. Blackstone. Anyone could do this next to that man.” He gestures outward like it’s so easy, snapping his fingers. “Get her ready! We were supposed to be a wrap ten minutes ago!”
The matter seems settled, and before I know it, my hair’s been primped, my makeup scrubbed off and a whole new style applied, and they had me change into a blouse that’s even tighter across my boobs. I’m nearly shaking, my mind a whirlwind. I came up here to deliver an envelope. Instead, I’m about to take pictures with my boss. My very hot boss whom I bet every single woman in this building has a crush on. Awkward.
The assistant appears out of nowhere and leads me over to Mr. Blackstone’s desk, where he’s sitting nonchalantly, like waiting for this is no big deal. The assistant tells me, “Stand here. Lighting check.” And then she disappears, leaving me alone with Mr. Blackstone. Well, not alone, considering there are at least fifteen other people in the room, but it feels like there’s a bubble of stillness surrounding us as everyone else bustles about.
“What’s your name, doll?” he asks.
Normally, when a random guy goes straight to nicknames and endearments, it makes me grit my teeth. I’d expect my boss doing it would elicit an even stronger reaction. It does . . . but it’s not the negative one I’d expect. Instead, I almost swoon. Maybe it’s his presence, or the subtle, masculine smell of leather wafting from him, or the way he’s staring at me like he already knows my secrets. But there’s something in me that likes him calling me that, especially after his earlier compliment.
Calm down, girl. You deal with men like him everyday. He’s hot, more than most, but you can control yourself for a few pictures and a fucking conversation that could be your big break.
The reminder that this could be a great career opportunity helps, and I focus as I introduce myself. “Arianna Hunnington. I’m a summer intern, sir.”
I offer my hand, which he takes with a smirk. “Liam Blackstone, but I suspect you already knew that.” His hand is warm against mine, making me wonder what his touch would feel like on other parts of my body.
Luckily, I’m saved from my own dirty thoughts when Francois comes close. “Okay, you two . . . we want heat for these shots. Naughty girl and the big boss. Got it?”
I can’t really say anything else as Francois begins shouting orders as he steps behind the camera. “Let’s get this show on the road! Lean into him, girl!”
I hesitate. There he is, calling me girl again. “I . . . uh . . .”
Mr. Blackstone is done wasting time though. He takes control, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me into him. “I got you. Don’t be shy.”
My breasts flatten against him and I throw my head back, trying to get some space between us, but I get caught in his eyes, breathless as I faintly hear a shutter sound. “Yes, yes. Perfect!” Francois crows. “That’s it. It’s late, and you two are working together when the passion starts to flow between you!”
I barely listen to him. I’m practically melting and these photos aren’t even that risqué. I would literally be a puddle on the floor if they were. The feeling of his hard body, even through
our clothes, has me so turned on, but at the same time, I’m terrified, too afraid I’ll start moaning when he grabs my lower back and pulls me in close. I’m not complaining. I’d do this every day, but what the hell business magazine is this? And what kind of job is this?
Francois notices, scowling. “For God’s sake, girl, look like you’re enjoying it! I’m sure there’s plenty of others around here who’d take your spot in a second!”
Oh, hell no. He’s mine. All mine. And equally important, this opportunity is mine, and I’m not going to blow it over some silly school-girl nerves. I’ve played this part a million times, fooled people better than Francois, and I can do it now if that’s what it takes.
So I smile and look up at Mr. Blackstone as innocently as I can despite what’s going on inside my head or the desire that’s coursing through my body.
“Perfect!” Francois yells. “Now put your hand on his chest!”
My heart pounds, but I play my part, placing my hand on his chest. Oh, my God. Just as hard as I imagined. I want to roam my hand up and down, feel every ridge in his muscles. But he grabs around my wrist, holding me in place, still in charge even though I’m touching him.
There’s another series of shutter clicks.
Mr. Blackstone looks down at me. “Put your hand on my thigh.”
It seemed different when the photographer was telling me what to do, less personal. But when the demand is from Mr. Blackstone himself, it feels intimate. I hesitate a fraction of a second but obey.
He smirks, giving me a ‘good girl’ nod.
Oh. My. God. My hand is mere inches from my boss’s junk! And I swear . . . no way! He’s hard!
“Relax, doll,” he whispers, the name between the two of us. “You’re about to fall to pieces. I won’t bite.”
The words pop out before I can think to stop them, flirty and full of my character’s sass. “Too bad.” His brows lift in surprise at my quick response. Hell, I’m surprised at my comeback too. I try to temper my words and find some semblance of professionalism. “I’m not scared,” I protest, faking it if I can’t really be sure what the hell I’m doing. “Just not what I thought my work duties were going to entail today.”
Mr. Blackstone’s grin fades a little and he lowers his lips to just an inch from my ear, his breath sending hot chills down my spine as he whispers, “Your work today involves doing what you’re told.”
“Hold his belt!” Francois quips, as if he heard Mr. Blackstone’s words.
Determined to prove I’m not a scared little girl, I grab his leather belt and give it a tug. I want to look down and get a peek, but I’m not quite that bold. I can feel him, hot and hard, just a fraction of an inch from my hand, so close I can almost feel him.
Francois’s murmurs of ‘yes’ and ‘just like that’ are getting to me, making me feel like maybe I’m doing okay with this crazy situation, and I find myself starting to get into it, so I swing my foot up, my skirt stretching tight across my ass and thighs, to show off my stiletto heels. Instinctively, Mr. Blackstone reaches down and catches me under the knee, gazing at me with lust in his eyes. I can see the promise of heat in their depths, of things I don’t understand, don’t know, but I can fake it. I always have. And with him, it’s oddly easy to let the desire wash through me, more real than my usual imitation.
We do a couple more shots, but just like that, it’s over.
“And we’re a wrap! Thank you both!” he yells, clapping his hands. “Now let’s get cleaned up and out of Mr. Blackstone’s space.”
We pull apart, our bodies beginning to get a bit hot and sweaty. My pulse is pounding, and my pussy throbs with every beat of my heart, screaming to be taken. No more waiting. Right now. Mr. Blackstone is the one. Fuck, I’ve never felt like this. I’m always the one in control of myself, my body, my image. But I feel oddly swept away with him right now, filled with a wild lust I’ve always scoffed at, but suddenly, it’s happening to me.
His eyes are slightly dilated, his cock tenting his slacks as he looks at me, but before we can say anything, I’m ushered away to change out of the magazine’s wardrobe.
I’m approached and given a check, two hundred dollars, but right now, I don’t care about the money. I just want to get back to Mr. Blackstone. I want . . . more. More of that magnetism, that connection I felt, the look in his eyes when my hand was on his chest or when he cupped the back of my head and stared down at me. I’ve never felt that rush of attraction, not like that, not that real.
But it must’ve been one-sided because Mr. Blackstone, for his part, seems to quickly forget about me as he’s surrounded by crew. Other than casually reaching down to adjust his cock and get it pointing somewhere other than straight out, I could have disappeared and never existed.
Before I can do anything, I’m quickly shown to the elevator door. I look back, and I see him talking on his phone while directing two other people, and I’m left with a feeling of surrealness. Did this really just happen?
Liam
Fucking beautiful.
Naughty perfection.
The angel next door with a dollop of the devil inside.
There are so many ways I could describe the little minx who just left my arms. At first, she seemed so uncertain and innocent, unaware of how my eyes were already tracking her sexy curves from across the room. I’d even had a flash of possessiveness when she’d been speaking to Jacob, who thankfully ignored her. But her nervousness faded away when I took control, and she reared back, rising to the challenge. Feisty minx. That only makes me want more.
Fuck. I’d love to show her what taking control is all about. I want to be the voice in her ear, whispering to the devil inside her that she wants it, even as her better nature is telling her she should run from me. She could run, but the chase sounds exciting, definitely more so than the women who usually throw themselves at me. No, something tells me that Arianna isn’t one of those types. She’d make me work for it, earn it, and in return, I’d make her beg.
I was about to ask her more about her time here at Morgan until everyone surrounded me, shoving water in my face, kissing my ass, and generally wasting my precious time. In the few moments it took for me to get rid of them, she disappeared nearly as quickly as she came. Like a mirage, an oasis of beautiful reality in this vast desert of brown-nosing fakers. If not for my hard cock and the pictures Francois is flipping through, I’d wonder if I’d imagined her.
“Do you like this shot?” Francois asks, showing me the initial downloaded shots on his tablet. “I need you to tell me which ones you prefer.”
I glance down at the tablet, sighing inwardly because I know my opinion isn’t going to matter for shit when Helen gets the images. She’ll pick what she wants, my preferences be damned. Not that I care. They’re all good shots. “Yeah, go with that.”
I still swipe through the rest of them, remembering how she felt so close to me. In each shot, my eyes are drawn to Arianna, the fire in her eyes and the naughty sexuality oozing from her. I tower over her, but she’s still powerful, and I have to swallow when I see the image of me holding her leg up. I can actually see a flash of baby blue between her legs. My God, was I that close to her little pussy that her panties could be seen?
“This one,” I say, pointing to the shot but covering the space between her legs with my finger. Francois looks over, an evaluative eye scanning the shot as he hums. “Send it to my email now. And then delete it.”
He tilts his head. “That’s not . . . I can’t . . .” He tries to argue, and I’m sure there’s some photography code or magazine clause I’m asking him to break, but under the weight of my glare, he starts tapping on the screen. “Done, Mr. Blackstone. Sent and deleted.” He looks at me curiously, but I don’t have a single shred of intention of explaining myself to him.
I flip through the rest and Francois nods. “Great. I’ll get the photo editors on these right away. They might want to have Cassie’s head Photoshopped on her body—”
“The fuck? No,
” I growl, cutting him off. “She stays.”
“But—”
I give him a look that says I’m not fucking around, and he goes pale, like he wants to argue but doesn’t. “Yes, sir,” he agrees, then walks off.
The crew is clearing out, all the fancy equipment that’s been cluttering my office disappearing faster than you’d think possible. I’m eager to have my space back to myself so I can get some actual work done today.
Jacob approaches, perching next to me on my desk. He’s probably the only person I’d let get away with that. “Hey,” Jacob whispers, trying to keep his voice low, “The magazine specifically wanted you with that Cassie chick. She’s Instagram famous or some shit, so I don’t know if they’re going to run it with some random intern on the cover, even if she is hot as sin.”
I cut my eyes at him. I want to say something, but Jacob has been my friend and confidant since college and he doesn’t mean anything. He’s my right-hand man who followed me to Morgan as a package deal. He’s the slow and steady brains to my risk-taking gut-following. We’re a good team. But right now, I want to knock the shit out of him for even noticing Arianna.
I remind myself to cool it. He’s just giving me a heads-up, and Arianna’s beauty was apparent to everyone in the room. She’s got the looks that make guys want her and girls want to be her, even though she wasn’t showy or flashy about it at all. In fact, she might’ve been trying to disguise it to some degree, her skirt fitting but not too tight, her shirt buttoned over her lush cleavage to be professional, her makeup daytime subtle. It wasn’t until the photo crew fixed her up that her bad-girl fuck-goddess was so readily obvious. But I’d noticed her before they’d sexed her up, had already seen beneath the polished surface.
The Virgin Diaries Page 12