Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 92835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
"I know."
"Are you keeping it?"
"I don't know. I was planning to crop everything. Keep the suggestion of anonymity. At least for the set. But now… I like that one."
"It poses a question it doesn't answer."
"Does it?"
"You don't use your lips in this set."
"Well… There is one image. It's perfect. But it's not nearly so subtle." Her eyes meet mine. "I didn't consider including those, but I could."
Fuck. "Would you?"
"I don't know. It's crazy I'm even thinking about it." She pulls up a new folder labeled Explicit and scrolls past the first few images.
My hands on her skin.
Only without the camera blocking the action.
Without her silk lingerie covering.
Then her standing over me, her hand on my cheek.
She's naked.
I'm dressed.
But she's anonymous.
I'm not.
Within the context, it's obviously her.
But her face isn't in frame.
Mine is.
This—
Fuck.
I want to show the entire world. This beautiful woman wants me. Even though I'm a monster.
I want to destroy every copy. After all, it's there, in beautiful soft lighting. I'm a monster.
"This is the angle," she says. "The images are focused on you. I can crop them. I did crop some, but they don't look quite right." She scrolls through the next few images.
Her dropping to her knees.
Touching me.
Sucking me off.
Her body is blocking the action. It's clear what's happening, but the details aren't on display.
They're sexy as hell.
But she's right. They're not composed the way the others are. They're missing something.
She scrolls to the next. One that isn't cropped.
The same image, the same action, my hands in her hair, her mouth around me, all the focus on my face.
My eyes closed.
My brow soft.
My expression dripping with pleasure.
"I'll delete them if you want." Her chest heaves with her inhale. "And I'd never share them without asking. Maybe even with asking. But I hope you'll let me keep them. They're really fucking hot." She looks to me. "I-I swear I'm not trying to manipulate by saying this. I can barely say it." Her cheeks flush. "They make me wet."
"Show me."
"Adam—"
"Now."
"No." She wraps her hand around my wrist. "I need an answer first. The main set." She pulls it up. "These five photos. I need you to approve them."
"If I don't?"
"I'll still fuck you. But I'll be disappointed."
I look through the photos again.
They're beautiful, intimate, sensual.
Past sensual. Into erotic.
They put her on display.
Put us on display.
For everyone in the fucking world.
Everyone I want to hide from.
Everyone I want to hurt.
"What do you think?" She runs her fingers over my chin. "Are you ready to reveal yourself?"
Chapter Thirty-Three
Danielle
Adam's eyes meet mine. "Yes. I want you to show them."
"Are you sure?"
"No." He brings his hand to my cheek. "It's terrifying. But it's thrilling too."
"It is." I lean into his touch. "You can sleep on it."
"No," he says. "I don't want to lose my nerve."
"You want me to send a pitch to the gallery now?"
He nods.
"Then I have to wait to fuck you."
"How long will it take?"
"Too long."
He smiles. "Now. I might change my mind."
"You're choosing my artistic goals over sex?"
"You could put it that way."
"How would you put it?"
"I enjoy the photos while you work."
"I'm working on the laptop. How will you see them?"
He pulls his cell from his pocket. "Send one."
"No. I have a better idea." I pull up two of my semi-finalists. Images of us at the window, my robe falling off my shoulders. "I'll post these."
"Now?"
"Now. Then, you can see how it feels." I show him the photos.
He stares at them for a long time, then he nods.
I load one to Instagram. Add a caption. A tease to visit my site.
Then the more explicit one.
I love a man who appreciates an artistic woman.
A little obvious maybe.
And not at all a subtle dig at the photographer ex who wouldn't pose for me.
And making it much easier for anyone and everyone to know Broken Beauty is Danielle Bellamy.
This is New York. There are plenty of men in suits around. But how many female photographers are bragging about dating one?
I'll have to talk to Remy.
And…
Mostly Remy.
But I can do that.
Woosh.
I post the image. Compose a formal pitch with a clock. Three days for the gallery to give me the spot or move on. I know their calendar. I know they have room. And I know how to put on a hell of an exhibition.
There. I send it.
I send my ex-boss a set of naked photos.
Photos of me and Adam.
Naked photos of me and Adam to display to the entire art world.
Holy fuck.
My body buzzes.
Then it's the entire room.
It's not a sure thing yet. I'm giving Adam the day.
I stand. Turn to him.
He's looking at his cell, at the photo on my website.
His eyes go wide. His lips part with a sigh. "Danielle." He says my name the way he does when he comes. Like I'm the only thing he's ever needed.
"Is that a yes?"