Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
“Then you ate something, and it messed with your head.”
“I can pay the advance back.”
“Let’s not be hasty here. As your agent, I need to tell you all the contractual clauses you’ll be violating.” There’s a shuffling of paper, and then Davis clears his throat. He starts to read about the party of the first part owing shit to the party of the second part and the obligations herein, therein, whereforeartthouin. I swing the chair around and lift my feet onto the desk. Davis is worked up, and from experience, I know he needs to release his steam or it’ll blow up later. I flip through my lost city photos with disinterest and know I’m making the right decision. This project doesn’t interest me, and if I put it out now, everyone who picks it up will come away with the same sense of dissatisfaction. That’s not who I am or what I want to put my name on.
“How about a different project?” I say, pausing on one photo of the old man and his granddaughter.
Davis stops mid-rant. “I’m listening.”
“I’ll fulfill my contract, but it’s not going to be lost cities. It’s going to be about connections and it will feature this city.”
“Yeah?” He’s intrigued.
“I’m sending you some images.” I attach the grandfather and send that one and two more off to Davis. There’s silence on the other end as I wait for him to receive it. Then there’s a long protracted quiet that makes me fidgety. I get up and walk over to the doorway. Dove’s been sleeping for a few hours now—or, at least, her bedroom door has been closed for a few hours. It’s two in the morning, and there’s no light leaking from the bottom of the door, so she’s either sleeping or she’s huddled under the blankets with her phone.
I stare harder, wishing I had a lens to see through the wooden barrier. Was she sleeping on her side or on her back? In my apartment, the old one, she slept on her side, with a pillow hugged between her knees. It could be my body between her legs. No. It will be my body. She wants to take it slow, so that’s the pace we’re going at. My dick wants to hammer inside her pussy, but I’m satisfied that she’s here in this apartment with me. Every night I’m the last thing she sees before she falls asleep and every morning, I’ll be the first thing her eyes set upon. It’s all good.
“Okay.”
“What?” I’d forgotten I was on the phone with Davis.
“Okay. You win. I don’t necessarily agree that your lost city film isn’t as good as these photos, but these are incredible. Who is the woman in the last two? She’s…” He pauses, searching for the right word…”arresting. You only see a small slice of her profile, and it sticks with you. Mysterious, magnetic. I fucking love this. I’m taking these to your publisher. We’ll work something out.”
“Good deal.”
“But no more changes!” he commands.
I nod and hang up. Why would I want to change? I’m going to photograph every damn place in this city with Dove as my muse. She doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s my source of inspiration. l cross the room to my camera and pick it up. I shouldn’t do this, but if I can’t touch her, I need to look at her. I need to know she’s still breathing, that she’s still near.
Before my better angels change my mind, I open the door to her room. The master bedroom is huge. Dove looks like a tiny dot in the midst of the large space. There’s almost no light in here and even my expensive-ass lens would have trouble recording an image. I walk over to the windows and draw back the curtains, allowing moonlight to spill into the room. The golden light streams across the bed, highlighting the rise of her hips and the valley of her waist. The camera makes a nearly imperceptible swish as the eye of the lens blinks, capturing her in her slumber.
I won’t publish these. Dove is too vulnerable. Her eyelashes lay like lace on her cheek. Her lower lip is pushed forward in a kissable pout. The sheets are pulled down enough that I can see the rise of her tits, two ripe peaches ready for plucking. There’s a lump between her legs, which I suspect is a pillow. Does her pussy ache there? Is that why she has something shoved up against her sex? The pillow is too soft to provide any relief. She needs my hands, my fingers, my tongue, my cock. If I were in that bed with her, her leg could be draped over my hip while my cock is buried inside her cunt. We’d drench the sheets with her come and mine. And when we were spent, she’d pass out in my arms. I take another photo and then another until the film roll runs out.