Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“It’ll do,” she teases back, curling her lip in faux distaste. “However, I’d like to make a few adjustments. Do you trust me?”
As a rule, I don’t trust anyone, but my curiosity is piqued. “Do your best. Have your way with me.”
She moves over to the wardrobe setup, looking over all the available options. She touches this and that thoughtfully as she glances back and forth. Finally, she smiles confidently. “The suit is perfection, you know that. But the styling could be fresher, like you said.”
“You don’t like my glasses?” I pull the fake specs off, biting one tip playfully.
“I do, but you need more than those. Here.” She brings over a few chunky rings, pushing them onto the index and ring fingers of my right hand, and my left pinky. She then fastens one additional button, showing less of my chest.
“Too much for you?” I whisper hotly, enjoying her proximity and her hands on my body. Or at least my clothes.
She shakes her head. “We’ll go back to that, but first, you said fresh. That’s what we’re doing.”
She steps back, looking me up and down before dropping low. Involuntarily, my breath catches at seeing her very nearly on her knees in front of me. Is she trying to drive me crazy? If so, it’s sure as fuck working.
“Take these off,” she orders.
Unfortunately, she’s talking about my shoes, not my pants. She assists, pulling the loafers off, followed by my black dress socks. As a model, I’m accustomed to dressers helping me put on pieces or take them off. Sometimes, they’re fragile, or one of a kind, or they don’t want me bending around and getting things wrinkled. It’s never seemed as intimate as it does now.
“Put these on.” She’s holding out a striped sock, and though I’m not sure of her vision, I lift my bare foot and she slips the sock over my toes. I can’t help but wiggle and she laughs. “Ticklish?”
“A little,” I confess. She looks up, shooting me a small smile.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” she vows with a playful wink. She grabs a pair of black leather lace-up shoes and ties me into them as well. Finished with her styling, she stands up. “Better,” she decrees. “Now, sit on the desk, one foot up on it with your arms like this.”
She moves me into the pose she wants, and I let her lift and place my arms. She makes a few adjustments to my jacket, and then I feel awkwardness wash over her. “Uhm, I need to fix your slacks.”
My lips quirk, daring her to have her way with me.
She huffs haughtily and then squares her shoulders. She brushes her palms over my thighs, smoothing tiny folds in the fabric, and with her blocking the photographer and Tobias’s view, I tense my muscles. My cock jumps behind my zipper, and I delight at the fresh dusting of pink on her cheeks. “Is that a hot dog in your pants or are you just happy to see me?”
The juvenile joke surprises me, and I bark out a laugh. Autumn seems surprised at my good-natured response and laughs along too.
“Sorry. I can’t fight biology or my body’s response to having you close. I’ll try to be professional, as you said.”
To her credit, she finishes her tweaks and then stands back, looking at the photographer. “Ready.”
I’m a pro, so I kick into gear. I hit all the classics . . . big smile, tense jaw, sullen and broody, looking left, looking right, and more as the photographer clicks away. Autumn isn’t watching me, but rather is staring at a screen where each shot appears in real time. She touches the screen to note ones she prefers, but I’ll make the final decisions.
“We got this one. Next outfit,” the photographer says.
Autumn goes to the rack of wardrobe options, flipping through them. “You need color. Something softer.” She pulls out a gray suit, a lavender shirt, and a deep purple tie. She gives me a questioning look, and I nod in agreement. “This should be a top-half image to highlight the colors.”
I slip out of my jacket and then pull my shirt loose. Autumn freezes and then whirls in place, giving me her back as though I need privacy to disrobe. I unbutton the shirt and toss it over Autumn’s shoulder, signaling that she need only look back if she’d like to see me shirtless. She gasps, but I’ve already got my belt off and it gets the same treatment . . . right over her shoulder.
She glares back at me. “What are you doing?” she snaps. As I expected, her eyes instinctually trace down over my bare chest. Fire sparks between us, her lips parting in a silent pant.
“Changing,” I answer casually. I toe off my shoes and undo my slacks, letting them drop and standing confidently in my boxer briefs and socks. It’s not the best look, but I have faith I’m rocking it. “Help me get dressed?”