“You want me.”

A low laugh. “Is that a question or a statement?”

“You should know.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “I should.”

“Are you going to tell me that I’m wrong?”

“You’re so sure, aren’t you?”

“It’s a talent. Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

“How much do you want me?”

“This again?”

“Yes.”

“You’re operating under the assumption that I do.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, least of all, me.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. For once. There’s one person that I know I’m definitely fooling.”

“And you’re stalling again. Tell me.”

“I’m not stalling. Just pointing out the flaws in your logic.”

“Tell me.”

“I did.”

“You know what I meant.”

“One-tracked mind as always. Would it kill you to multitask once in a while?”

“Stalling. Tell me.”

“Tell you what? About how much I want to feel the weight of your cock on my lips? The heat of it against my tongue?”

“Yes.”

Her tongue wet her lips. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” A shaky exhalation. “I rather feel your nails digging into my hips, your teeth biting my neck.” Her voice quivered, grew breathy. “I want to hear the slick sounds of our bodies sliding against each other, the hard slaps of skin against skin. I want taste the sex in the air, the flavors of us, the bite in your kiss.

“But most of all, I want you to devour me, break me. Take me, hard, fast. Don’t let me breathe. Don’t let me think. Fill me. Fuck me. Mark me. Claim me. “

The silence stretched between them, trembling on the fine thread of her gasping breaths. Endless. Infinite.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Yes, it was. Not the only thing that is though, is it?”

“Do you want me?”

“Yes. But I want something that you can’t give too.”

“So sure.”

“It’s a contagious talent.”

I wanted to see what it would be like to write high fantasy erotica. It’s harder (much, much harder) than I thought.

The way that he moved was memorizing, even Kal couldn’t deny that.

Of course that might have to do with the fact that his head was bobbing in Kal’s lap, his tongue was doing the most exquisite thing. But that didn’t change the fact that ere long, he was going to meet the sharp end of Kal’s blade. If he could find it.

His captors had made sure to snatch it away, right before they set out to break him.

Seven days. They came close to it on the eighth.

The shackles about his wrists chaffed, the chains jingling as he tested its strength again. They burned, scathing more his pride than his skin. Lash-scarred shoulders tensed, muscles-corded arms jerked, but the chains held. He slumped back against the wall.

Why, for the love of the High Bitch, was it forged of silver?

He struggled to keep his face impassive as the flaxen hair whispered against his thighs with each move. Humiliation, anger, angst, fear, and, he was horrifyingly aware of it, lust- They chased each others in wild circles, blurring into a large, volatile mess.

It wasn’t enough that he was made to watch them killed his clan, not enough to be powerless while they robbed the dead while the young laid dying. No. He was auctioned off like some animal to serve some pampered prince a decade younger than him.

His hips trembled and he turned his head away with a groan. Granted, this wasn’t what he had in mind.

Hot, slim fingers traveled along his sides, drawing small circles over the bronze skin of his hips, tracing the raised scars there. He gritted his teeth, barely stopping himself from buckling up into that lovely tight, wet cavern.

“Do they educate all of their princes to be pleasure slaves ?” He forced the words out of his lips, praying that they would hold evenly. “Should have known.” His growl hid the desire roughened voice. Only the slight ragged breath at the end belied the illusion of unaffected air.

A slick, wet pop. The sound slithered down down his spine, as did the look of his new owner. Wet lips curled into a smile. “No. I imagine I am alone in that aspect.” Hot, moist breath fanned against Kal’s neck, a single arm threw about his shoulders. The single, seed pearls woven braid swung against his throat as the youth pressed his nose into the crook of his neck, his breaths fanning Kal’s own dark tress. “Fortunate for you that I bought you, it seems.”

If the brat would just move a little to the left…Kal’s teeth ached to feel the break of that pale skin against them, to feel the slight resistance. They killed his kinsmen with a savagery that his world had long renounced, it wouldn’t be too terrible if he return it in kind now, would it? The large vein running through the youth’s throat sang in agreement, bubbling blood enticing him to follow his instincts.

It was by sheer will that he pulled himself back. The brat deserved no kindness, but neither did he deserve the tattered shreds of Kal’s humanity as his funeral companions. “You have no idea what you are playing with, whelp.”

A heavy-lidded smile. Nimble fingers curled about his member and stroked, coaxing beads of moisture forth, wetting them both. “I assure you, I most certainly do.”

“You-” He snapped his mouth shut, stifling the groan threatening to spill from him against his arm.

Tight. Hot. He curled his fingers about the chain, fighting the urge to thrust up against the slim figure. Lust, desire, they gnawed at his control relentlessly.

He flinched when those slim, slick fingers pressed against his chest. Panting, the youth swept the sweat-plastered hair out of his eyes, his hips still grinding against Kal in a languid rhythm. “Me?”

He gnashed his teeth, the muscles along his thighs flexed, quivered. “You will die by my hand.”

A mirthless chuckle.

“So you say, my love.”

“You called for me?”

There was no answer.

Ignoring the sudden hard thumps of his pulse, he flung open the heavy doors.

The slim figure almost lost within the plush blankets and lavish pillows was a familiar one. The contours of his body, the gentle slopes where his waist tapered, the sharp lines of his jaw- All breathtakingly familiar. Irritatingly so, as was the pang of desire that echoed in his chest before he shoved it aside.

The bells on his anklets jingled as he approached the bed, the heavy chains betraying their true purpose. A frown pinched his lips when the figure remained motionless. Something all too close to fear fluttered in his stomach.

The bed creaked beneath his weight. He hesitated, then reached out, his fingers stopping short of his shoulder.

The blond stirred with a groan. He rubbed his eyes, the sleeve of his robe fluttered. “Kal?”

He considered for a moment to remain silent and let him drift back into sleep. But the youth rolled onto his side. Kal drew his hand back sharply. “You called for me?”

The bells chimed again as long fingers teased them. “Too long ago.” The words were clipped; the honeyed voice terse. “What kept you?”

Kal stiffened as a finger brushed against his ankle, forcing himself to stay still. “I was…detained.”

“Detained?” He shifted back as the prince sat up, blue eyes sharp. “Detained by who?”

He shrugged. The rough fabric dragged across his shoulders. The marks on his back pulsed, pain flared, as though to remind him of the hand that had laid them there. Biting back a wince, he shook his head. “It is over and done with.”

“It is not.” Kal arched an eyebrow at the snap in his voice. Pale skin flushed, he caught Kal’s chin between his thumb and index fingers. The undercurrent of ownership in the grip rushed through him, ruining the tender touch. A finger swept over his bruised lips. “Was it Brother?”

Slender fingers slipped through the robe and over Kal’s lacerated back. He jerked away from the inquisitive brush. The wounds tingled; his skin attempted to knit together, but the chains held the wound apart. It was a gift in battle, to be able to plow on, mindless of the knives that fell on him. In captivity, it was a curse. They used all that they had liberally on him, painting his body with his own blood, knowing that they could keep him straddled on the line between life and death for eternity if they were careful. “Like I said, it is over and done with.”

Even the stings from the cuts didn’t stop his lips from curling in amusement as the prince pushed himself out of the bed. He followed him with his eyes as he paced back and forth before the bed, fair hair flowing as he spun on his heels.

So much anger, so much fury. But it was the wrath of a child on the verge of a tantrum. Rage from a broken toy? Or perhaps irritation at being forced to share one.

Coming to a stop, the youth gestured at the bed. “Disrobe and lie down.”

Kal obeyed wordlessly, slipping the shoulders off and down his arms. Closing his eyes, he sprawled out on his stomach  over the bed, still warm from the body that was lying there moments ago. He wrinkled his nose; the scent enveloped him, sweet with a biting tang.

Silence. Then came the sound of something being uncorked. “What else?”

“Nothing more than what you’ve done, Sire.” It’d taken three long seasons before he’d managed to curb his tongue enough that they would unchain him from the wall. Not that he was entirely without his barbs still.

Cool, wet fingers kneaded his back, rougher than they need to be to spread the salve. “You’re mine, Kal.” The fingers pressed into his back, emphasizing each word, branding them into his skin. Petulance crept into the words. “Mine.”

Kal sighed into the bed. The lavish surrounding, strong, nimble hands working out the abused muscles- He could have deluded himself easily into believing that he was back at home. But every caress scathed him, pulled him back to the reality with the possessive edge.

“What else?” The fingers brushed over his lips. The smell of cloves assaulted his nose. “Here?” He stiffened as a hand slipped down, curled about him, stroking him, kindling desire to flicker into life. “Kal?”

He groaned into the fabric as a thumb gathered the moisture seeping there, spreading it over the head of his member in lazy circles, drawing shudders that rippled through him. His breath caught in his throat as a slick finger probed against the puckered hole. “No.”

His hips thrust ever so slightly, wetting the blanket beneath him and the hand engulfing him. A murmur of pleasure rolled in his chest, desperation and exasperation roughening the noise.

He hated it, loathed it, that those hands could draw out such sensations from him, that they glided over him so knowingly and with such surety. But what he despised the most, was that more than once, he’d found himself forgetting who the owner of those hands was.

He shuddered when the hands left him. The rustles of silk sliding down and pooling on the floor came in a hushed whisper.

His body rested on Kal, sliding full length against him, his weight reassuring, blanketing him. Steady breaths washed against his neck and despite himself, he sank into the deception. He could cling stubbornly back to the unforgiving surface of his reality, only to be shoved back down into the warm depth once again and swept away by the currents.

Deception was better than facing the betrayal of his own body.

Skillful fingers snaked down between him and the bed and resumed in slow, languid strokes, drawing small moans and shivers that cascaded down to his toes. Hard, slick arousal slipped against the valley of his buttocks, hot and insistent.

A finger brushed over the sensitive cup of his ear; molten hot desire coursed through him with each caress. He writhed, fighting between arching away from ruthless teasing and leaning into those clever hands.

“Mine.” A light kiss dropped on the nape of his neck. His skin prickled. “All of you, mine.” The words fell on his ears as though an incantation.  “All mine.”

No protests slipped from Kal’s lips, his mind too engrossed with the task of silencing his pleasure to summon a retort. He shook, the muscles of his calves tensed, the bells on his ankles jingled.

The fingers hesitated. “Though…” They twirled over the tip of his member, the flat of a thumb tracing the pulsing vein there. Kal shuddered, his fingers tightening on the blanket. “I can’t say all of you is mine yet, can I?”

The words cooled his heated body and cleared his thoughts. “As per the law of the land, Sire, all that which is mine is yours.” Even desire couldn’t soften the ire in his voice.

“Ah. You are familiar with the laws?”

He should, as the prince should well know. Kal bit back a growl. After all, it was by them that the prince had taken possession of his sword and made it a point of flaunting it.

And in one moment of foolishness when he decided to try and reclaim that blade- the prince revealed where his brother had acquired his skills with the whip from.

Hot breaths ghosted over his ear once more. Questing fingers caught a hardened nipple between them, rolling and pinching it between them. The sharp sizzling waves of pain seared him, darting straight to his groin, pulsing in time with each lazy stroke there. Slick sounds of wet skin against skin echoed in his ears. “Let me mark you, Kal.”

Mark. He’d been marked. He’d been kissed by the whips, embraced by the knives, caressed by the brands, and whatever else had struck his tormentors their fancies. He had his fair of admirers who enjoyed watching him bleed. It shouldn’t surprise him that the prince would join their ranks eventually. He closed his eyes, struggling to anchor himself to that spark of anger, to not be swept away by the seductive sensation humming through him. “You had never asked me permission to do so before, Sire.”

He hissed as nails bit into his chest. The youth clucked his tongue, the sound of it clipped and hard against his ears. “I have never marked you before, Kal. I’m quite mindful of not damaging my properties. Those were merely proper chastening for your actions.” The fingers eased. “Let me mark you as your kinsmen would, permanently.”

“My…” The sparks of pleasure fluttering up his spine was replaced by a chill when the intentions behind those words sank in. He twisted about, the damp fabric beneath him clinging to his legs. Ignoring the hardness digging into his thigh, he stared up at his captor, his mouth suddenly dry.

He would’ve asked him if he knew exactly what he was asking for, if he hadn’t caught the trepidation in those sharp features. Kal’s laugh came in a bark, rough against his throat. “Sire, all that you could claim, you have.”

His captor’s face paled, then flushed red. He propped himself up, arms braced against Kal’s chest. “All that I could?”

The crush of lips against Kal’s was sudden, unexpected, drawing his breath from him in that bruising meeting of their lips. Lips, tongue, teeth- they consumed him, devoured him, conquering every crevice. Confident, sure, his tongue curled against a smooth canine, pulling forth a shudder from Kal. Teeth caught his lips, dull edges digging into his flesh.

He shoved himself up, ignoring the yelp of surprise. His fingers tight about the slim wrists, he pulled the slight figure close. He leaned forward, his forehead against the prince’s, his breath fast, ragged. Exotic, spicy, the scent filled his nostrils, musky mix of sweat and arousal teasing him.

He was close, close enough that every frantic flutter of eyelashes brushed against him. The blood laced kiss lingered on his lips, the metallic tang of it intoxicating, wicked. Wide, cerulean eyes bore into his, a tongue darted out to wet swollen lips expectantly.

He released his grip the wrists, sword-roughened fingers traveling up, tracing the pulse thumping there beneath the skin, anticipation fair humming against his hands. He spoke, his lips brushing against his captor’s, the taste of blood dancing in the air between them. “All that you could, Sire.”

He couldn’t deny that it was gratifying to see the triumph slip from those arrogant brows, nor could he ignore the satisfaction from the surprise at his words.

It wasn’t the first time that he’d crossed his captor, but it was the first time that he saw and felt the reverberation of it hitting its mark.

“Bastard.”

The word barely registered before a ring encrusted hand slammed into the side of his face.

He reeled back, his ears ringing from the blow, blood filling his mouth from where his teeth had cut the inside of his cheek. A droplet of it licked along the side of his chin and landed on his hand. He looked up.

The robe was wound tightly about the prince again, the twist of his hands in the fabric belying the impassive mask he’d slipped over his face. “It seems like your clans have left survivors.” The hem of the robe rustled as he crossed the room. Stooping once, he threw open a trunk. “They have rallied with Heille and will be coming here soon.”

“Here?”

“They will be repaying us in kind, I suspect.”

The sword landed softly next to him. It didn’t take more than a glance for Kal to recognize it. His fingers ached to close about the rough hilt, to feel the edge of it against his palm. He swallowed and turned away. “What is this?”

“Your sword.”

Adrenaline surged through him along with a frisson of irritation. “I know what it is. But why are you doing this?”

Long hair slipped over his forehead as he dipped his head, obscuring his expression from Kal. “You were-are a slave. They saw you as my plaything. Soon they will see you as a prisoner of war.” He tilted his head back, eyes fixed steadily on Kal’s, daring him to disagree. “Let me assure you that this will all seem like heaven when they do.”

The blade slipped free of its sheath in a well-oiled snick. He ran his fingers over the edge of it, relishing in the familiar weight of it in his hand- Along with an weight of an entirely different sort on his shoulders. He glanced between the sword and the prince.

It would be so easy to swing the blade down upon that pale throat, to bloodied it, leave his permanent mark there. He would be swift about it too. That his captor had taken such good care of his weapon would provide for his less painful death. “And what will you have me do?”

For a moment, he thought the youth would step forward. “Leave.” His eyes flickered beyond Kal. “You shouldn’t encounter any guards if you move along the east wall. I have seen to it that they’re…preoccupied for the evening. There is a blacksmith along the river that has been given instructions about removing the chains for you.”

The words fell faster than he could comprehend, chasing any thoughts of revenge away. Tidbits and detailed slipped between his fingers, all overshadowed by the single word hidden in the conversation. Freedom. “Why?”

“You’re mine, Kal.” The vicious pride in those words distracted him from retying his robe. He stole a look at his captor and tormentor. In the dimming light, his profile was breathtakingly young, innocent. His gaze distant, he continued, each word measured, equally weighed. “You will always be mine. They will not lay a hand on what’s mine. I will not let them.”

Possession. Property. That was all the reminding that Kal needed.

“I do love you, you know.”

The words came, barely audible, quivering tentatively there in the wake of Kal’s bells.

He paused by the door; a scoff escaped from his lips, tinged with a bitter bite. “So you say, my love.”

His boots clapped against the stone stairs as he climbed the tower, each steps jolting up his legs, familiar in its impact. Flecks of dried blood cracked off as he flexed his fingers. Grime and something that he didn’t want to identify trapped beneath his nails.

Even if the rest of the kingdom had fallen, the tower remained the same. Unguarded. Isolated.

His free hand grazed against the rough surface of the walls. He didn’t doubt that he traced over the same paths that his nails had carved out before. Odd that he’d never noticed the lack of windows in the ascension, no light to guide the visitors on their quest.

The door of the room hung crooked on its hinges. His stomach rolled at the dark smear on the wall. He shoved at the door.

“You came, Kal.”

The tip of his sword lowered. Words struggled to untangle themselves from his throat. “You expected otherwise?”

Blood streaked hair, skin paler a good few shades than he remembered, the figure swayed on his feet. A hand pressed against the gaping gash on his chest. “No.” A ghost of a smile flitted over his lips. “You were wrong though, Kal. It’s not by your sword that I’ll die, it seems.”

His words. Spoken ages ago- A lifetime ago. That the prince had remembered it was surprising. “There is still time.”

That same mirthless laugh came again. It’d haunted him, chased both his dreams and nightmares. “True.”

The rugs barely suppressed the dull thud of his body hitting the floor.

Without thinking, Kal stalked forward, stopping only when he stood close enough to see the blank expression in his eyes. He hovered over his prone figure, fingers curled tight about the hilt of his blade.

His blood called to Kal. The  spark of anger that flared whenever his face surfaced in his thoughts during the brief respites from the battlefields grew, smoldered. And a part of him, a large part, longed to hurt him in every way that he had been under his captivity.

But the unabashed stare stilled his hand.

Slim fingers closed about his ankle. He could feel the press of it through the grass-stained leather, remembered the way they felt smoothing over his raw, abused skin. “I knew you would return.”

He remained standing. “You did?”

“And I had hoped you would make good on your promise.”

“As I said, there is still time.”

“So you say.” A corner of his lips curled. His expression turned wistful. “Do you know why I knew you would return?”

The labored breathing didn’t escape Kal’s ears, nor did he failed to notice the pool of red gathering by his feet. The long, pale lashes fluttered, lethargic. The fingers tightened about his ankle. “No.”

A sigh. Exasperated. Amused. Knowing.

Relief.

“I told you, Kal. You’re mine.”

I’m not sure if it’s obvious by now, but I’m more of a novel type than a short stories type, so I do intend on having a few more series available here. Or not. I enjoy writing them a good deal, but they’re also very time consuming.

As for the About page, it’s probably the only place where I will talk about myself, aside from brief snippets about updates on the site. Like I said though, I lead a mundane life. Sort of. The truth may be stranger than fiction, but fiction’s got a better entertainment value in my case.

Final snippet: fourth of four.

His voice was low, intimate- the sound of candlelit bedrooms and moonless nights, clandestine meetings and fevered kisses. And somehow it scared me more than anything he’d said or done. I wet my lips. “Not that you’re complaining.”

Arms trapping me close, the smell of him lingering about us, he’d surrounded me with him. The fingers about my wrists tightened. He growled. The noise rolled down my spine in a delicious cascade. He released my chin, his hand slipping down, whispering against the collar of my shirt. His breath brushed against my cheek. “Not at all.”

Quinn stalked forward, stopping close enough that I could see myself distorted in the glass eye of the camera. He stooped a little and I caught the flush of red at the base of his neck. Beneath the camera, his lips quirked in a small smile; bemusement rang in his voice. “And you aren’t either, are you, Cam?”

The fingers that curled beneath my chin and tilted my head up were hot, steady. The lights flashed in my eyes again, but I kept them open, letting the bright dots subside. Quinn didn’t really need to hold me. The camera itself held me arrested, capturing me even before my image hit the film. I couldn’t look away, even if I wanted to.

The cool night air hit my chest. I gasped, jerking back against Lukas. The lights flashed and he captured my shock and want. The grip on my jaw tightened when I tried to look away. I swallowed, pulse fluttering frantically against my throat as Lukas pushed off the shirt of my shoulders.

My nipples puckered and stiffened against my bra. Each breath I took dragged them against the fabric of the bra; sizzling sensations pulsed through me, making my breaths uneven and shallow. I shivered; my panties clung to me, damp from my arousal.

Lukas chuckled. “Cold?”

My face burned. So did my entire body. I wanted to look down, to check if my body was as obvious as I felt, to cover up and hide the evidences. But Quinn’s fingers kept my gaze fixed on the camera and Lukas’s grip remained tight on my hands.

Quinn’s hand tilted. A shuddering breath fell from my lips as the camera paused at them, performing for him unthinkingly. The focus of the camera slipped lower.

There was nothing gentle or polite about the descent. Insistent, blunt, it stripped me of all possible illusions modesty with a stunning force.

And, God help me, I could feel my body answering the silent call.

I wriggled again and clamped my thighs together, trying to ease the throbbing ache there. The seam of the jeans dug into me and pressed hard against the ball of nerves there. The sensation jolted up my spine, pulling me taunt and my back to arch. Need plowed into me, overwhelming me in both its intensity and urgency. I drew in a sharp breath, my fingers balled up against my belly. It didn’t help when Lukas’s free hand dragged over my jeans, a shadow away from the source of my distraction and distress. Just a few more inches down and then…The plea caught in my throat and instead, low whine flew from my lips.

The ache there built at a terrifying speed, engulfing all of my senses with a near tangible desire- the desire to lick, claw, bite, suck. The raw, primal edges to it shocked and rattled me, enough so that I reined myself back in, away from the precipice that they’d succeeded in dangling me over. I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting the salt there. What the hell was I doing? That all the blood in my body was being contributed to the monstrous blush on my face must have left me unable to do simple things like, oh, retain common sense.

As if sensing the change, Lukas brought a hand down, slipping it between my legs. He dragged his fingers over the rough fabric. It caught and released his nails; the tugs strummed against my sex, the inner muscles there twitched and clenched in response. My hips jerked and he pulled his hand away. I groaned, frustration and fear robbing me of my words.

“Tsk. Tsk.” I could hear the smile in his voice. Bastard. “Come on, Cam. Use your words.”

But the movements of his hips belied the patience in his words as did the way he flicked open the button of my jeans. I gritted my teeth, shuddering as his fingers slipped along my inner thighs then stopping at the apex of them. The heat of his hand burned me even through the denim, and I could feel myself opening, hungry for attention even against the fabric.

Through my daze, I heard the sound of the teeth of the zippers clicked against each other with each teasing tug.

I froze. The blood drained from my face, leaving behind prickles of numbness. So maybe the camera had uncovered the exhibitionist in me, but like hell I was going to be photographed in all of my naked un-glory.

Whatever showed on my face made Quinn lowered his camera. The grip on my chin softened into a caress. He swept his thumb over my lips. I fought the urge to lick at it, to take it in my mouth, and if I hadn’t been shocked out of my lust-hazed state, I would’ve. But I still couldn’t stop myself from leaning into the steady, warm hand, feeling frighteningly vulnerable and protected at the same time.

His lips swallowed my gasp. Vaguely, I felt the hand about my wrist tightened. Demanding, his mouth devoured my lips, confident, deepening the kiss slowly, as though he had all the time in the world. I melt into the dance of tongues, the brief dual for dominance that inevitably ended with his victory. He nipped at my lower lip; the sharp stab of pain shot straight to my sex, making me shudder against Lukas.

He pulled away, his voice low and rough. “Turn her around.”

The taste of Quinn’s lips still lingering and my head spinning from the implications, I allowed Lukas to turn me about. It was only when my fingers settled against his chest did I realized what a precarious place it had landed me.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. Instead, I focused my gaze on the haphazard flip of his collar over his right shoulder. His skin burned my fingers, smooth and taunt against my hands. The fluid shifts of his muscles as he moved teased me with its wicked potential. The beat of his heart thumped against my palm, slower than mine, and even more so when he spoke again. “Watch your knees, Cam. Especially if you don’t want to listen to another clichéd line like ‘kiss it to make it better.’”

I jumped when his fingers closed about my ankles, rearranging my legs so that my knees rested on either side of his hips. The erection that had been bruising my back was trapped between us, hot and straining against his slacks. The moistness between my thighs grew. I blushed, wondering if he could feel me through our clothes. It was a miracle that I didn’t pass out yet from the lack of blood circulating through the rest of my body.

The bed creaked and dipped as Quinn climbed onto the foot of the bed. “Relax a little, Cam.”

Easy for him to say.

I started when Lukas’s fingers skimmed over my arms, pushing down the straps of my bra. A whimper broke from my lips before I could stifle it when the entire bra was tugged away from me a second later.

The muscles along his throat tensed, as though he wanted to say something, but no words came. He slipped his fingers down between us. Over the roar of my pulse pounding in my ears came the snicks of the zipper being pulled free. He tugged my jeans down, movements fast, firm, brooking no resistance. “Quinn, want to stop for a moment and help us out here?”

I wanted desperately to turn around and see what Quinn was doing, but the sudden weight of his hand (or was it Lukas’s hand?) against the small of my back held me still. Thrown off balance by the yank from behind that freed me of my pants, I fell forward. My chest against Lukas’s, I could feel every breath that he took, each rise and fall a delicious friction that ravaged me, making me quake with each brush.

Desire surged through me, seared me. Slowly, hesitantly, I let my full weight rest against him, the fabric of his slacks pricking at my thighs. His fingers dragged along my legs and stopped at the waistband of my panties.

I shivered, struggling to grasp at the words that seemed to evade me despite all attempts. The snap of the elastic band of my panties stirred my thoughts, shifting them too fast for me to catch. At length, I finally summoned up a name. “Quinn?”

His voice was close. I could hear the same ragged, barely controlled edge in his breaths as I did in ours. “Look at him, Cam.”

I let my gaze flick to Lukas’s face for a second, scared that if I linger too long it would break the spell of the moment. But the look on his face held me transfixed. Dreamy, lazy, at the same time, laced with a white-cored intensity, it stunned me. His gaze focused back in on my face, our eyes meeting with almost an audible click.

“Would you look at that? Isn’t this a bit unprofessional, Lukas?” Quinn’s voice was right next to my ear now. His hands settled against my shoulders, pulling me back a little. I wrapped my arms about me, covering my breasts.

A crooked smile on his lips, Lukas unfastened the button of the slack. “You’re not one to speak.”

Quinn brushed his fingers over the gusset of my panties before pushing aside the fabric. My breath came in a gasping squeak. I bucked against his hand, the slick passage offering no resistance against his questing fingers that slipped in unhesitatingly. The blankets wrinkled beneath me, silk, satin, cotton, folded against the digging of my feet into the bed. “Mm. Even you, Cam. It seems like I’m working with a bunch of amateurs today.” He brought his hand up. Traces of my arousal glinted on his fingers, the smell of it thick in the air. I averted my gaze, terribly aware of the hardened peaks of my breasts that throbbed against my hands. He clucked his tongue. “Shy, Cam? Never thought that you would be the type to get squeamish in bed.”

“I’m not…” I choked on my words. Oh dear. There went the rest of my brain, running off to join whatever little modesty that Lukas had with that final pull of his zipper. Hope those were his own pants, because there was no way the costume department was going to take it back again.

The laugh came from Quinn this time. “Watch.”

I shook my head violently. I’d never been one to stare at that…particular anatomy. Though out of the corners of my eyes, I caught the movements of his hand and there was no way I could ignore the soft catch of breaths there, and both made me a little- or a lot- squirmy on the inside in the most exquisite way.

His fingers caught my hair, tangling in the curls. Twisting it about his hand, he pulled my head back. I yelped, more out of surprise than pain when he moved me just so that my neck arched and I was staring up into his face. “You will.” Damn it, I was starting to like that tone of his voice a little too much. And the heat I could feel radiating from every single inch of my body suggested that it did too. “He performs best when there’s an audience anyway.”

Questions that rose to my mind were fragmented and thrown askew the moment he turned my head back to Lukas.

Maybe all of their games and batting me about had me dizzy and delirious. Maybe the brief stunt in front of the camera lent me some courage. Maybe that they teased so well without actually doing anything finally got to me. Or maybe it was Lukas before me, fingers stroking languidly, and Quinn’s voice echoing in my ears, the swell in his pants against my back, pinpricks of pain from his tight grip in my hair heightening my senses.

Desired and to desire- It swam through my veins, intoxicating, addicting, doubling with every beat of my heart until it filled me, drowned me.

I crawled up toward Lukas again, drunk on that sensation. The feeling of being pressed against his body felt inexplicably like a homecoming. His eyes locked on mine, his slick fingers settled about my wrist, guiding my hand down between us. He throbbed against my palm, the heat warming my fingers, his precum moistening my fingertips. His hips rocked ever so slightly, slipping in and out of my grip. My inner muscles clenched and released in answer to his thrusts.

My lips found that juncture where his neck and shoulder met, where I’d so avidly fixed my gaze upon earlier. The salt of his skin, the finally visceral tang shot through me. His groan rumbled against me and I echoed with a low murmur as my sex pulsed. My breaths chased his, rushing out in gasps.

His fingers brushed against my swollen clit carelessly. I cried into the crook of his neck, arms flying to clasp about his neck. Every nerve in my body sizzled. The world narrowed down to those fingers and the madness that it drew me towards with each glide.

“Now.”

Quinn’s word came at a distance, as did the shift of Lukas’s weight and foil crinkling.

A whine rolled in the back of my throat. Lukas’s fingers settled about my hips. I braced myself against his shoulders, and lifted myself up. His fingers tightened, stopping me from sheathing down upon him completely. “Cam.”

“Mm?” I couldn’t manage anything more eloquent. My hips moved of their own volition over the latex-covered tip. He hissed, his grip bruising me. I groaned, opening my eyes; my fingers dug into his shoulders.

I mewled against his mouth. Chaste, fleeting, the kiss barely registered before he pulled away again. “Stop.” His lips brushed against mine as he spoke, his panting breaths cutting his words short. “Slow now, all right?”

Slow. It was tortuously, exquisitely slow when I sank down on him. He muffled my cries and protests with his lip, trailing a series of kisses over my jaw. His fingers pressed hard against me, a strangled gasp burst against my neck as my thighs met his. His body quaked against mine, his muscles pulled taunt. I ran my fingers over him; the barely restrained strength vibrated beneath my fingers- the knowledge of it terrifying, thrilling. He filled me, stretched me just shy of being painful. I reveled in the delicious, slick friction, of my hips bucking against his, of being filled and emptied.

Quinn’s callused fingers brushed over the aching tips of my breasts, making me shudder against him. My hips jerked against Lukas’s grip. I whimpered. It was there. That frighteningly tangible climax. Shimmering a second, a breath away. “You should stop tormenting the poor girl, Lukas.”

Lukas stopped. His arms tightened about me, holding me still, stopping me from impaling on him. I bit my lip, my sex fluttered about him, hungry, desperate.

I almost heard the click of a flipped switch.

Frantic. Hard. Fast. The musky scent of sex and sweat surrounded us, seeped into our pores. My head lolled to the side, incoherent words falling fast from my lips, half-pleas, half-wordless babble. Odd nips dotted across my shoulders, neck, breasts. Lips, tongues, fingers, hands- They tangled, twisted, danced to an age old song, the slap of slick skin against skin the rhythm to which it was played. My body hummed, pulled tight against the skillful fingers that it was being played by.

I came with a choked scream. Groans and gasps reverberated about me. Amidst it all, Lukas jerked sharply against me, in me. His breaths, hot, moist, fanned against my cheeks. My sex convulsed, inner walls clenching. The climax rocked through me, shaking me from my very core. It rippled out in endless waves, drawing me deeper and deeper until it consumed me. The sensation blinded and deafened me to all else, muting all sensations save for that lovely, lovely feeling of floating in a lazy pool of bliss.

The silence hanging in the room was broken only by our heavy breaths and the rustles of blankets. I murmured in discomfort as I was lifted from Lukas. Quinn’s arms circled about me, pulling me tight against his chest. I curled bonelessly into his embrace, the fabric of his shirt soft against my cheek. His erection pressed against my hip but he made no attempts of moving.

I wriggled. Moving was the last thing on my mind though, my body limp and raw. “Quinn?”

He sighed. His index finger and thumb worked their magic on my neck, the weight and heat of his hand reassuring. “Shh.”

Lukas’s fingers skimmed over my legs, massaging the trembling muscles there, his touch a good deal more intimate, more personal than even when he slipped off my shirt. Letting out a shuddering breath, I caught his hand. He glanced up at me, lacing his fingers through mine.

I closed my eyes. Lukas squeezed my hand, our palms hot against each others. Pushing all thoughts threatening my peace aside, I sank back against Quinn. There would be time for that later. Much later.

A laugh. Lukas. “You saw it?”

“It” was the huge poster on display behind the window, featuring me sitting astride Lukas- Not that you could see anything more than his hands along my back, tracing the spots where my bra should’ve been. I cast a furtive look at the people eddying about. They shouldn’t recognize me-I hope- but the knowledge did nothing to soothe my paranoia. “Oh yeah. I’ve seen it.”

“I thought it looked nice.” He was grinning, I was sure of it. “Quinn. It’s Cam.”

There was some rustling in the background, the sound of things being moved and a crash. I winced. Not the files on the table, please. Those took forever to organize. It sounded more like the cuffs at any rate. My body warmed. Bad girl. No fantasizing while standing on the sidewalk. “Where are you?” A note of impatience tinged Quinn’s voice. “You were supposed to be back an hour ago.”

“You said you’re only going to use my shadow!” A few passersby glanced at me and I lowered my voice. “What the hell, Quinn?”

“But the client chose that one. And whatever makes the client happy, right?”

“That was supposed to be part of the private-”

His voice dropped to a hushed growl. “Come home, Cam. We need to celebrate the release.”

“It’s not our release-”

“Cam?”

“What?”

“Just come home.”

I sighed. “Don’t you want me to pick up anything then?”

“Not the type of celebration that we have in mind.”

I couldn’t stop the trickle of thrill that shivered down my spine. “Then what?”

“We were thinking a reenactment.”

“Reenactment?”

“Mm. Yes.”

“…Fine.” Who was I kidding? I couldn’t even keep my voice flat long enough to play off nonchalance.

“Oh but Cam?”

“What?”

“Pick up some films on the way home. We’re going to need them.”

She leaned against the bar, the edge of the bar table pushed against her ribs, digging into her with each breath that she took.  The lights overhead fell over her, a spotlight of her very own in the shadowy room. But of course it did. She’d chosen the seat for that very reason, after all. She knew the way her auburn hair shone almost copper in the light, that it highlighted the creamy swells of her breasts and slopes of her crossed legs.

Stirring the drink with the mixing straw, she swept a sardonic gaze over the characters in the room, her audience for the night.

Their eyes followed her hand as she smoothed her hands over the slinky little black number, fingertips trailing over the curves of her body, brushing away the invisible lint along the deep vee of the dress.

Their gazes were hungry, demanding. But it wasn’t for them that she was arching her back as she threw back the rest of her drink, the liquid burning its way down her throat.

A fresh drink was pushed into a view. She stole a glance at the sheet of glass as she lifted the drink in a salute to its buyer.

He was watching. Of course he was. And he should know any doubt that all that she did, every flirtatious smile and bat of eyelashes, was for him- more than whoever he’d paired her with. But what was even better were the times when she could feel his presence in the room, sometimes close enough that she swore she felt the air stir from his breath. In moments like those, she reveled in knowing that she consumed his thoughts, that she had emblazoned herself into the very nature of his being.

Even if they never last long.

She felt it tingling on her skin this time before it actually hit, the sense of displacement about her. Against the wall, the grandfather clock stopped, pendulum mid-swing.

Her stomach clenched as time screeched to a stop. She grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself, waiting for her body to find equilibrium in the sudden stop.

The glass shimmered. She frowned as he moved out of the view. But when he returned, she found herself wishing that he would stay out of it.

The brunette laughed throatily. It was entirely much too loud and desperate. So was the way she slipped her hands down along his sides and into the pockets of his jeans.

She grimaced. No one knew the art of subtlety better than her. And no one knew what he liked more than she did. Satisfaction surged through her. No. The airheaded twit couldn’t do anything better than her.

And yet, she was the one popping the buttons off of his shirt. And she was the one that he was kissing, touching.

“She’s over again?”

She stifled a groan. Fuck, but the man had an uncanny ability to always show up when he was least wanted. She shot a look over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to be here, Ollie.”

The scar on his cheek twisted with his smirk. She curled her fingers, remembering the way those broad shoulders felt against her hands. So what if he was easy on the eye? Or that he knew what he was doing in bed? She brushed off the sliver of lust. If she had a say, she wouldn’t have even touched him in the first place. And she was willing to bet the feeling was mutual. “You’re such a prude, Kate. There’s no ‘shouldn’t.’ He’s got no control when he’s not here. ” He nodded at the empty room. “Not like they stuck around either. So,” the stool creaked beneath his weight as he collapsed onto it, “why are you watching this?”

“None of your business.”

“Why so cold? We’re old friends. I’ve seen you naked. At least thirty times. Plus there was that one time-”

“Stop it.” She winced, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s a memory that neither of us want to remember, I’m sure.” Why on earth David had found it a good idea to have her marathon fuck Ollie, she didn’t know. But she wasn’t about repeat it again if she had a choice.

Then again, talk about a moot point.

She shrugged off the hand on her shoulder. “Aw. Don’t be like that, kitty-Kate.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You liked it well enough in bed. Or was it just for him?” She glared at him as he nodded at the glass again. The pair had progressed to the couch. She forced her face to remain blank as the woman dropped kisses over his bared chest. But Kate knew, he liked it better when the kisses stung and the fingers left marks with each caress. “Or would you prefer him to call you that?”

She tore her gaze away from the glass with no little effort. It was rare to see him like this outside of her dreams. Even if it meant sharing him with someone else. “They would call the men in the white lab coats for him if he starts talking to me.”

The stool creaked again as he stood up and stretched. “Pity. Come on, kitty-Kate. Let’s go do something. They’re not going to be done for a while.”

The way that he said it told her exactly what he was going to suggest next, as did the leering. Apparently he was less repulsed by her than he’d initially led her to believe. That or he was feeling more than a little frisky. “No one’s making you stay.”

“No one’s making you either.” His eyebrows arched toward his hairline. “You want to stay, huh?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Go away, Ollie.”

“You know, it’s easier if you’re after something that you can actually get.”

She shot him a withering look. “Back at you.”

“Fine, fine. I can see you’re in one of your bitchy moods.” Backing away, he held his hands up in acquiesce. “The offer stands though.”

The door slammed behind him. She exhaled. Scowling, she pushed herself off of the chair.  Her heels clicked against the wooden floor as she headed for the glass.

Not like he told her anything that she didn’t know already. But that didn’t make it any less painful to hear aloud. The words whirled about her mind, circled about her chest, tightened, and squeezed until the ache that she’d thought would pass by now returned with all the intensity that it’d ever had.

Kate rested her forehead against the panel. The chill of it sank into her, cruel in its unrelenting reality, offering her no reprieve from hers. She was trapped in this world, but she was living entirely in his. She sighed; her breath fogged the glass. Never did she feel so alone as when she was standing behind him like this. And yet, never did she feel closer to him.

She drew her fingers over the fogged glass, tracing out his form as he pushed the woman back against the couch. Her fingertips followed the dip of his spine that bisected his back, danced over the bumps of his knuckles as he closed his fingers about the woman’s arms, pinning her to the back of the chair.

She let her lids drop, closing her eyes enough that her lashes obscured the woman’s figure. If only the two would switch places. She would’ve given almost anything to see his expression, see what he was doing that was making her hips arch so. Or better yet, if she could switch places with the woman…

The thought itself sent a jolt of desire straight down her spine. It slipped between her legs, coaxing forth a gasp from her as wetness gathered there. She braced herself against the glass, her skin hot against the cool surface. A hand curled above her head to steady herself, she brought the other down along her sides, imagining the brush of his fingers over her belly, the whisper of it along the sensitive undersides of her breasts.

The familiarity in the way he moved about the woman, tugging her over and around the couch, brought about a wave of jealousy that almost cut through her building need. Almost. But his nimble fingers were wonderfully distracting, chasing all other thoughts from her mind, save for the feelings that his fingers were cajoling from her and the growing slickness between her legs.

“David.” His name fell from her lips in a sigh and a plea. The clouded glass instantly shattered any hopes for illusions that her words might reach him. Shards of it pierced her, their edges not the least dulled by time or frequency. They pricked at her, sending sparks of ache that her body answered eagerly.

Masochist that she was, she couldn’t slam the door shut on her lust. She might’ve never hear his voice, never felt his touch, but what he’d shown through his words were more than enough to leave a lasting impression, an etching of himself that she knew she would never be able to rub out. Not that she would ever try.

She dragged her fingers against her thighs; her cunt throbbed in anticipation. Her back arched, thrusting her breasts and the hardened peaks into the glass. A shuddering sigh escaped from her. His fingers tweaked and pinched at her nipples through the fabric of her dress, teasing them into hard points, each tug darting straight to her pussy.

Breaths uneven and ragged with want, she drew her fingers over the elastic bands of her panties, watching him as he did the same to the woman-to her. She could hear his breaths next to hear ears, the erratic and harsh gasps, almost drowned by the thumps of her speeding pulse. He pressed hard against her, the back of the chair digging into her waist, demanding that she acknowledge him-his want, need, desire. Illicit promises hummed in the rhythm of his hips against hers.

So what if the hand pulling up the hem of her dress wasn’t his? And maybe there was no way that she would let him be so light-handed if he were with her, especially knowing what she knew of him. But in that moment, she was rewriting his reality, creating a story of her own. Mirroring his movements, she traced small figure eights over her cunt through her soaked panties. She shivered, her hips buckling desperately against her fingers, the promise of a climax shimmering there, enticingly near and frustratingly far away.

A tremor wrecked through her body, his fingers pulling ripples of sparks from her with each stroke. The elastic bands dug into her as he yanked her panties down in one swift pull, the fabric rolling and bunching at her knees. There were no tenderness here, only raw, sticky want that drove away all inhibitions. His fingers passed over the pale globes of her ass, snapping playfully against the pouting lips of her sex. Wet, slick, the sounds of the slaps echoed about them. Her breath hitched in her throat, the muskiness of her arousal heavy on her tongue.

A shaky moan escaped from her, her free hand curling against the glass. The walls of her cunt clamped down on her fingers greedily. In her blurred vision, she caught his hips thrusting, fucking her proxy on the other side. She moved her fingers in tandem. Her juices snaked down along her thighs, wetting her fingers and knuckles, slicking her hand.

She could feel his fingers branding her, pressing hard enough against her hips that she was sure there would be a permanent mark there. Her head tilted to the side, offering the arch of her neck to her god, which he took enthusiastically with a nip and a claim for all the world to see. The slap of his thighs against hers, punctuating each thrust, their mingled breaths and wordless murmurs- They tangled together in a wicked cadence that pulsed through her with a ferocity that stole away all thoughts.

His name was on her lips again when she came shuddering against the glass, a mantra, an incantation, to keep the bane of her fantasy at bay.

Not that it ever worked.

She slumped, her legs giving way beneath her, her fingers leaving a wet trail behind as she crumbled to the ground.

This. This part was what she hated the most. When her world regained its merciless truth, when it righted itself and she was once again the creation and he the creator, when she was once more caged behind this wall and he forever on the outside.

She blew on the glass, rubbing away the smudges with her palm. Such was the unrequited infatuation of a doll, soundless to its creator, no traces of it ever left behind.

This is actually probably less of a series and more of a short story snipped into a few parts to avoid a big block of text. Anyway, part three. To find part one and two, scroll down or click the tag. And here’s part four.

The sure and steady touches told me that he was back in the mind frame of an artist once more. The way he dipped in and out of it was thrilling, leaving me both breathless and not a little wary. I’d known him for a good part of a decade and worked with him almost as long. This, though, was new.

I hissed as he shoved me against the footboard, the edge of it digging into my hips. The bangs that I’d kept pinned up to the side started to fall into my eyes. “Do you mind?”

“No.” He moved briskly, able, nimble fingers pulling my shirt this way and that. “It’s going to be your shadow, Cam.” I jumped when he freed the top button of my blouse.

“Ow!” My buttock burned from the slap. The sizzling sensation darted through me, alerting every single nerve ending in my body. I curled my fingers against the footboard. “What the hell was that for?”

“Hold still.” There were no rooms for argument in those words. He tugged the collar of the shirt down a little and pulled at the excess fabric. The fabric wound about me, seams tight. “If I don’t do something for your body, it’s going to look like Lukas’s trying to seduce a man into the bed.” I bit back a protest when he left me and went to readjust the soft boxes. One of the lights hit me in my eyes. I squinted. “Now stay there.”

“But I-”

“You’re not in the frame, Cam. I’m just using your shadow.”

The lights flashed with a series of pops. I blinked, my vision going spotty with white circles.

“It helps if you don’t look into the light.”

Lukas.

Quinn’s spiel had unnerved me enough that I’d forgotten about him. Blinking away the glare of the light, I glanced back at the bed.

He’d settled back to the top of the bed. The slacks hung low on his waist, the hard edges of his hips peeked over the top. His pants dipped far enough that I could see the slight curves where the muscles on his stomach began to taper off, drawing my gaze even lower.

I choked on air as I traced out the bulge there.

He chuckled. “My eyes are up here, Cam.”

“Sorry.” Cheeks aflame, my eyes flicked back up to his face. If there was a smile on those lips moments ago, there were no traces of it left. “I, I just-”

“Don’t talk so much.” He shifted slightly. The lights flashed again. Unfazed, he tilted his head. “Or if you do, don’t move.”

These two were switching gears faster than I could manage to follow. They left me off-balanced, feeling as awkward as a newborn giraffe stumbling on uneven grounds. The steady throbbing between my legs intensified, as to remind me of my body’s displeasure at the direction the conversation was heading. “I didn’t move.” I paused. “Did I?”

Quinn had circled around the bed. He nodded Lukas, gesturing with his hand. “You did.”

“Sorry.”

Lukas crawled across the bed, shoulders rolling lazily. “You know, Cam,” he tugged me over to one of the bed posts. “You do have a delicious little body under all those layers. Why don’t you show it off more?”

I let him arranged me against the bedpost, not trusting myself to not make a fool out of myself if I tried. “I wouldn’t be able to run about and do my job if I did. And you know Quinn. He gets grouchy if he doesn’t get his coffee.”

Settling back on his heels, Lukas studied me. I jerked back reflexively when he reached out. A corner of his lips lifting, he twisted a strand of my hair about his fingers. “I don’t think he’ll complain, Cam. I think you’re just scared.” He tucked the strand behind my ear and glanced at Quinn. “This works?”

The lights flashed. “Looks good.”

“I’m not scared.” I held still, fingers wrapped around the wooden spiral, feeling silly and awkward. Perhaps if I were like Lukas or Quinn, confident, unfaltering. “I’m not.”

“Oh yes you are.” Lukas peered at me from behind his bangs. “It’s one of your more endearing qualities though.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his knee, a hint of a furrow between his brows. “You’re untrained, awkward. Clumsily innocent. But you wouldn’t be Cam if you aren’t.”

There wasn’t much that I could say to that. So instead, I closed my eyes. I had a hard enough time staying there without needing to focus on being caught staring at him again.

But there he was against the black backdrop of my eyelids, damnably persistent. The taunt span of skin, the dips and arches of his form, the shifts of his muscles – they teased my mind with the possibilities. The memories of Quinn’s fingers lingered over the small of my back. Warm, each phantom stroke teasing the tingling sensation between my legs back with a vengeance. The feeling enveloped me, enflaming my skin.

Footsteps shuffled, punctuated by the clicks of lights being adjusted. The blankets whispered and the bed creaked. And then I made the mistake of opening my eyes.

Sprawled out, Lukas had curled an arm about the bedpost behind him, long limbs unfolded. His chest rose and fell steadily, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright. Heavy-lidded eyes locked onto mine. Blue-gray, they were the same shade of the sky in the eye of storm, and held the same intensity beneath that calm façade, the pressure and fury shimmering there, impossible to ignore.

This. This was what it felt like to be desired. Raw. Unadulterated. Potent. As thick as honey, it coated me, sinking through my skin, breaking down all defenses. It touched and laid claim to me in ways that no fingers ever could. Desire stirred restlessly in my belly. Hot, it coiled, flexed, making my chest tight and my mind a mess. It left me deliciously vulnerable, shaken.

The lights flashed about us, the shadows along the contours of his form changing ever so subtly with each flare, yet his gaze remained fixed on mine. He stirred, his movements lazy. But there was something hungry and fierce in the tense lines of his muscles that both fascinated and scared me.

I licked my lips, dry from my breaths. His eyes followed the movements of my tongue, the flick over my upper lip and sweep over my lower. “Um.” My voice came out an octave higher. “Are we almost done?”

Without looking, I could feel Quinn moving behind us, steps quick, rapid, his breaths fast.

Lukas let his hand fall behind his head, resting against it. He shifted with a sigh, his back arching with his stretch. “You know better than to expect an answer when he’s like that.” Thick, ragged, his voice rumbled in a wicked cadence.

Actually, I didn’t. I’d always been an observer. Being involved was a drastically different feeling. I was caught in that web that I’d seen earlier between the two of them, the air humming with their concentration and focus. And being between them- It was like getting caught in a tempest, nowhere to hide, the water seeping past the clothes and skins until it was swimming in the marrows of your bones.

“Comfortable?”

I leaned my head against the bedpost. “No. But you are.”

“Mm-hmm.” A lean-muscled arm drafted across his stomach. “You can always join me here if you want.”

“Do you-” I broke off as the lights flashed about us again. “Do you really enjoy being photographed that much?”

Oh god.

I’d always been the articulate one. Cleaning up after Quinn’s mess made it a necessary skill, but something about the man had always had the ability to reduce me to a babbling idiot. Still, even this was beyond my usual blunders.

An eyebrow arched. “Photographed?” He glanced downward. I flushed, my pulse quickened. His gaze unabashed, he returned his attention to my face. The corner of his quirked ever so slightly. “Seems so, doesn’t it?”

“It’s…” I fumbled with the words. They slipped between my fingers, impossible for me to catch. “Oh?”

He made that purr-like murmur again as he tilted his head back, his neck arching in a gentle slope. “Mm-hmm. I can show you.”

My throat grew dry. “That’s probably not a good idea.”

I yelped when warm hands settled on my hips, molding into the curve of my waist. “Go to him, Cameron.” Low, leveled, the words were more a command than a suggestion.

His nudge sent me stumbling forward, my thighs hitting the edge of the bed. I tumbled onto the cool sheets, the force of the fall knocking the wind out of my lungs.

“I suppose I should say something about women falling over me, shouldn’t I?” Lukas caught me about my wrists and pulled me up against him. The sheets bunched up against my legs, dragging my shirt up and my jeans to hang low on my hips.

Every nerve in my body sparked, sizzled. They made me terribly aware of his body beneath mine, the rise and fall of his chest against my back, the way his fingers skimmed along my stomach. I drew in a shaky breath as his nails ghosted over my skin, pressing down just hard enough to mark me. “That’s too clichéd. Even for you, Lukas.”

A small squeak escaped from me. His teeth caught my earlobe again, the canine point grazing the fleshy part. “Even for me?” Hot, moist air brushed against my cheek. The growl of his voice coaxed heat in the bottom of my belly into a full roar. Breath-hitching in my throat, I clutched onto his arm, struggling to anchor myself, to stop from pitching headfirst over the edge. “Play nice, Cam. I might return the favor.”

His hips ground against me, making sure there wasn’t any ambiguity in what he meant by favor, as did the undeniably present erection pressed against my back. The fabric of the slacks slid against me, the metallic teeth of the zipper gliding against the ridges of my spine. Sparks of pain prickled my skin, darted up my back. His hand closed about my wrists, trapping them against my belly.

I squirmed. I couldn’t help it. Not when I could feel the heat of his hand through the fabric of my jeans. But I would’ve done it anyway if I knew it would draw that little gasp from him. It emboldened me enough to answer him. “Don’t I always?”

“Never. Your manners are almost as bad as Quinn’s at best.” His fingers pressed hard against my jaw, tilting my head up. He leaned down, the curls of his hair brushed against my neck, tickling me. “Now I did say that I would show you. Look up, Cam.”

The lights flashed again.

I’d forgotten entirely about Quinn and his camera.

The glare of the single lenses pinned me against Lukas. Scrutinizing, it felt different than what had been in Lukas’s, but no less potent. My skin prickled beneath the unhurried, cool examination.

The glass gaze swept over me. I held my breath, goosebumps rising over my arms as it searched my body.

It was heady, being cornered, captured, and objectified. The lenses narrowed and magnified all of Quinn’s energy and focus. A primal satisfaction surged in me with the knowledge that in that moment, I was his world and, in his eyes, nothing else this world of mine existed.

And nothing else existed for me either. He might be the one kneeling at the foot of the bed, but he was also the one orchestrating everything. I saw and felt him through the lenses knew, without thinking, that he was toying with me. His movements no longer innocent, every step, every change demanded something new from me. All of which I gave freely, involuntarily.

Not that I could do anything to stop myself. He was pulling something from me that I couldn’t quite finger nor word- Something rich, dark, complementing the sudden waves of desire cascading over me, winding down and nestling between my legs.

My muscles there fluttered and flex. “Oh.” The sound slipped from me in a sigh.

“Mm-hmm. Oh.” I shivered as his tongue curled against the cup of my ear. “Like it? You should. This is your corruption, you know. This is what you’d introduced me to.”

Part two of their story. Here’s part three.

I choked on a mouthful of coffee, the hot liquid scalding the roof of my mouth. Coughing, I thumped myself on my chest. “What?”

Quinn leaned forward. “You’re not doing anything-”

I frowned at Quinn. “I’m observing. Like always. You were the one that told me to stay out of the way anyway.”

“-And you’re a woman.”

The way that they stared at me was unnerving. It was all too…eager. And neither man made it a habit to appear to be eager about anything, even when they were. Something about preserving their masculine points and keeping their scores high. “Thanks for noticing.”

Lukas chuckled. “What Quinn is saying, awkwardly so-”

“-Shut up-”

“-Is that we need your help.” His voice dipped into that low, husky rumble. Desire warmed my skin and shot straight to my core. “Please, Cam?”

His gaze bore into me, holding me captive. Tease. Half-lidded eyes shadowed, they made his blue-gray eyes darker, as though his pupils were dilated. I swallowed, my fingers tightening about the cup. “Damn it, Lukas. Don’t try pulling one of your tricks on me. Especially not the one that I taught you.”

So it might be an illusion. But what a powerful one it was. And while my brain understood it, my body was having a hard time reconciling with the fact.

His lips curled. “So it works then?”

I had a sudden renewed sympathy for the mouse that Mao had cornered. It scurried left and right, nose twitching furiously, trying and failing to break past the cat.

Somehow, I didn’t think that Quinn was going to rescue me as I’d done for the mouse.

“What works?” Oh yeah. Sure. Real convincing.

“Oh it works.” I glared at Quinn. He continued, smirking, amusement tinged his words. “Come on, Cam. All you have to do is stand there and try to look pretty. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you if he tries to jump you.”

“Ha ha.” Not that I was worried about it. Lukas was never the type to “jump” anyone. Or rather, he’d never had a need to. His preys always came willingly to him. “Fine, fine. I demand sushi afterwards though.”

Lukas cocked his head. I busied myself with finishing up the cup of coffee, trying to ignore his gaze. “Of course. Quinn, fix her, won’t you?”

“Fix me?” I lowered the cup and scowled. “I’m not going to be in the picture-Hey!”

The empty cup rolled across the floor. I winced as it stopped by the ornate legs of the heavy vanity at the side of the room. At least it made it past the Persian rug. Quinn spared it no second look, his fingers already working through the braid that I’d kept my hair in. “You might not be in the picture, Cam, but you know Lukas hates using his brain too much, so he’s going to need to a little help.”

The barbs all but rolled off of Lukas’s shoulders. He gave me a crooked smile. “Mm-hmm. Don’t worry, Cam. Quinn will pretty you up.”

I rolled my eyes and batted Quinn’s fingers away. “You have a funny way of asking people to help you, Quinn.” But being friends with Quinn for so long had made me immune to his jabs. I pressed my fingers into my scalp, massaging free the strands. “There. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” And he did look it for once. Ugh. I liked the surly Quinn better. I crossed my arms as he gave me a once over. Grabbing my elbow, he spun me back around to face Lukas. “This work?”

Lukas sat up. His index and middle fingers pressed against his lips, he tilted his head. The sweep of his gaze this time was indifferent and impersonal. I hugged myself. Not that I preferred this one to the other. “It’ll do.”

“My god, you two. I’m not an inanimate object.” I grumbled as Quinn nudged me forward, his hand pressing against the small of my back. Large, it spanned over most of my waist. Goosebumps rose over my skin at his proximity, my skin prickling at the heat of his body. Damn it. That trick of Lukas really did me in. “Haven’t you two figured out by now that women don’t appreciate being treated like objects?”

Quinn stopped nudging me forward. His laugh rumbled against my back, drawing forth a small ripple of shiver that crept through me. Lukas’s gaze flicked beyond me, lips curling in a smirk. Something unrecognizable flitted across his face.

“No.”

The answers came simultaneously. I glowered over my shoulder at Quinn. “You two have been spending way too much time together.”

His ears reddened and he averted his gaze. I stared. Curious and curiouser. “Shut up.” His answer was crisp and final. “We have to finish this. And then you can go stuff your face.” He looked beyond me. “Ready?”

Lukas tugged the tails of his shirt out of the slacks and finished unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. An ugly, choked noise escaped from my throat.

Willing the earth to open up and swallow me whole, I dropped my gaze, but not before I caught that knowing smile. The heat of my blush spread across my cheeks. I could let myself sink into denial for all I want, but it didn’t change the fact that they’d caught me gawking at Lukas. And knowing them, they were never going to let me live it down.

But he was really something to look at. Long, lean muscles graced his form, echoing from the tips of his fingers to the curves of his calves. His stomach flat, the dips and arches of his muscles sharp relieves against the smooth plane.

Even without looking up, I could feel Lukas’s eyes on me, the heat and the intensity searing me. A delicious frisson shot through me, making my toes curled against my black heels. My pulse fast, I studied the whorls in the tiles, the flecks of gold in the beige. Lights flashed in my peripheral. I blinked, white spots superimposing over my vision.

“Cam.” The word came in a whisper, thick and rich with promise. It caressed along my skin, coaxing, enticing. “Cam, look at me.”

“Come on, Cam.” Hot breath stirred the air by my ear. I jumped. My back hit Quinn’s chest. Rough, callused fingertips brushed against my chin. Desire slammed into me, its silken heat threatening to leave me undone. I reeled from the suddenness of it, my breath arrested in my throat. Waves of it continued to wash over me, slipping down between my legs, pulling forth a familiar, aching throb. I didn’t let myself think as I sank back against him, relishing the solid, warm body behind me. “Look up.”

His words hung between us on a spider’s web, entangling me and trapping my thoughts. He felt closer than he already was, in danger of melding against me.

Fingertips grazed my neck, seeking for the rhythm of the blood surging through me. It sped up in answer to that touch. I could feel it, thumping and pounding against my throat, near forcing the words that I struggled to keep silent free. Holding my breath, I swallowed and looked up.

A small squeak burst from me. Behind me, Quinn laughed. “You’re drooling, Cam.”

For once, I didn’t even bother to act indignant, though it was more because I couldn’t muster an attempt to try. But damn, Lukas Croix could be a powerful presence when he let himself on.

He leaned against the footboard, sitting close enough that I could see that the darker shades of his eyes were no trick this time. Or if it was, it was something beyond what I’d taught him. They smoldered, burned. His gaze both impersonal and dangerously intimate, he reached out and brushed his fingers against my lips.

The touch was light, as though he was afraid I might shatter beneath his fingers.

That made two of us.

But stupidly, I stayed where I was, hypnotized by that the look on his face. Artless, a spark of trepidation, I had a feeling this was the unguarded side of Lukas that I’d never been privy to seeing before. Parting his lips, he drew in the breath that escaped from me in a shuddering sigh.

Quinn dropped his hand to my waist, his fingers settled on my hip. “That was an improvement. Still not good enough though.”

Lukas drew back. I could’ve sworn I heard the click of his shield returning once again. “Oh?”

“You’re still not giving me enough.” Quinn shifted his weight behind me. Disapproval tinted his voice. The tone bore deep into me, striking a chord that I didn’t know I had. It resonated through me, tempting thoughts from the corners of my mind, schoolgirl fantasies that I’d retired long ago. I chewed on my lower lip, my breath slipping from me in a quiver, my face burning. “Cam’s pulling it off better than you.”

He glanced at me before returning his gaze to Quinn again, smirk still on his lips. “Maybe you should have her in the frame instead.”

The circles that Quinn’s fingers distracted me enough that their words barely registered. I shook myself out of my daze. The wavy locks smacked me in my face. I sputtered, blowing the strands off of my lips. “No. No, no, no. Not happening.”

The two were playing and toying with me, a pair of cats batting a mouse about. I wasn’t blind nor stupid enough to not see it, but neither was I smart enough to override the steady pangs of want and talk myself out of the trap that they’d cast about me. Especially not when my body was really like this trap. A lot. And what it liked even more was each of those teasing bats and swats.

“Don’t worry.” For a fleeting moment, I could’ve sworn I felt his lips against the curl of my ear. “I’m not going to let Lukas wimp out on us.”

Lukas brushed his fingers over my lips again. My tongue tingled. What does he taste like? My lips parted. He chuckled and drew his fingers away. “But, Quinn, it’s impolite for me to be the only undressed.” He fingered the buttons of my jacket, flicking against the plastic fastenings. His fingers slipped beneath the tweed jacket. They danced along the top of my jeans, each gentle tug going straight to my sex. I wriggled, though even I couldn’t tell if I was trying to get his fingers closer or away. “Going to help me out here, Cam?”

“Maybe.” Though the tone of the word made it more of a question than an answer.

Quinn’s fingers busied themselves with pushing the buttons through the eyelets. He made fast work of it, especially considering he was doing it one-handed. Wonder how many tricks he’s been keeping away from me. “Don’t be ungenerous, Cam.” His fingers swept against the swells of my breasts. I bit my lips, fighting the impulse to lean into his touch. “There. Better?”

The jacket pooled about my feet, heavy against my ankles. Goosebumps rose once again over my arms, but somehow I didn’t think that it was from the temperature in the room. “No.” My voice came hushed, breathless as though I’d been running.

“Much.” Lukas fair purred his words, sounding every bit like a large, pleased feline. “Come here, Cam. I don’t bite.” I wet my lips as his fingers circled about the back of my neck and pulled me forward. The glint in his eyes downright devious, he leaned up to meet my gaze, his grin wolfish. The scent of coffee and something darker and richer surrounded me. “At least not hard.” He released me, the tips of his fingers trailing over my neck.

I reached up and touched nape of my neck. I could still feel the heat of his fingers there, pressing into my skin, branding me in more ways than one.

“Not a bad idea, actually.” Quinn nudged forward until my knees hit the footboard. I shot a look over my shoulder. Whatever was on my face made the amusement fade from his. The camera swung on his neck as he cupped my face. Brown eyes peered at me through the fringes of dark lashes, the somberness there cut through the lust and want induced haze. “We’re not going to hurt you, Cam.”

We? Since when was there a we? “I know.”

It wasn’t until he turned me around did I start to wonder exactly what I’d given permission for. “Good.”

The story is multiple parts. This is part one. Here’s part two.

“Come on. Just a little more.”

Thump.

“Damn it. Don’t start moving yet!”

A crash. I winced. Oh. That sounded like a soft box.

“For the love of-Haven’t you ever fake it before? It’s the same thing!” A pause. “Ugh…Are you serious? This is what they send me?”

Another thump, then the sound of high heels clicking across the tile floor.

I jumped back as a streak of stain and lace flew out the heavy double door, wrinkling my nose at the waft of cloyingly sweet perfume that followed it.

“Cameron! Get your ass in here! I know you’re hiding out there!”

Uh-oh. Full name this time. With an extra emphasis on “c.”

Taking a deep breath, I pushed past the doors and stumbled through the piles of props that Quinn had tossed about in his “inspired-state” earlier. Though it seemed like that state had continued even after I’d left.
I took a moment to take in the scene, waiting for that flush of anger to pass at the mess that had managed to migrate from the side over to the set itself- the set that I’d spent six hours painstakingly make sure that every single stitch in that damn blanket was neat, and the blankets were cast just so, not to mention trek through the entire furnishing district to find the perfect four-poster bed since Quinn found the original one in the room not “striking” enough.
The man may be a good friend and a genius, but damn if I didn’t want to wring his neck sometimes.

“God, Quinn, I come a few minutes late and you chase a model out?”

Quinn rounded on me, scowling. The ends of his auburn hair were standing up, as though he’d been dragging his fingers through it. Repeatedly. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up and his pants were wrinkled, patches of dirt dusting over his legs. “We’re on a tight schedule. I don’t have time to be babying and coaching amateurs. If they can’t behave professionally, they should get off the set.”

I sighed and cast a look at the remaining figure on the bed. “Are you getting ready to leave-” I recognized the lazy, languid way he untangled himself from the blankets before I saw his face. “Lukas?”

He padded over on his barefoot, moving with a prowling grace that made my pulse jump. Stopping by us, he looked down at me, a corner of his lips curling. The top of his shirt was undone, leaving a thin strip of golden skin that just begged to be teased and nibbled on. “Are you insinuating that I’m an amateur, Cam?”

God, he still had a voice to die for. The low, soft croon that made me melt in the most delicious ways- even before I saw him. His face might’ve compelled me to drag Quinn out to see him- despite his many heartfelt threats of murder- but it was his voice that had captured my attention.

Though his hair was as tousled as Quinn, he looked a good deal more composed- if no less predatory- and Quinn looked like he was getting to the point where he would take the “predator” role literally. “You know that I don’t ‘insinuate’ anything, Lukas. If I’ve got something to say, you’ll know it beyond a doubt.” At his grin, I turned back to Quinn. “What happened? I would’ve thought you would be half way done by now. And where’s everyone?”

Quinn snorted. I jostled the napkins and cups around to stop them from spilling as he snatched a paper cup from me. “Spineless, sniveling airheads can’t take some criticism.”

Lukas shook his head, sending the shock of black hair into even more disarray. He took the second cup of coffee. “He,” he nodded at Quinn, “chased everyone off the set, and, like you’ve just seen, the female model too.” He arched an eyebrow. “By the way, a ‘hello’ before starting to bark directions was the least you could do, Quinn, don’t you think?”

Quinn snorted again. “Keep going the way you’ve been going and I’ll give you a ‘goodbye’ before having Cam haul your ass off set.”

Hilarious. Both of them were at least a head taller than me and while Lukas might have had a slighter frame, I wasn’t about to make a fool out of myself by trying to haul him anywhere. Though if I were properly motivated-

Shaking my head, I slipped the tower of coffee cups onto an empty makeup table, holding my breath as they tilted precariously before righting themselves.

Lukas shot me a look of wry amusement. “Why do you stay on with him? Or, how, I should ask.”

“Temporary insanity and bribes.” Quinn opened his mouth, his face flushed. I cleared my throat. “Anyway, how about a coffee break?”

“We’ve been on a coffee break.” Quinn’s voice had taken on that strained quality. The end of each words held a tremor as though ready to break free. “We’ve been on a damn break since the whole shoot started.” I winced as his voice grew louder. “Am I the only one here who actually wants to get this done?”

I smacked him in the back of his head, knocking his face into the cup. Crude, perhaps, but effective.

His mouth dropped open, he stared at me, then at Lukas, a drop of coffee hanging on the curve of his lips. His nostrils flared.

Finishing the coffee, he dropped the empty cup in the bin before nodding at the bed, his voice even. “Let’s go.”

We watched as he headed back over to right the soft box, jiggling the stands here and there and studying the lie of the fabric.

“Wow.”

I quirked a grin at Lukas. “Yeah. He’s still as about as ferocious as a kitten.”

“Lukas! Get your ass on the bed before I have Cam drag you into it!”

Instead of heading toward the set, he cast a look in my direction. I shifted, uneasy from his sudden scrutiny. The heat of a blush crept up the back of my neck and I swept a thumb over the corner of my lips, checking to see if the cream cheese bagel that I’d scarf down moments ago had left any crumbs. Note to self: Never, ever try to stuff a bagel into your mouth before meeting with Mr. Sex-On-A-Stick. “Mm.” He winked conspiratorially before he turned. “Coming.”

The bed squeaked as he climbed into it with more ease than I could ever manage. His skin highlighted by the dark jewel tones, he looked entirely at home reclining in the lavish setting. He stretched and nodded at Quinn.

The lights started to flash.

My eyes traveled between Quinn and Lukas as they moved, almost in tandem. Lukas slumped into the plush fabrics with a lazy grace, long lines of his form deceptively relaxed. Quinn followed every minute movement, his fingers quick and his movements tense, as though his body was barely keeping up with whatever thoughts that were flowing through his mind.

I stood back, scared of being singed by the intensity that was almost tangible or break their focus.

There was an intimacy there between them that I envied, an honesty that I could never hope to break into. It must be wonderfully wicked and voyeuristic to study a person so closely behind the guise of photography.

I’d heard of aborigine tribes that believed the camera captured the soul of its subjects with each click of the shutter. But watching Quinn in the thrall of the moment, his movements dictated by Lukas and Lukas by Quinn, I couldn’t help but wonder if a bit of the photographer was caught as well.

The camera edged in close as one slim digit lifted from the pillows to flick open a button. The shirt slipped a little, revealing that patch of skin where his neck and shoulders meet. I shivered as a low heat snaked down to my belly, its tongue flickering uncomfortably close to my sex. If this was going to devolve into a striptease…

But the frown on Quinn’s face deepened with each click of the shutter, his steps growing unsteady and hesitant.

A soft box shifted. Quinn grunted, stopping to rub at his stubbed toe. I could see the lines of his form tense beneath his shirt, wound tight and held together by a fraying thread. “Damn it, Lukas. What’s up with you today?”

Lukas flopped back to the bed. A whoosh of air expelled from his chest. The jerky, stilted way he moved was the only thing that gave way to his irritation. “It’s hard to fake attraction without being cheesy. And harder still when it’s you that’s taking the picture.”

Quinn’s face turned sour. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. “I would’ve expected that excuse from am amateur, not you.”

I coughed. “Would it help if I light some candles and put on some music?” They glowered at me. At least they weren’t glaring daggers at each other anymore. Big talents tend to come with big egos. Put two in the same room with high enough tension and there was bound to be some bloodshed. And I really would rather not spend my night cleaning the floor. “Come on, guys. Less jabs and more figuring out what to do. Quinn, you know you have to deliver by tomorrow.” Assuming that we still had the contract.

Quinn scowled at Lukas. “Well I don’t have any cutouts lying around here for you to gawk at.” The chair squeaked beneath him as he collapsed into it. I winced, hoping that he hadn’t scratched the marble tiles. With the way things were going, we were going to need the deposit back. He stretched his legs out, cradling the camera in his lap. “Fuck. Is it too late to ask for an extension?”

Lukas steepled his fingers. “There’s the obvious solution.”

They exchanged a look, then turned to me, eyebrows arched.

Creepy.

Quinn nodded. “Use her then.”

“Miss Croft, for fuck’s sake, can you tell me why the mid-quarter report isn’t on my desk yet?”

“Frank in accounting is still putting together the file, sir.”

“But it’s in your job description to keep track of these deadlines, Miss Croft. Or have you forgotten? I can easily hire someone from the temp agency, you know. I’m pretty damn sure that they would be at least as competent, if not more.”

“I haven’t forgotten, sir, but-”

“I should hope not. Four years of college and all you’ve learned there is how to staple papers together- If that’s all you’ve learned, you should at least know how to do it well. And what happened? Henry told me you didn’t finish compiling the packet yesterday either. You asked me for a longer lunch break, I give it to you, and you repay me by not doing your job?”

“No, sir, I gave you the folder this morning. I just took it home to finish.”

“Speaking of which, Madeline, you are aware of the fact that our competitors are trying to edge us out of the market, aren’t you?”

“…”

“I expect an answer when I ask you something, Miss Croft. It’s common courtesy.”

“Sorry. I thought it was a rhetorical question.”

“I don’t make a point of wasting my energy with questions that need no answer. What I’m saying is that you have to be aware of the fact that, like as not, our personal lives are under scrutiny right now. Including yours.”

“You might want to take care about bringing your mistresses to the meetings then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“That’s what I thought. Now Henry was curious as to where you’d vanished off so hurriedly last night.”

“Wait, sir, I can explain-”

“It’s no excuse, Miss Croft. I write your paycheck, I know the amount you’re given is more than enough to support yourself-”

“Your third wife might disagree.”

“-Without having to moonlight as a stripper.”

“Mister Richards!”

“You’re going to have to go close the door if you’re planning on speaking at that volume-No need to lock it now, Miss Croft. Now where was I-”

“As I was going to say, sir, I’m not a stripper. Had your associate decide to venture inside, he would have found that out. Very quickly.”

“Miss Croft, you will not speak out of turn.”

“Mister Richards, you will not speak to me as though I’m a child.”

“Excuse me?”

“No. I’m sick of playing your nanny, scapegoat, and errand girl. But most of all, I am tired of catering to your spoiled, selfish demands.”

“You’re forgetting your place-”

“Duly noted. And ignored.”

“I hope you’re not expecting any severance pay.”

“While you’re wrong about everything else, you are right, I am moonlighting. And I am doing well enough not to need this job. In fact, Mister Richards, I have enough money that I can take control of your company and parcel it off to your competitors.”

“Wha-You will get off of my desk, Miss Croft!”

“Now I suppose this is the part where you threaten to blackmail me with what you know. But I guarantee you that a lot of influential people would be very, very annoyed if I was found out. It would be exposing all of their dirty little secrets too. And, Mister Richards, believe me when I say they that they are not going to like that.”

“Urk!”

“There’s a reason why I’m so very fond of ties. You’re realizing why now, aren’t you?”

“Let go, you little bitch-Ouch!”

“Manners, manners. It hurts me more than it does you to have to do that, but it must be done.”

“Fuc-What are you doing?! Ow!”

“Language, Richards. You do a whole lot of posturing, but you’re nothing much beneath it, are you- Sit down, Mister Richards, there’s no need to get all bent out of shape.”

“Can’t, ugh, breathe…”

“If you sit down, you would. There now, isn’t that much better? Ah ah ah, I would think very, very hard about your next move. I’ve been told that the heels of these shoes can inflict permanent damage if it’s applied with just the right pressure.”

“You little-Ow!”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Mm, although I think you’re beginning to like getting slapped.”

“I-I do not!”

“No? What about bent over and paddled? Or maybe you like being fucked with a strap-on? Well, well. Look at that, Richards. You might want to have a memo sent to your brain for an update. Seems like it’s the only part of your body that’s in disagreement.”

“Mm-N-No! I don’t! I-Ow!”

“Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much. Though I’ll let you in on a little secret, Richards, I’m not at all surprised. The biggest talkers are usually only that. Give a girl a crop and a paddle, and suddenly they’re all kitten-like. Aren’t you, Richards?”

“I-Oh, oh that’s…”

“And the biggest egos usually sport the tiniest cock. Shall we see?”

“Oh…Yes, yes please.”

“Haven’t been satisfied lately, Richards? Or do you just have a thing for my shoes? Because you’re making this way too easy for me.”

“A-Ah. Yes-s. Right there…”

“What a pathetic little thing you are, Richards. A few strokes from my feet and you’re a slobbering mess. Tsk. What would the board members say if they see this, Richards? Their CEO at the feet of his secretary, making a mess of his pants. Mm…Look at that. Though cum and leather really don’t mix. What do you think, Richards? Should I make you clean off the mess you’ve left on my shoe? Aw. Don’t turn away. Really though, it’s only right that you know what it tastes like, don’t you think so? Especially if you expect that I do.”

“Ouch!”

“I don’t waste my energy with questions that don’t require answers, Richards. Now would you like that? To have my hot, wet mouth around that little cock of yours? Sucking, licking-”

“Oh god ye-Ow!”

“Manners, Richards. Don’t interrupt me. It’s rude. And keep your hands down at your sides like a good boy, hm? Ah that’s right. See, Richards, something that you should take a note of, yelling and screaming doesn’t get anything done. All it takes is some proper motivation, doesn’t it?”

“…Yes.”

“Aw. Don’t sulk. Now clean it up, hm? Oh my, you’re surprisingly good at this. Something that you’re not sharing with the rest of us? Ah ah, don’t stop. Remember to get the creases too. Not bad, Richards, not bad at all. Although I have to say, you took to it most enthusiastically. Especially since I said nothing about having to use your tongue to do it.”

“You-O-oh…”

“Just a little reward, and to stop you from making a mistake. You see, Richards, I’m not entirely a bitch. Just remember to stay on my good side from now on. You will, though, won’t you?”

“Yes-s…”

“Mm-hmm. Now wasn’t that good? I suppose I should get back to work though.”

“What? Wait! Aren’t you-Ow!”

“No, sir. In light of your earlier behavior, I don’t feel inclined to finish you off. That was just a small reward for doing such a good job with my shoe.”

“Oh but I-Fine.”

“You’re learning, Mister Richards. Now please remember that you have a meeting with Greyson in an hour. I will go collect the report from Frank.”

“Ah-Ahem. Yes. Thank you.”

“And your manners are improve by leaps and bounds. I am impressed, sir. Keep it up and I’ll see what I can do with that fifteen minutes break you have between Greyson and the meeting with Harris. Will that work for you, sir?”

“Will that-Y-yes, that would, Miss Croft.”

“Glad to hear, sir. And, sir?”

“Yes?”

“Please keep your hands above the desk.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“Careful. Sir.”

“I-I’ll remember.”

“Good.”

“…Miss Croft?”

“Yes, sir?”

“N-nothing.”

“Well, if you need me, I’ll be right outside.”

In BDSM, edge play is a subjective term for types of sexual play that are considered to be pushing on the edge of the traditional safe, sane and consensual creed. – Wikipedia

She gave the most delicious little yelp when he tugged her face upward, fingers twisted deep within the dark tangle of her curls.

They coiled against his fingers like a living thing, longer than when she came to him with that request, before he knew exactly how deep she’d been wounded. And before he started to regret accepting that request- though he knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t have done differently, that he’d continued with it now was telling enough even to himself.

Hazel eyes wide, the flecks in them caught the green of his shirt, bright against the frame of dark lashes. He watched the lethargic flutter of her lashes, studied the way they cast shadows against the slopes of her cheeks. His thumb brushed over the curves of her lips, feeling them tremble. Her scent surrounded him as he leaned in close enough to feel the small bursts of air from her lips.

But he knew her well enough to spare himself of the illusions that they quivered in anticipation.

He saw her tongue curling, shaping for a “L,” and read the wariness in her eyes. Releasing the grip on her hair, he straightened. “How was your day?”

The blade of the knife glinted in the candlelight, reflecting the orange glow. She inhaled sharply, but didn’t flinch as the flat of the knife tapped against her cheek. Her breaths whispered against his hand. Hot, moist, it summoned up a spark of desire that slipped down his spine, embedded deep into him. “Boring as always.” The muscles at his cheeks twitched, and he struggled to keep the smile on his lips. The blade glided against the curve of her cheek, stopping beneath her chin. The ropes dug into her shoulders with each breath, red against her skin. “And yours?”

His smile came easier this time. “Oh the usual.” The knife slid lower, the point catching a twist in the rope at her shoulder. He pressed into it, not hard enough to slice through the rope but just enough to let her know of its presence there. “I did find a new  place for coffee though.” He rounded the table, a hand skimming over and down her side, reveling in the shuddering sigh that was pulled from her lips. Her fingers fluttered, grasping at the air, the binding from her elbows to her wrists rendering her unable to do anything else. His fingers brushed over her wrists slightly. The knots there had been tight, the binding elaborate enough that no skin peeked through. The smile faded from his lips. The close bindings there was as much a restraint for her as it was for him. “You might like it.”

His fingertips skimmed over the blank canvas of her hip and followed down to the dip of the small of her back. She shivered against his touch, the muscles along her thighs tensed as his fingers glided down. He smirked at that hitch in her breaths, his fingers stopping at juncture where the curves of her buttocks stopped and her legs began. Her inner thighs glistened, as did the glossy surface of the heavy table between her legs. “Kara.” Her name came with something that sounded dangerously close to longing. He caught himself. Keeping his voice to one of disinterest, he flicked at the patch of skin there, watching her body jump in response. “You’re making quite a mess on my table here.”

“Sorry.” Her voice was muffled. She’d lowered her head to the table, her brown curls sprawled out over her shoulders. He reached up, gathered them in his hand and switched it off of her shoulders, exposing the expansion of creamy skin. His hand cupped the side of her neck, thumb following the tapered line of her hair down the bumpy dip of her spine.

His tongue prickled with want. Fighting the urge to lean down and taste her, he placed the knife down on the marble slate. The flame flickered as he picked it up the candle, the wax smooth against his fingers. The pool of melted wax surrounding the wick, shimmering with an orange glow from the candlelight, threatened to spill out over the edge. He curled his hand about it. The heat of the fire licked at his fingers.

A droplet rolled around the rim created from the candle. He held the candle up, over the swell of her buttocks and tipped it.

She hissed, her back arching at the drop that landed on the small of her back. Her breaths came in small, ragged gasps, her fingers digging into her palms. Out of the corners of his eyes, he caught her worrying her lower lip, capturing it between her teeth. The beginning of a blush crept along her neck and spread over her cheeks. He tipped the candle again.

A low moan escaped from her as he drew looping curlicues over her hip. She jerked against the knots at her ankles, her hips rising off of the table. Making a noise in the back of his throat, closed his free hand over her wrists, holding her still. “So, what do you think?”

“Huh?” He didn’t need to see her eyes to know that they were glazed. The spacey, dazed quality of her voice told him as much. It would be too easy to take advantage of it. And they both knew it. Just as they both knew that he wouldn’t, even if he couldn’t say that he’d never thought of doing so. There was too much between them. And too little.

“I meant,” he passed the candle over her other hip, lips curling in satisfaction when her toes curled and she shivered beneath his hand. The red of the wax marked her skin beautifully- a striking contrast of the vivid color against the pale shade of her skin. Placing the candle down, he picked up another, running it down over the tail of her spine, bisecting her back. Her moan vibrated through the wood and rumbled against where his body was pressed against the table. His cock throbbed dully in answer. He tightened his grip on her wrists and trailed the wax over her ass. “The coffee shop, you want to go check it out? You were complaining about a shortage of good ones earlier.”

“I was?” Her words broke off into a plaintive whine as the wax splattered over the sensitive patch of skin between her buttocks and her legs. She jerked, her hips bucking again, a tremor rocking through her body.

He threw his weight against her, pinning her still. Her thighs slapped wetly against the now slick surface of the table. “Ah ah ah, Kara, no moving. Wouldn’t want the wax to land on some unwanted places. That might be too much, even for you.”

Drawing in a sobbing breath, she shuddered as he drizzled the wax over the curve of her thighs. “Oh god.”

He chuckled. The candle clicked against the table as he set it down. “Pretty sure He has nothing to do with this.” He bent a little, stooping close enough to hear the harsh gasps of her breaths and the whimpering between each. Musky, sweet, the scent of her arousal seeped into him through a wicked osmosis. His lips stopped just shy of touching her, though the thought tantalized him, teased him with the possible tastes of her skin. Instead, he hardened his voice. Practice had made the words come easier. “You don’t want anyone to know of this side of you, do you, Kara?” He dragged his fingers over the wet folds of her cunt, nails scraping over the plump outer lips. She groaned, wriggling back against his fingers. His fingers slipped into her with ridiculous ease. He gritted his teeth, feeling the muscles clamping down greedily on his fingers. Pulling away, he wiped his fingers on her leg, his voice grew rough. “Wouldn’t want anyone to know how much this turns you on. Or,” he closed his fingers down harder about her wrists, pressing the rope into her wrist, “of these scars here?”

She jolted upright, or as much as she could. Her shoulders stiffened. “We have an-”

“Agreement, I know.” The coolness in his words were without any artifice for once; they came calmly but still loud enough to be heard over her gasps as he poured the last of the wax down her thighs. They snaked along her legs, following the curves of her legs towards her inner thighs. Releasing his grip on her, he placed the candle down by her once again and blew out the flame. A twist of smoke rose, the scent of it filling the space between them. He picked up the knife again and tested the blade against his thumb. The edge had been dulled but the metal was cool from the marble. “Doesn’t mean that I have to be happy about it, Kara.” But the pain that had been in her voice lingered in his ears, nagged relentlessly at him.

The press of the blade against her skin earned him a small mewl. Lips curled in a mirthless smile, he let the knife glide along her hip, chilling her skin with the blade. The point stopped at a hardened drop of wax. It was hard to ignore the warmth of her skin against his fingers as he pulled her skin taut, and even harder to not tease that patch of skin with bites and licks. He edged the knife against it and flicked the piece off. Her shoulders shook and her fingers groped for something to grip onto as she drew in a ragged breath. Hands steady, he took care as he worked the knife into the wax. She might not mind, but she carried too many scars already without him adding to it.

“Cole, please.”

The point followed down the curve to the small of her back. He paused. Her legs shifted ever so slightly, the tendon along the inside of her thighs tensed. Shaking his head, he continued working off the wax, lifting the pieces that clung onto her skin before finally giving under the pressure. “No, Kara.” His voice softened. “You remember what happened last time.” Her groan was laced with as much arousal as frustration. His cock twitched in sympathy. “You don’t want that anymore than I do.”

She gasped as the knife ran against the curve of her buttocks, her body tensing and relaxing in turns, fighting to hold still. He leaned forward and worked the last of the wax off from her inner thighs, the smell of her arousal heady, seductive. His lips parted, the scent was so thick that he could almost feel it on his tongue. A brush of his fingers against her heated lips there dragged a low moan from her. He wriggled his fingers a little, gathering the moisture there on his fingertips.

Small, animal-like grunts escaped from her as he fucked her with his fingers, her hips rising as much as they could to meet his digits.  Slow, deep, his fingers slid in and out wetly, her juices dampening the knuckles of his fingers. His pulse sped up, his breaths rushing to match time with hers.

Her movements grew fluid beneath him, the rolling of her hips a primitive dance that urged him to answer. Instead, he stroked faster, coaxing her climax to bubble to the surface with every curl of his fingers.

She stilled as the muscles in her passage rippled about his fingers, clutching and releasing, a strangled cry burst forth from her lips. The sound, wordless, slammed into him relentlessly, snaked down to his cock and squeezed. He drew his fingers out from her, watching as her body shook from the aftershock of her tip over the edge, soft whimpers escaping from her with each tremble that passed through her.

The knots about her ankles fell free with a few tugs. Sated, she remained where she was, her shoulders relaxed even as he loosened the loops about her wrists. Pulling the rope away, his lips thinned. The old scars had faded but the new ones that she’d shown him when she came crying to him remained. He traced his fingers over the lines, studying the raised, white scars against where the rope had rubbed her skin raw and the darker, shallower lines that almost melded into the shades of red.

“Cole?”

His chest grew tight, the weight of her voice settling there. He released her wrists and rounded the table in two quick steps.

Flushed cheeks and mussed hair, her eyes were bright and her lips bruised, with a smear of blood blossoming where her teeth had broke the skin. The weight on his chest grew heavier, constricting until his breaths came in painful, shallow gulps. Something deep beneath his skin ached for her, for the wariness and weariness on her face. Her chin fitted into the curve of his index and thumb perfectly.

“Leapfrog.”

He froze, his lips a breath away from hers, fingers cupped about the back of her neck. Closing his eyes, he released her. He stood and stepped back, ignoring the protesting voice in his head at the loss of the heat from his fingertips. It would be so easy to close the distance between them, pull her close and tear down that damn wall of hers. Except he might end up breaking something else along with her wall. And he couldn’t afford to be so arrogant to think that he could fix the scars that she had, even if everything within him insisted that he should at least try. “Why?”

“I told you, ” the slight tremor in her voice made him open his eyes. She stared back at him, her arms wrapped about herself. The gesture brought back memories of that night when she’d finally crumbled and came to him with that request. The uncertain, scared was the same, the trepidation in it as thick as it had been then. A pang of frustration and sorrow resonated through him. He had hope whatever twisted grip her past had on her had relaxed. But he knew the words that she was struggling to form, expected them, respected them. And above all, he loathed them, loathed the definition that she’d given them.

The smile that she gave him tugged at him. He would’ve done anything to rid her of that haunted, distant look. “I don’t do edge play.”