The Photographer Read online

  Perhaps we could take this to my place. Or something along those lines. I can almost see the thought in his eyes. And I want him to say those words, because I want to say yes. But I can’t. I’m going back home, leaving this town, and my dreams, behind. This is supposed to be a one-night stand. Something to release a little steam. It was not supposed to be the best fuck of my life. It was not supposed to make me want to get to know this man, to go home with him, find out what he enjoys, what his dreams are, what kind of woman he’s looking for to settle down with.

  “No,” I say again, without almost shouting it this time. “I need…” You, my traitorous mind screams. “I need to go.” I run my hand through my hair. “Ummm… thank you.”

  Thank you? What the hell? I can’t even look at him. I just slide by him and run out the door that leads back out into the club. I hear him say something but I can’t make it out. I don’t want to make it out. He’s just a one-night stand. That’s all. One night of incredible mind-blowing sex. That’s all. If I tell myself that enough, I might finally believe it.

  Chapter 3

  Harper

  Daggers. In my eyes. In my head. Everywhere. I groan, slowly pulling myself up to a sitting position in bed. My stomach rolls, threatening to rebel, but the joke’s on it. I came home last night and passed out on the bed. No dinner. No breakfast. Nothing to come up. I scramble off the bed and run to the bathroom, dry heaving anyway, my stomach showing me who the boss is.

  I want to kill whoever came up with the bright idea of going out and getting fucked up last night. I groan as I splash cold water on my face, remembering that person was me.

  Since I’m already in the bathroom, I decide to take care of morning business, using the bathroom and brushing my teeth to hopefully remove the dead animal out of my mouth. I stumble back into the bedroom, my legs burning like I ran a marathon or something, and there’s a soreness between my thighs that makes me wonder if I got carried away with my battery-operated boyfriend during the night while in a drunken stupor. I peel off the little black dress and drop it on the bed, shocked to find my matching black panties are gone. But I’m still wearing my bra. Weird.

  And then it all comes back. I gasp as the memories of my personal sex god slam into my brain. Sober me was bound and gagged last night but that bitch was taking notes, and now my brain and body are flooded with images and sensations. My inner muscles clench, and I moan as I remember how he spanked and teased me, driving me insane with lust. I remember every delicious sensation, and I remember I wanted more. So much more.

  I pull on a pair of sweats, yank off the bra, and slide a t-shirt on, and then make my way to the kitchen. I press the power button on my laptop as I approach the love of my life — Mr. Keurig. The sex god was awesome last night but my passion for Mr. Keurig knows no limits this morning. I inhale deeply as the aroma of the life-giving liquid fills the room. A little cream, a little sugar, a tentative sip of the hot liquid, and I start to feel somewhat human.

  I sit down at my desk between the living room and the kitchen and wait for my laptop to finish powering up. The thing is old, but it gets the job done. And the job right now is procrastination. I know I need to pack and call my parents to let them know I’ll be crawling home with my tail between my legs, but all of that can wait until later.

  After skimming the news and wasting a few minutes on Facebook while I finish my coffee I log into a photography forum I’m a member of and browse the various threads to see if anything catches my interest. One new thread in particular seems to be getting a lot of attention so I click into it.

  I immediately see why everyone is so worked up. XL Studios apparently posted an ad on the “jobs” thread just a few minutes ago. I click over to see for myself, a nervous knot forming in my stomach. XL Studios is awesome. They’re a very popular member on the forum, always providing helpful advice, never seeming to be worried about losing customers by sharing their techniques and locations. And the photos. Wow! I’d give anything to take photos like that.

  I read the ad, and then read it again just to make sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. They’re looking for an assistant. No professional experience necessary. The ad specifies the person has to be local. I know from looking at their profile that I meet that requirement. And although I have made a few bucks here and there with my camera, I wouldn’t call my experience professional.

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I look at the link at the bottom of the ad. Right above it is a simple statement: All applicants must complete questionnaire.

  The ad mentions what the assistant position pays. It’s enough that I wouldn’t have to move back home. I probably wouldn’t get paid soon enough to keep from getting kicked out of this apartment, but I could live in my car for a few weeks until I earned enough to rent another place.

  With shaky fingers, I move the mouse and click the link. It takes me to the XL Studios website. The questionnaire has one question — What is photography to you?

  I blink. That’s it? How am I supposed to answer that? It could be anything. There’s obviously no right or wrong answer to something like that so it’s down to impressing them. Crap. What is photography to me? It’s a way to capture a moment in time, saving it for future generations. I groan. That’s so cliché. And it’s more what photography is than what it is to me.

  I think about how I was dreading calling my parents, how I’d feel like a failure if I had to go back home. But I wouldn’t have to do that if I got this job. I’d be earning money doing what I love, learning from one of the best photographers I’ve ever seen. The sky would be the limit. What’s photography to me? I answer with one word.

  Freedom.

  I hit ‘enter’ and go back to the thread in the forum talking about the ad. A few people mention the odd one-word questionnaire. Nobody shares the answer they gave. A few minutes later, someone says the ad and link are gone, the edited post now saying the position has been filled.

  I jump as a PING sounds from the speakers, letting me know I’ve received a personal message on the forum. My stomach clenches, and then I laugh. It’s a coincidence. It has to be. There’s no way XL Studios is messaging me to say I got an interview.

  Except they are. The message is simple, just giving an address, a date (tomorrow), and a time (8 a.m.).

  The rest of the day drags by, but the next morning finally arrives. My GPS leads me to a ritzy neighborhood and I double-check the address when I pull into the circular drive of a… a large house? A tiny mansion? It’s definitely something I’d never be able to afford.

  I pull my portfolio from the back seat of my car, smooth my knee-length pencil skirt, and go to the door. I ring the bell and wait, glancing back over my shoulder at my beat-up Toyota hatchback. It sticks out like a sore thumb. Maybe I should’ve used Uber. I see a shape approach through the frosted glass in the front door. It opens. I’m met by a stunned expression, and then a familiar sexy-as-hell grin appears on his face. Holy hell. It’s my sex god.

  Chapter 4

  Axel

  It’s her. The sexy goddess who stole my heart while her sweet pussy was milking my dick. Actually, that’s not exactly right. My heart was hers as soon as I saw her on the dance floor.

  I wasn’t even looking to hook up with anyone last night. I had finally decided I needed to hire an assistant. I had simply become too busy to be able to handle everything myself. That’s not exactly a bad thing, but realizing I could no longer handle everything myself was a bitter pill to swallow. So I decided to help it go down with liberal amounts of alcohol. I rented out the whole VIP area, just wanting to be alone to stew over the fact that I was going to have to give up some independence, that I was going to have to rely on someone else.

  And then I looked through the tinted glass that separated the VIP area from the rest of the club and saw her.

  She can’t dance. That was obvious after just watching her for a few minutes, but it was also obvious that she didn’t care. She was simply there, enjoying the moment, wi
th absolutely no thought about what others might think. In a world filled with people constantly worrying over their image and optics and how people perceive them, she was a breath of fresh air. A breath of fresh air wrapped in a gorgeous package I was dying to unwrap. The way that dress hugged her curves . . . mmm. Just thinking about how she looked last night has my cock rock-hard.

  Or maybe it’s the outfit she’s wearing now. Dressed in a black button-up top with the long sleeves pushed up to her elbows and a blush-colored pencil skirt, she’s a picture of professionalism, the complete opposite of the sultry look she had in the tight little black dress last night, but she’s still beautiful. And the clothes do little to hide her curvaceous figure. I flex my hands, my fingers tingling with the memory of holding her hips as I fucked her.

  She licks her lips and I hold back a groan as my cock throbs, uncomfortably confined by my slacks.

  “You’re XL Studios?”

  I grin. “Axel. It’s a play on my name and …” My grin widens. “Well, I think you can probably guess what else XL stands for.”

  She blushes, dropping her eyes to the ground, and I have to resist the urge to take her in my arms and kiss her.

  “This is probably a mistake,” she says, so softly I barely hear her.

  She starts to turn away and I have to resist the urge to grab her. She ran away once. I cannot let her slip away again. I say the one thing that might hopefully be able to stop her.

  “Freedom.”

  She stops and looks back at me. It was too dark to tell in the club, but she has the biggest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. For just a moment, my mind goes blank as I lose myself in those pools of blue.

  “What did you say?” she asks.

  “Freedom.” I smile, trying to look innocent. Harmless. I don’t want to scare her away. “That’s what you’re looking for, right?” I step back and gesture for her to come inside.

  She hesitates, and I can almost sense her desire to look back at her car.

  “Come on,” I say. “Over a hundred people applied for the assistant position. You’re the only one who got an interview, based solely on your intriguing one-word answer.” I nod toward the portfolio case she’s holding in her hand. “At least let me see what you’ve got.” I try to keep my mind on business as I think of a few things she’s got that I’ve already seen, tasted, felt. I swallow a groan as the crotch of my pants becomes even tighter.

  Her eyes drop below my waist and grow wider. She licks her lips again as she stands there. After a few seconds, she nods, as if making a decision, and steps through the door. After she walks by, I hastily adjust myself so things aren’t quite as painful.

  She looks around as she exits the foyer into the spacious living room. “Is this your house? Your studio?”

  “Both, actually,” I reply.

  I gesture toward one of the overstuffed couches. “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

  She glances at me and I see her pupils dilate, probably remembering how things went the last time I offered her a drink. Unable to help myself, I glance down. Her nipples are hard, the two hard points pressing against her shirt.

  I smile wickedly at her. “How’s that old saying go? Coffee? Tea? Me?”

  “I’m fine,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

  I run my gaze up and down her body. “Trust me, sweetness. You are a thousand times more than simply fine.”

  She blushes and runs a hand through her hair. Chewing on her lip, she drops her gaze to the floor for a moment before looking up into my eyes. “I don’t mean to be rude but I think it would be best to forget about last night. I’m here to apply for a position as your assistant and I’d hate for last night’s…” Her blush deepens. “I’d hate for last night to negatively impact that opportunity.”

  I’m stunned, and momentarily speechless. And very impressed. She could easily try to seduce her way into the position. It wouldn’t work — a nice piece of ass isn’t worth compromising my business — but it would be fun to watch her try.

  I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus back on the purpose of this meeting. “Forgetting last night isn’t an option. I’ll remember that fantastic evening until I die, and possibly even beyond that, but we’ll go ahead and leave that in the past.” For now.

  She finally sits on the couch, clutching her portfolio in front of her like a shield. I sit on the loveseat across from her, although I’d prefer to sit next to her and pull her onto my lap.

  “This is a bit awkward,” I say, offering a smile to ease us over this bump, “but I never got your name last night and I only know your user name on the forum.”

  “Oh gosh,” she gasps, raising her hands to cover her mouth, her eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. Harper. My name’s Harper.”

  “Harper.” I say it slowly, savoring it on my tongue. “Simply beautiful.” I nod toward her portfolio. “So, let’s see what you’ve got, Harper.” I pray the woman is good with a camera. Even if she’s not, I’ll find something for her to do. Anything to keep her near me. But it will be so much easier if I can hire her for the position she wants.

  I open the portfolio and start looking over the 11x16 prints she has on display. My worries lessen with each image I see. She’s good. Very good. But she’s playing it safe. Standard poses, standard lighting. She’s talented, but she doesn’t appear to realize that.

  “May I ask a question?” she says.

  I look at her, arching an eyebrow.

  “One question,” she says. She tilts her head, looking intently at me. “That’s it. One question to decide if someone gets to interview with you. I could’ve shown up and not even known how to turn a digital camera on.”

  A laugh escapes me. I nod toward her portfolio. “It’s safe to say you know how to turn a camera on. You’re very good.”

  She blushes, a small smile making her even more beautiful.

  I shrug and lean back, closing her portfolio. I’ve seen enough. I’d hire her even if I didn’t want to make her mine. “I don’t need to know skills. Skills can be taught. Some people have an eye for photography, giving them an advantage, but it’s not necessary. The lighting, the poses, operating the camera, it can all be taught. What’s important is the desire.”

  Frustrated with the distance between us, tired of playing nice, I move to sit next to her, close enough for my leg to press against hers. She tenses but doesn’t move away. I look her in the eye. “Desire. Passion. Those are the things that take something good and make it great.” I lean toward her and claim her mouth with mine as she gasps. Her hand reaches up and grabs my arm, but she doesn’t push me away. Instead, her grip tightens and she moans as I tease the seam of her mouth. She parts her lips, letting me in, and my tongue dances with hers.

  After a few seconds, she slowly pulls away. She licks her lips, her eyes filled with lust. “What happened to keeping things professional?” she gasps.

  Her nipples are hard enough to cut glass, making their presence known through her blouse, and she’s breathing heavy, her voice slightly deeper, but she’s not quite ready yet. She still wants to pretend the chemistry between us can be denied. That’s fine. I can play that game for just a tiny bit longer. I rise from the couch and take a few steps away. There’s no way I could remain close and not put my cock in her.

  I smile as she crosses her arms over her chest, trying to hide her arousal. “Right. Professional. What kind of equipment do you have?”

  The fire dies in her eyes like I dumped a bucket of cold water on her. She looks away, covering her mouth with her hand. She mumbles something.

  “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  She sighs. “I said I had to sell my gear for rent money.”

  I nod. “It’s probably hard to tell in the current surroundings but I’ve been there. Photography is a feast or famine business, and the famine part can be brutal.”

  She nods, and I can see her fighting to hold back tears. I sit back down next to her and wrap her in my arms
, pulling her close. “None of that now. It’s just part of the business. I’ll just write a check and you can go buy some new gear.”

  She pulls away. “I don’t need a handout.”

  I reach out and take her hand in mine. “It’s not a handout. It’s business. I’m very picky about the equipment I use, and that also goes for the equipment my assistant uses.” I shrug and offer her a reassuring smile. “Even if you still had your old equipment, I’d still have you buy stuff that works with my workflow.”

  She looks at me, trying to determine if I’m telling the truth. She finally nods, wiping her eyes with the fingers of her free hand.

  I give her hand a squeeze. “We all do what we have to do. On the bright side, you still have a roof over your head, right?”

  It was the wrong thing to say. The tears are back, and this time there’s no holding them back. She pulls her hand away and leans forward, covering her face, sobbing. “No. I didn’t get even half what all that equipment was worth. I still don’t have enough for rent.”

  “Then you’ll stay in one of my spare rooms.” I hold up a hand before she can protest. “I will not have you sleeping in your car or on the street.” I wave my hand at the large room we’re in. “I have more than enough room, with some extra rooms set up as portrait scenes while others are storage or just sitting empty.” I flash her a wicked smile. “Unless of course you’d like to stay in my room with me.” She blushes and rubs her thighs together. I can practically smell her arousal, and I can’t wait to have her in my bed. She says something, so low I can barely hear her. “What was that?” I ask.

  She glances at me, her cheeks flushed bright red. “Thank you,” she says softly.

  I stand, pulling my wallet from my back pocket. “You say that now, but we’ll see what you say tomorrow.” I pull a black credit card from my wallet and toss it on the couch cushion next to her as she looks up at me curiously. “I have a wedding scheduled tomorrow,” I explain. “I was going to cover it solo but I think you’re ready.” I nod toward the card. “Go to the photo store and get ready to shop. I’ll text you a list of everything you need to get before you get there. Afterwords, come back here so you can get some practice time in with the new camera and lights.” I can’t help but smile at the grin that appears on her face when I mention new equipment. Typical shutterbug. Always ready to play with new gadgets.