Page 12 of Dirty Shots

How did she mean, still tied up or ultimately unsatisfied?

“No, of course not.”

He got to his knees beside her, carefully undoing the knots around her middle. With tenderness, he unraveled the rope, revealing the red marks he knew would be imprinted into her skin. The rope fell in a pile beside her and she rolled her shoulders, about to move.

“Wait, just one minute.” He held a hand out, stilling her. “I can’t miss this.”

Eric grabbed his camera again, taking shots of the imprints on her skin, her shoulders, hips, and thighs.

She turned her face to him, her eyes locking with his. “Are we done?”

“Yes.”

The air between them buzzed with tension. He wanted to kiss her, to capture her pink, plump lips with his own, but he forced himself to step back, needing to keep control of himself. His life was about control, a strict regime which kept him on track. If he allowed himself to veer too far from it, he didn’t know if he’d find his way back again. Desperate to create perfection, he’d suffered from obsessive behavior about his work, something that had plunged him into a depression, feeling like he’d never be able to achieve what his heart and soul desired. He’d work every hour, trying to obtain that perfect image, neglecting sleep and food, running himself into the ground.

Anya had the power to bring back his obsessive behavior, but she also held the promise of perfection he’d sought his whole life.

Would she be his downfall, he wondered. Or his savior?

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