Page 41 of Dirty Shots

His work meant everything to him, he’d said so a number of times. Would he sacrifice her relationship with her parents for it? She guessed so. But the real question was, would he sacrifice their relationship for his work? If he went ahead and exposed the portraits of her face without her permission, surely their relationship would be over?

But he has your permission, she told herself. You gave it to him when you signed the contract.

She sighed and headed onto the main road and flagged down a cab. She climbed in the back and gave the driver the address of the bar where she was meeting the men. Eric had offered to come and pick her up, but she hadn’t wanted him or his car anywhere near the university. If someone recognized him after the incident with Gavin Hollis and reported him, he could end up with battery charges. She thought only Gavin’s male pride had prevented him reporting the fight in the first place. She’d caught sight of Gavin from afar that morning, noting the boy’s swollen, bruised face. She ducked away, quickly, desperate not to be seen. The whole day she’d been trying not to be seen.

Lost in thought, she’d barely noticed the drive through the city. Only the driver leaning back to ask for his fare made her realize he’d pulled up alongside the curb outside the bar. She paid him and climbed from the cab, the nerves returning. Through the big glass windows, she could see people standing in groups or sitting at tables, nursing expensive bottles of beer or large glasses of wine. It was past seven now, so most of the office workers had finished for the day and were rounding the working day off with a cold beverage or two. She wished she’d asked Eric to pick her up now. At least she wouldn’t have to walk into the bar alone.

She pushed open the door, making way for a young couple, their arms around each other, as they were on their way out. Feeling awkward, she glanced around the bar, trying to spot Eric. For a moment, she thought he’d not arrived yet, but then her eyes locked with his dark stare. Her heart faltered, but a smile broke across his face. He was sitting at a small round table in the corner, already with a beer on the surface in front of him, and he started to get to his feet. Sitting opposite, and still with his back to her, was a blond head of jaw length waves, surfer messy, as if he’d just spent the day on the beach. His shoulders were broad beneath a white t-shirt. He noticed Eric getting to his feet and twisted in his chair. Aqua-green eyes met with hers, his mouth breaking into a smile to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. He had a slight cleft in his clean shaven chin, which gave him a boyish charm.

Anya’s heart immediately stepped up a notch, her breath catching in her chest. There was no mistaking Logan Blanc.

She flashed back a small smile as she approached and then turned her attention back to Eric. He’d made his way around the table to greet her.

“Hey.” He slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her full on the mouth. Was that some kind of claim he’d made on her, perhaps knowing the effect seeing Logan had had on her? Not that she minded, of course. She was pleased Eric had kissed her in public. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was worried you’d change your mind.”

She flushed. “No, of course not. I told you I’d come.”

“I got you a drink. Pinot Grigio, I hope that’s okay.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

Logan stood and held out his hand to her.

Suddenly shy, she reached out and shook it. His palm was large, dwarfing hers, his grip warm and strong. A tingle went through her whole body as their skin made contact. She tried not to show her reaction.

“Logan Blanc,” he introduced himself.

“Anya Rhinne.”

He smiled. “I know who you are.”

She smiled back, her confidence returning. “And I know who you are.”

“Well, since we all know who each other is,” said Eric, laughter behind his voice, “how about we sit down and enjoy our drinks?”

There was a shuffle as they took their seats, Anya positioned between Eric and Logan. She was so aware of the presence of both men, and the position of their thighs beneath the table, where their forearms rested in proximity to hers.

Both these men have seen my pussy.

She picked up her wine and took a sip, trying to distract herself from the illicit thoughts running through her head.

Logan sat back in his chair. “So, Eric filled me in on the ... problem the two of you are having about the exhibition.”

She was embarrassed. She didn’t want to appear like a little girl, worried about what her parents might think, but she couldn’t help that was exactly how she felt. The heat in her already pink cheeks deepened. She hoped the men would assume the flush had been caused by the wine.

“It’s a difficult situation,” she said. “I understand that. And I’m to blame for hiding who my parents are.”

“The critics, Trent and Saara Bergman, right?” Logan asked, looking between her and Eric for confirmation.

“That’s right.”

“Your parents are art critics, though. Surely they’re able to view art objectively?”

“Normally, I would say yes. But I’m their only daughter, and they’ve always been overprotective of me, and my father in particular is a strict Catholic. As I told Eric, they don’t even think I would have sex before marriage, never mind let someone photograph me—” She almost said, ‘with a plug in my ass,’ but then remembered where she was and switched to, “like that.”

“But Anya,” said Eric, “you’re not having sex in those photographs. I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to photograph you being penetrated by a cock—”

Her pussy tightened, sending a pleasurable coiling at her core at his words.

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