Page 56 of Dirty Shots

She slid down her window. “Thank you.”

“Call me, okay?” he said, suddenly panicked. What if this was the last time he saw her? What if she decided enough was enough, and never wanted to see him again?

She gave a sad smile. “Sure, Eric.” And slid her window back up.

He stood on the sidewalk and watched the cab pull away and grow smaller as it merged with the evening’s traffic. Eric sighed and pulled his jacket closer to his body for comfort. The cab vanished from sight and he turned around and made his way back to the restaurant.

The valet stood, looking awkward and unsure until he spotted Eric returning. He obviously wasn’t used to having vehicles abandoned not long after arriving.

Eric collected his car and drove home, his head a jumble of thoughts. What was going to happen now? After her father’s reaction, he struggled to imagine Anya still wanting to go through with the exhibition. They were back to square one. Perhaps he should never have persuaded her to tell her parents about what she’d been doing. If she’d kept it secret for as long as possible, they’d at least have had the gift of a few more days doing what they loved.

His apartment felt cold and empty without Anya in it. It was strange to notice that now. He’d never had a problem with his place before—in fact, he’d always enjoyed spending time here alone, appreciated what his hard work and talent had bought him—yet now his surroundings felt sterile.

He removed a bag of peas from the freezer and wrapped a tea-towel around them before pressing them to the socket where the start of a black eye was blooming. His nose also throbbed, but he didn’t think it was broken. He hoped the bruising would fade before the exhibition. But then he realized he probably shouldn’t waste his time worrying. Anya was sure to want to cancel now.

His stomach twisted with anxiety. Logan had already started sending out personal invitations to everyone influential and important in the New York art scene. What the hell was he supposed to do if he had to turn around and tell everyone the exhibition had been canceled? He’d be a laughing-stock, and no one would ever take his exhibitions seriously again. Logan was an old friend, but he was also a professional. Eric hated that he might have wasted his friend’s time.

The first flames of anger started in his stomach. If only Anya had been honest with him from the start, none of this would be happening now. But even as the flames emerged, his common sense extinguished them. If Anya had told him right from the start and he’d sent her away, he’d never have experienced this last week. He’d never have sunk his cock into her tight, soft heat. He’d never have felt her slim fingers touch his cheek with such intimacy. He’d never have witnessed her expression of delight when a huge dish of tiramisu had been placed in front of her. He was torn. Though his work meant everything to him, his feelings for Anya were starting to overshadow them.

Once again, he hadn’t eaten, and he couldn’t bring himself to stomach anything. Instead, he went to his computer and began to run through his favorite images of Anya. He scrolled through them, pausing on each one to study the composition, the use of lighting, but most of all, to study Anya. Having her image imprinted upon his brain was the closest thing he could get to being with her. He didn’t want anyone else, he realized. He didn’t want to photograph anyone else, or have anyone else in his bed. She’d become his whole world.

Fresh anger burst through him and he lashed out at the items on his desk—pen holders, paperwork, a glass of water—sending them crashing to the ground.

She was going to ruin him, and he was going to let her.

***

Eric woke the next morningto the sound of his door intercom buzzing.

He’d fallen asleep at his desk, his head pillowed on his arms. His shirt was creased, and he knew it would have left lines on his cheek where he’d been resting. Pieces of glass and other items from his desk were strewn across the floor from where he’d lost his temper.

The buzzer went again, and Eric got groggily to his feet and made his way over the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone.

He pressed the intercom. “Hello?”

“Eric, it’s me. Can I come up?”

His heart leapt. Anya! “Yes, of course. I’ll buzz you in.”

He hit the button to let her up and suddenly became aware of the state of his apartment and himself. He was still dressed in last night’s clothes, and he reached up to smooth his hair down where it was sticking up on one side. He hesitated. Was he better to tidy himself up, or his apartment? He didn’t want her to know he’d lost his temper last night, but he figured meeting her at the door with bad hair and morning breath was worse.

Rushing into his bathroom, Eric ran the tap. He added a swipe of toothpaste to his brush, scrubbed his teeth with one hand, while running water through his dark hair to try to tame it with the other.

A gentle knock came at the door, and he spat and washed away the toothpaste in the sink. He took a deep breath and headed to the door. He didn’t know why he was so nervous.

He swung open the door.

Anya stood in front of him wearing a pair of six inch stilettos, and an extremely short black dress that appeared to be made of latex. The material clung to her curves, accentuating the fullness of her breasts and the way her large nipples poked from the globes. He could see the slight roundness of her belly, leading down to the juncture of her thighs. The dress stopped barely an inch below her pussy, revealing her long, naked legs.

She placed a hand on her hip, and pouted lips slicked with a red, tinted gloss. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Um, yes, of course.” He stepped back from the doorway and she sauntered in, her hips dipping from side to side as she walked, her heels clicking on the floor. She walked past him, her arm brushing against his shirt, and then away from him so he got a full view of the roundness of her buttocks barely covered by the latex.

Jesus, had she walked through the streets like that? He hoped she’d dumped an overcoat in the lobby downstairs.

“Anya, you look ...”

Amazing ... Sexy ... Slutty ...

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