Page 6 of The Enforcer

Chapter Three

Joaquin

When Kenna emerged from the small dressing room, my heart stopped and my cock got hard. How the fuck was I supposed to take her picture when she looked like that?

I always liked her sweetness. She had an innocence about her that was encompassing and alluring, that weaved through me and pulled me to her even though I buried myself in other women who were nothing like her. It gave me momentary bliss but the satisfaction never came.

How could it?

None of the woman I actually wanted were here. It was only her, only Kenna, that my body craved. And she was the very thing that I couldn't have. Perhaps that was why I wanted her so badly in the first place. Perhaps it wasn't that I actually cared about her, but the fact that I couldn't or shouldn't have her was more alluring than anything else.

I nearly snorted at that logic.

Bull-fucking-shit.

I wanted her because she was a goddamn goddess, a witch, that had some magic ability to make my cock get hard every time she walked by. But there was more to it than that. I wanted her because she was kind and because when she looked at me, it was more than just as her father's best friend. She wanted me to, even if she was with some other guy.

Even if she was here to take sexy pictures for that other guy.

"Just, uh, just head over to the couch." God, I sounded like a fucking moron. How else was I going to say it? Would my voice crack next? I couldn't seem to control my goddamn hard-on so why the fuck not? Let me embarrass myself further.

She did as I asked her to, her eyes on the ground as she walked, in those black heels I recognized from last year's Halloween costume when she was a sexy witch and I probably shouldn't have noticed them at all because, fuck, she was only seventeen at the time. The click-clack sound against the tile was individual shots to my heart and caused my insides to jump, as though attempting to draw my gaze upward and take her in.

I shouldn't stare. I didn't want her to think I was a goddamn pervert. But fuck, how could I help it when she looked so goddamn beautiful.

Her blonde hair was down, spilling around her body like a lion's mane. She had attempted to brush her hair this morning, but I was glad to see she hadn't touched anything since coming here. I always liked it when her hair was just a little bit out of control, like she couldn't quite fit into the perfect nice-girl box because there was more to her. In all honesty, her flaws were a turn on. Not that messy hair was a flaw. But it wasn't perfect, and I liked that.

Besides that, she wore a pencil skirt that was too tight to actually be legal. It covered her rib cage just before her breasts and barely covered her ass, revealing long, toned legs with flesh on them. God, I wanted to bite her thighs and press my face against her dripping cunt.

She had on a transparent white long-sleeved collared shirt tucked into the pencil skirt and no bra, so I could see absolutely everything from her ribcage and up. When she turned and positioned herself on the couch, I could see everything - the elegant curve of her shoulders, her round breasts, her pink nipples tightening because of the cold.

My cock twitched. It was smothered by my denim jeans, pressed along my thighs. It was almost painful to look at Kenna because I knew I couldn't touch her.

And I wanted to. So badly.

It was strange. I had fantasized about this moment. Not necessarily her coming to the studio for her boyfriend, but her coming to the studio to take pictures. Somehow, we always start fucking before I was able to take even one single shot.

Now, she was here. Now, I could see what she actually looked like instead of making it up in my head. I didn't want to stare. I didn't want her to think I was some kind of perv, but I was. I knew it. Because it was hard to rip my eyes away from her. Especially when I had been waiting for this with the expectation that it was never going to happen.

I unhooked my camera from its stand and brought it to my face. If I was pretending to finagle with pictures, perhaps it wouldn't look so weird if I was staring at her.

"Should I, uh." Her voice came out meek. I had never heard her sound that way before because Kenna wasn’t meek. But when she lifted her gaze from her lap and placed it on me, I could see the shyness there. "Am I sitting the right way?"

She needed guidance. From me.

"That depends," I said honestly. "What sort of shoot do you want to have, Ken?"

I probably shouldn't use the nickname I gave her when she was a baby. I didn't want to remind her how much older I was. I wanted her to completely forget about my age.

But what did even that matter? It wasn't like we were actually going to do anything. She was here for pictures - pictures for her boyfriend. I was a tool to get her what she wanted. I was lucky enough to see these pictures when no one else would. And if there was a way to prevent her actual boyfriend from seeing them, all the better.

"What sort of shoots are there?" she asked.

"Well, there's the full-on nude pictures," I said, reminding myself that this was my side business. I needed to talk to Kenna the same way I would take to any client. Casual, like taking naked pictures was normal. "There's tantalizing and teasing, where you're half-nude or not technically nude, but enough that your pictures hint at what's to come. There's a more conservative shoot with lingerie. That is a favorite among women because they don't feel like they're sexing it up - it makes them feel both classy and powerful."

Kenna nodded her head. "Which one do you recommend I do?" she asked. "Like, if I were dating you and I was doing this for you, what would you want to see most?"

I froze. The last thing I should be doing was pretending that Kenna was doing something like this for me because it would cause things to take a turn. The line would be crossed, and any hint of professionalism would be thrown out the window.

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