Page 38 of Kings of Violence

It’s almost too easy.

As she slowly unbuttons the shirt, I realize this whole scene would be far, far better in my studio. The lighting in here is all wrong, and while the pictures will be good, I could make themgreat. I should’ve brought my other lenses with me into the room as it was, but I hadn’t thought to turn this into a full-fledged session.

It’s been a while since I’ve done one, really.

“Drop it to the floor,” I direct her, rapidly taking pictures as she does.

Her hair hangs in her face, obscuring most of it from view, but I know she’s blushing under there like she’s a fucking virgin or something.

When she’s finished undressing, I take a few more pictures, then I tell her, “Come on.” I offer her my hand, which she doesn’t take, and go to the door. She doesn’t follow, and I turn around to face her. “Look. All I want are some pictures. I can lay you down and fuck your ass bloody, or we can go have some fun.”

Sierra grimaces at that, though she seems to be more subdued. Again, it’s too easy, and I almost wish I wasn’t blackmailing her into cooperating.

Oh well.

“Come on,” I repeat. “Let’s go. Chop chop.” I tap my smartwatch, seeing that I have twelve unanswered emails but deciding to ignore them. If anything important comes up, Kotya will call me.

Taking every step like she’s trudging through sand, she follows me to the door and out into the hall.

The guard at her door is only human, and he looks her over before he stops himself and looks at me instead. He offers me a nod.

I nod back. “Go take a break. I’m going to have her with me for a while.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, and his eyes linger on Sierra again for another moment before she awkwardly tries to cover up her pussy.

We walk down the hall, and to what I’m sure is her relief, we don’t come across anyone else on the way. I flip the light switch on the inside of the studio, grinning when I see all my favorite toys in one place.

Well. Almost all of them.

I turn to check Sierra’s reaction.

I’m not disappointed. Her eyes widen when she sees my studio setup. Yeah, there’s a table for regular still lifes out in the corner, but right now the couch and coffee table are front and center.

Also front and center? All the sex toys I’d used in my last photoshoot. Dildos, vibrators, manacles, rope, chains… all of them laid out haphazardly on the coffee table, ready to be used.

Sierra grimaces and she averts her gaze—then she frowns. “What are those shoes?”

“Shoes?” I look where Sierra is pointing. By the couch are a pair of red stilettos that I’d made the last model wear. “I don’t know. I grabbed them from a store when I was planning the shoot.”

“Did you get them from the discount wall?” she asks with a grimace. “I told you I’d do anything, but I didn’t mean I’d wear some cheap shoes that look like some hooker would wear.”

I arch a brow. “Judgey much?” I taunt.

“Oh, come on. You know you saw them and went, ‘look, hooker heels’ and proceeded to buy them,” she says.

She’s not wrong.

Sierra goes to pick up the shoe. “Ugh, this is the worst quality pleather.” She meets my eyes. “That means it’splastic.”

It’s just a red shoe with a high, clunky heel and a few straps around the ankle. “So?” I ask. “Maybe I like hooker heels. They’d look good on you.”

“I would not be caught dead wearing those things,” she counters.

“We can arrange that, zaya,” I say, smirking as I go to pick one up. “They’ll make your legs look even longer than they are.”

“Nice try. And don’t pull that, ‘whatever you say’ bullshit,” she grumbles. “Some things are sacred.”

I look at the shoes, then back to her, amused. “That’s the hill you’d die on? Rape is fine, but shitty shoes are a nope?”

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