Page 56 of Dirty Pucker

But that was a chaotic and hurried moment.

This photoshoot was completely different. I got to see Del oiled up and under photography lights, flexing and posing, looking like a marble statue come to life.

My hungry gaze took in every muscle, every line, every flawless plane of his body.

I got to see that gorgeous dick again.

Saliva pools in my mouth. I swallow and try not to choke.

His body is PERFECTION.

And I didn’t just get to look. I got to touch him.

My thighs quiver and my clit pulses when I think about how smooth his skin felt, how firm his muscles felt…

I tried my hardest to be professional. I silently reminded myself as I touched his body that this was an artistic project. That there was nothing sexual about what we were doing.

But I failed miserably.

Because all I could think about was ripping my clothes off and jumping his bones.

When Luc Jean directed me to run my nails along Del’s back, I almost passed out. One of my favorite things to do in bed is scrape my nails up and down a guy’s back when things get intense.

And my filthy brain was picturing Del on top of me in bed, driving me wild with that perfect cock of his and me shredding the hell out of his back as I screamed his name…

And now my panties are soaked and my pussy is throbbing. The only thing I want to do is run to the nearest bathroom or closet so I can touch myself until I come, so I can get all this filthy energy out of my system.

I instantly shove aside the thought. God, that’s so depraved, masturbating at a photography studio surrounded by total strangers. What is wrong with me?

I try to ignore just how hard my clit is pulsing at the thought of doing that…

“You did so well, Lovely Ingrid.” Luc Jean smiles. “I’m so happy you agreed to be part of the photos with Del.”

“I am too.”

I thank Luc Jean for the opportunity and walk over to the snacks table and pour myself an ice-cold glass of water. I need to cool off from all these hot and sexy thoughts.

I down the water, then walk out of the studio in the direction of the bathrooms.

I think back to that sexy look Del gave me when we were posed together, my nails digging into his back.

He was definitely into it. But the second Luc Jean ended the photoshoot, Del marched off without speaking. Like he switched right back into friend mode.

My shoulders sink when I think about how quickly he was able to shake off our sexually charged interaction.

But maybe that’s because he understands that was all for the photoshoot, and now that it’s over, he can act normal again.

Unlike me, a sexual deviant who’s forcing myself to chug ice water just to keep myself from running to the ladies’ room to touch myself at the thought of Del.

I sigh, annoyed at how I’m acting like a hormone-crazed teenager. As I turn the corner in the hallway, I almost run into someone.

“Oh, sorry!” I step to the side and bounce off the wall. The guy I nearly collided with grabs my arm and steadies me.

“Whoa, are you okay?”

I glance up and see a tall and muscular blond guy in a robe.

“Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” I say.

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