Page 353 of Rock Me All Night
8
Let's take a picture of us fucking.
Has breathing always been this difficult?
"The hair really does match your cheeks," Tom says.
"Are you out of your damn mind?"
"And you think I would be fuck buddies with someone so shy." Tom shakes his head. He points to the department store across from us. "We're going to take a picture in that dressing room and you're going to leak it to a celeb news site."
"We're going to take a picture of us fucking in that dressing room?" I blink way more than any person should. "You don't mean..."
"Of course I don'tmean...We'll cheat it. Don't tell me you don't know how to cheat a shot."
My body responds with gusto. Heart racing, heat building between my legs. It takes my head a few moments to catch up. The assignment is unorthodox, but I can do it. "What if Drew sees it?"
"He won't."
"You sure about that?"
"If you even say the words TMZ around Drew, he glares at you and threatens to hit someone." Tom nods. "If he does see it, I'll explain what we're doing. He won't like it, but fuck him. You want to spend your life making decisions because you're worried your brother is going to hit someone?"
"That's not it, exactly."
"Willow, it's your life. If you don't want to do it, tell me. But if you do want to do it, then fucking go for it. Don't let anything stop you from taking what you want."
"I'd be more receptive to your message if I didn't think you were trying to manipulate me."
"I don't need to manipulate women into pressing themselves against me. If you aren't game, I'll find another model." He scans the coffee shop, his gaze fixing on a tall woman with light hair. "But I'd rather not lead her on."
No. I don't want him pressed against that other woman.
He looks at me. "Are you in or out?"
I take a deep breath, cultivating thego for itconfidence spread over Tom's face. I can do that too. I can be the kind of person who saysyesto life instead of hiding behind my camera.
In theory.
Enough hesitation. I'll figure out what kind of person I want to be later. Right now, I need to please my client. I make eye contact. "I'm in."
"Then let's go."
* * *
Tom tearsthe tags off the black lace bra and panty set I bought at the department store. "I like your taste. Classy."
My cheeks flush. I try my best to shift into professional mode. We're in the handicapped stall of a dressing room, not a studio, but I can do this.
"Is the goal something we're taking for our depraved pleasure or something that belongs on Instagram?" I ask.
"Either way."
"They're different. The former will be messy, more about the physical and less about the props or anything. But you've seen pictures on social media. People pose them, get their latte arranged next to their book, next to their plate of grapes. No one really sits that neatly. You know?"
He nods. "Pretty and smart. Picked a good fake fuck buddy."
He's thinks I'm pretty and smart. I'm not sure which is more flattering. I clear my throat to keep desire from swallowing me whole.
