Page 62 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
“Why the hell didn’t you send me this?” he demands. It’s almost comical how legitimately offended he sounds.
I gesture at the offending area on the photograph. “Because of this.”
He snorts in derision, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit.”
I frown. “I can’t change how I feel about myself just by wanting to, Jesse.”
He backs away from me. “Stand there, just like that.”
“What are you doing?” I demand, reaching for my phone.
He holds it up, pointing at me with the other hand. “Stand there like you were. Please?”
Reluctantly, I comply, crossing one arm under my breasts, the other reaching up to toy with a lock of my hair. One foot is crossed over the other, my sparkly gold heels still on, and I’m leaning a hip against the edge of the counter. He snaps a few photos, and then glances at me again.
“Now, turn around. Please.”
I panic. “No, no. Jesse—come on.”
He just grins. “I’m proving a point. If you don’t like the photos, you delete them.”
I sigh shakily and then, with a nervous duck of my head, I turn around. “Take your picture and be done.”
He laughs. “Oh no, not so fast. Stand upright, and look at me over your shoulder.”
In order to do so, I have to shift my weight to one side, popping my hip out. But what do I do with my hands?
Jesse has the answer. “Put your middle fingers along the creases of the underside of your butt, like you’re trying to lift it up. You’re framing it, sort of.”
I snort. “You’ve done this before, sleazeball.”
He chortles. “No, I haven’t actually. Swear to god.” He winks at me. “I just have a great subject in this case, so it makes it easy.”
I do what he says, and as he snaps a photo, I find myself adjusting the pose a little, flexing my buttocks and actually lifting them a little, tossing my hair just so, and actually smiling at him as he snaps another few photos.
He sidles up behind me, brings the phone around in front of me, and, swiping back to the beginning of the series, and shows them to me. “See? Look how sexy you are in these.”
I swipe through, and damn if I don’t actually look pretty damn good. The red lingerie compliments my tan skin and brown hair, and my body actually looks…
Sexy.
I smile at him. “You’re just a good photographer,” I say, still not quite willing to give it up, for some stupid reason.
He just shakes his head. “You couldn’t take a bad picture if you tried.”
I laugh. “You haven’t seen me first thing in the morning.”
His grin is fierce. “Not yet, I haven’t. But I plan to.”
Heat boils through me. “What if I’m ugly and have bad breath?”
“You’re never ugly, and I have mouthwash.” He sets the phone on the counter, and now he’s towering behind me, his arms imprisoning me between them. “I want to take a few more pictures of you, if you’ll let me.”
I sigh. “I get the point, Jesse.” I tap the phone screen. “I actually do look pretty good in those.”
His hands skate down the sides of my hips, and then upward, grazing my belly and coming to a halt just beneath my breasts. “Trust me,” he murmurs.
I want his hands to go upward, but instead, I whisper my acquiescence. “Okay.” I straighten my spine and summon my courage. “How do you want me, Mr. Photographer?”
He chuckles, a sound that manages to convey amusement and arousal at the same time. “How do I want you?” He puts his lips to my ear, whispering, “I want you on your hands and knees in my bed. I want you above me, those big beautiful tits bouncing in my face. I want your thighs wrapped around my face. I want you bent over this counter, screaming my name.”
I whimper, leaning back against him. “I like the sound of all of that.”
He slides his palms up over the cups hiding my breasts. “I’ve been dreaming of these night and day.”
“Well, there they are,” I murmur, in a fit of wild originality.
He touches his lips to my nape, and his fingers dance and traipse around to my back. With a flick of his fingers, he unhooks my bra, and then his hand slides smoothly up the bare skin where the strap used to be—up to my shoulders, brushing the straps away. I clutch the cups in place for a moment, and then let my arms fall to my sides before reaching up and behind me to grasp at him, at his hair, his beard.
My bra topples to the counter with a soft thud. Jesse’s hands spread across my stomach and then, once more, carve upward. I catch my breath, and my lip between my teeth, as his big strong hands finally, at long last, alight beneath my breasts.
