"Yes. And because I know it gets you off."
It does. But I've never said it out loud. "It's generosity?"
"You're right. It's selfish too. I like knowing other men see you, want you, wish they could have you, curse me for being the one who has you." Intent drips into his voice. There's something there. Something he isn't saying.
But I'm losing interest in the more philosophical parts of this conversation.
I want to take off all my clothes.
Then all of his.
"You've taken explicit photos before," he says.
"Only alone."
"But you have?"
"Yes."
"You never post them."
"I don't want to be a pornographer."
"But you want to post erotic photos?"
I nod.
"Where's the line?"
"That's the point of the photos," I say. "To ask the viewer. Is this art? Is this pornography? Is the model an object for you to consume? Or is she using you?"
"Because it gets you off, being on display?"
"Because… I'm using the only currency I have as a broke young woman."
"Because it gets you off," he says again.
"Turning it against the patriarchy."
He looks to me, daring me to admit it.
"And because it gets me off." My blush spreads to my chest. "But I could argue… that's, uh, that's another way of taking back the power. Using men looking at me for my own sexual enjoyment."
"Angel, you don't have to justify yourself."
"You promise?"
He nods. "Explain if you want. I enjoy the insight. But you never have to justify your art to me. Even if I don't understand it."
"What if it was photos of your brother naked?"
"Are you touching him?"
"No."
"Are they sexual?"
"Well, he's naked."
"Explicit?"
"Him touching himself? No."
"Then no."
"What if it walks up to the line?" I ask.
"Where's that?"
"I don't know it until I see it."
"Can you walk up to the line with a woman instead?"
I laugh. "What a guy thing to say."
"It's not a sapphic fantasy."
"Did you just say sapphic fantasy?"
"Yes," he says.
"Why not say 'girl on girl action'?"
"All right." He chuckles. "It's not dreams of 'girl on girl action.'"
"Uh-huh."
"You're not attracted to women."
"Are you sure? I'm obsessed with photos of naked women."
"Yes." There's no doubt in his voice. "You're obsessed because you're an exhibitionist."
Fuck. There it is, without adornment. I, Danielle Bellamy, am an exhibitionist.
"I'm glad. I enjoy watching you."
Fuck.
"I went eight months without fucking myself," he says.
"Eight months without orgasm?"
"No. My body wouldn't allow that. But never intentionally."
Ah, yes, the perks slash horrors of being a man.
"Until I found you."
"Did it happen that fast?"
"It felt fast. It must have been a few days. I kept trying to tear myself away from you, but I couldn't."
"Why did you go so long?"
"Guilt." He looks to the road. "I didn't believe I deserved to feel anything else."
"Do you still feel that way?"
"Sometimes."
"But you… you want to be with me?"
"Yes."
Fuck. That's… fuck. "Are we really two hours from your house?"
His laugh eases the sexual tension in the air. "Ninety minutes."
"That's too far."
"I can take a detour. Make it further."
"Adam." My voice is a whine. "Please."
"Don't."
"Don't?"
"Don't say my name in that tone when I'm driving. I'll crash the fucking car."
"Oh."
"I can't deny you. I'm not physically capable."
"Please."
"That either," he says. "I want to live to fuck you."
"Will you? When we get to the house?"
"Maybe."
"I don't know if I can wait for a maybe. It might be better to risk death."
"It will be a no if you do it again."
"But…"
His voice drops an octave. "What are you wearing under that?"
"Underwear."
"Show me."
"Adam—"
"You want me to fuck you later?"
"Yes," I breathe.
"Then show me."
I pull the dress up my thighs. Over my hips.
His eyes flit to my exposed panties, then they return to the road. "Take them off."
"But—"
"Now."
I raise my hips. Slide my panties to my ankles. Then over my boots.
"What do you want? Right now?"
"I want you to fuck me."
His eyes flit to my thighs, but his hands stay on the steering wheel. "You have to wait."
"I know."
"No. If you want me to fuck you at home, you have to wait. If you touch yourself, I won't."
"But—"
"Your choice, angel. Do you want to come now? Or do you want to come with me later?"
Chapter Thirty-One
Adam
Danielle's red lips part with a sigh. Her dark eyes fill with an intoxicating mix of need and fire. "You're cruel."
"Yes."
"Would you really—"
"Ask again and you'll find out."
"But you… you were talking about fucking yourself to my photo."
"I'm aware."
"Not fucking yourself for eight months. Until you found me. Do you have any idea what that does to me?"
"Yes."
"But you—"
"Are you unclear?"
"No," she admits. "I just… I can say I won't fuck you if you don't give me what I want now."
"You can." I dare her to do it.
She doesn't. "Ad—" She catches herself. Stops.
I keep one hand on the steering wheel. Set the other on her thigh.
She lets out a slow groan as I run my finger over her skin.
We stay like that for a long time. Through the first album. A second. A third.