“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” I shouted, slamming a fist against my leg. “Now she wants to talk now!?”
My cock was screaming between my legs, and as I reached my desk, I undid the top button and zipped them down to give my bulge some breathing room. I was that close—that fucking close to claiming her, pressing my lips against that beautiful, gleaming, untouched pussy and it had all be ripped away from me.
My phone vibrated in my hand and I checked my Instagram alert to see Janice had posted a story update:
Thanks ShaneMasonPhotography for the shoot today! You are one of a kind.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I muttered as I closed the app and opened Skype. Nancy had called to tell me Eleanor, the editor of High Style, was finally ready for our video call that I’d been dreading for the last couple of weeks since the allegations.
Apparently, some model I’d shot with had gone to them and reported me for misconduct and inappropriate comments, saying I’d come onto her during the middle of a shoot, taken my dick out and told her to suck it. Then, when she refused, I’d gone down on her without her consent and she’d been too afraid to resist or do anything.
Just thinking about it made my blood boil.
It was all nonsense of course. Never in my life had I been inappropriate during a photo shoot, and Nancy had been present at all times for all of them.
…except this one with Jane of course.
I had strict rules that I held myself to and it was precisely for reasons like this. I worked with gorgeous models everyday, top of the line pieces of ass that most men would die to be with, but I never crossed that line…until now.
Jane…
She’d hypnotized me, taken hold of me from the moment I saw her. I was powerless to resist her. Sure, I’d invited her here for a photo shoot, and while I was a professional, this wasn’t a professional shoot. This was for my personal archive, which so far consisted of tonight’s shoot and nothing more. But this was only the beginning.
She wasn’t just a model for me. She was my model, but she was more than that. I wasn’t her photographer either. We both knew that, but what we’d done…it was so fucking hot I could barely contain myself. And now, with a hard dick and blue balls, I had to make a call to the editor of the fucking magazine to defend my reputation against anonymous slander.
“Fuck!”
I slammed my fist on the desk, scattering prints and SD cards everywhere, opened Skype and pressed on Eleanor’s name. After a few rings she picked up.
“Hi, Shane.” Her tone was serious. Normally Eleanor and I got along well. I liked her, but this was serious and she wasn’t one of those sleaze balls that would let allegations like this go unchecked. She was going to do her job, and if that meant having to break my balls to get to the truth, that’s what she was going to do.
“Hey, Eleanor. What’s up?”
“I think we both know,” she replied. “I’ve been contacted once again by…your accuser. She says if we don’t immediately terminate our relationship with you and release a statement saying so, she’s going to go public.”
“Fuck…”
“You know I don’t want to ask you this, Shane,” Eleanor said slowly. “But you know I have to.”
“It’s not true,” I growled. “You know me better than that. How long have we worked together?”
She tried to hide it and remain professional, but Eleanor breathed a soft sigh of relief. “That’s what I thought, Shane. You’re too good of a man for these accusations to be true. But can you think of any reason someone would want to do this to you?”
I shook my head, fuming at what was happening to me. Who would want to do something like this to me? I treated all my girls with nothing but respect. I’d made careers for girls. If anything, I deserved praise and thanks, not slander.
“Fucking clueless, Eleanor. Maybe it’s someone who hates High Style and is trying to fuck you over by ruining our relationship?”
“Maybe,” Eleanor replied. “But this girl…she sounds like she’s got a vendetta against you. I don’t think it’s about the magazine.”
“You sure you don’t know who she is, Eleanor? I mean—no clues or anything? Did she have an accent or anything?”
“We haven’t spoken directly,” she replied. “It’s all been e-mails so far.”
“Okay, Eleanor,” I replied. It didn’t seem like there was anything I could do. Unless I could figure out who the girl was, I wouldn’t be able to defend myself. Even then, it was going to be my word against hers, and if she released the story online, no amount of evidence would satisfy the mob. My career—my life would be ruined.
“I guess I have no choice. I’ll send an e-mail resignation to you saying we’re no longer going to be working together and you can show it to her. Hopefully then this will all go away.”
“Okay, Shane,” Eleanor replied, obviously quite upset herself. “But…what if this doesn’t satisfy her? What if she is after blood?”