“Sure you can. Gabe will be the center of the shoot, and you’ll be helping him to advertise his ...” she clears her throat. “Considerable talents.”
Fuck. If anything is going to convince Lo to do this, it’s the idea of helping me. She’s too fucking good.
“Gabe?” Lo asks, those wide eyes searching mine. “I don’t want to involve myself here. This is your shoot and if you feel weird about it at all I’m totally okay just watching. I don’t want to—”
“I want you,” I whisper and clear my throat. “I want you to do this with me.”
She screws up her nose. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, Freckles. Of course.”
“Alright then,” Kathleen says. “Lo, let’s get you into hair and makeup and we’ll bring a release form for you to sign.”
“She doesn’t need that shit.”
“We’ll keep it subtle just for you,” Kathleen says. Another stylist comes and sweeps Lo away, and Kathleen ushers me toward the photographer. Behind him is a black backdrop and studio lights that are so blinding, I’m squinting even from here.
“Holy fuck.” I look over her tiny midriff bustier and denim shorts as she steps up to the backdrop and I pick up my jaw from the floor. Despite what Kathleen said, they didn’t keep Lo’s look subtle. Her eyes are all smoked out and sultry, and her lips are dripping in a shiny nude gloss that makes me want to shove my dick between them and see if it’s as slippery as it looks.
Lo wrings her hands and bites her lip. “They didn’t tell me I’d be in lingerie.”
“Are you okay? You don’t have to do this. You don’t owe these people shit.”
“It’s okay, just ... hold my hand, yeah?”
“Okay. The second you start to feel uncomfortable—”
“Um ...”
“Yeah, okay,moreuncomfortable. Then we’ll leave.”
She nods and I take her hand, leading her over to the makeshift tattoo studio. The photographer looks her up and down and nods approvingly. It’s not creepy, or I’d beat his fucking head in.
They have Lo lie back on the table on her side, but instead of positioning me between her legs. They have me on the other side of the table, shirtless, hunched over with a tattoo gun in hand working on her upside. If I’d actually been in this position while inking her, Lo’s tat would have come out looking like a fucking five-year-old took a pen to her leg. Not to mention me being shirtless with no gloves is just unsanitary and dangerous as fuck. I guess no one said these shoots had to be realistic.
After several more shots like this they force us into more awkward positions. A black ornate chaise lounge is brought in and I’m made to lay on it. And then Lo straddles my hips, her strap sliding down one shoulder and I’m hard as fucking rock.
I grip her hips like the photographer tells me to, the weight of my hands pushing her body closer and her eyes grow wide.
Fuck.
“Well, would you look at that,” Kathleen whispers, but her voice travels in the small studio. “This issue is going to sell like crazy.”
“Sorry,” I mutter to Lo, pushing her hair behind her ear so the photographer can still capture her face, even though I don’t want to share this moment with anyone.
She gives me a tight smile, and a blush sweeps across her cheeks. I chase the color with my thumb until the pad meets the corner of her mouth. Her lips part and her hot, sweet breath washes over me as my thumb sinks inside.
“Okay. I think we have what we need here,” Roberto says, breaking the spell. I pull my hand from Lo’s lips and she’s off me quicker than a shot and heading for the dressing room.
Fuck.Way to play your hand and jack everything up there, asshole.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lo
The ride back to the hotel is awkward as hell. Gabe pulls up, climbs out, and hands the keys to the valet. Neither of us say a word until he meets me at the foyer entrance. “I’m sorry that was so awkward.”
I give him a nervous smile, afraid that he knows, afraid that he saw in my gaze everything I wanted to do to him on that couch. “It’s okay. I’m not sure either one of us are cut out for a modeling career.”