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Sexy account
No tits???
This ones kinky, love it
There are even more, mostly people tagging other users. The first two still make my stomach flip.
“Speaking of, I have something to show you,” Finn says, calling my attention back. He gets his cell from the pocket of his slacks. “A couple hours ago, this really big account shared our last photo.”
My heart skips. I try to see upside down as he navigates to the app. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” He finds the account and passes me the phone. “Look.”
I take it, and when I see the number of likes, my jaw hits the floor.
One-thousand, two-hundred-fifty.
Holy shit.
Make that fifty-one.
Fifty-two.
I cover my mouth. My words are there too, for everyone to read. There are over thirty comments. “When did this happen?”
“A few hours ago. It’s an account featuring up-and-coming artists. Photographers, writers, painters. But really good, progressive work. I’ve been getting a ton of new followers from it.”
“How’d they find us?”
“Someone tagged them in a comment on our photo. I did a little research. Accounts like this one get a lot of followers just from reposting other people’s photos. They’re called feature accounts.”
“Did you read the comments?”
“Yeah.” He closes his knees around mine, pressing my legs together. “They’re all good. Really good, Hals. It’s all you. Your words.”
I’m grinning like an idiot, but I can’t help it. People are looking at his photograph. My caption. My body. “It’s us,” I say.
“It’s you.” He runs his hands up my thighs. “You and your fucking amazingness.”
I go through the last few photos featured on the account. “None of these have even a thousand likes,” I say.
“Ours is the sexiest one on there. Maybe even of their entire account.” He slides a finger under the hem of my dress. “Or all time.”
I look at Finn. A few weeks ago, I would’ve burned my journals before letting anybody near them. And just because I’ve lost weight doesn’t mean I’m not self-conscious about my body. This photo is validation I might be doing something right. People other than Finn and myself are connecting with what I wrote. They get me. Finn did this for me. This project is ours, but he’s given me confidence. He wants to make me happy, and I am—without medication. “I love—this.” I choke on this and cough to cover my blunder. I almost said you. Almost. Out of habit. I don’t mean it. I feel love, not for Finn yet, it’s too soon, but I feel it. I never expected, when I agreed to do this with Finn, that anyone would really care what I had to say. Not like this.
“I love this too,” he says. “And I love being able to turn your day around.”
I drop my eyes to his lips, the most kissable lips on the planet, I’m fairly sure. “Technically it’s night,” I say softly.
“Technically, you’re wearing too much clothing.” He stretches forward to kiss me. His warm mouth gives me permission to melt. Without disconnecting from me, he gets up, planting his hands at my sides on the cushions. I bend my head all the way back to meet his kisses.
He reaches one hand under my dress and pauses. “Halston?”
“Mmm?”
“Is this what I think it is?”
I pull up the hem and show him my black thigh-high stockings. “As requested.”
He blinks at them. “You weren’t wearing these when you left this morning.”
“I bought them on my lunch break. Just for you.”
He grunts, fingering the lace trim. That’s all it takes. He kicks the coffee table out of the way, pushes my dress up around my hips, and gets to his knees. I drop my head against the back of the couch when he shoves my underwear aside and buries his face between my thighs. My hands run through his thick, honey-colored hair, the strands sprouting soft and silky from my fingers.
He picks me up by my ass to get even more of me in his mouth. I steady myself on the couch cushions, grasping them when he spears his tongue inside me. “Imagine if someone took our photo like this,” I say.
Mouth glistening, he drags me down the couch by my hips, licking his lips like I’m a meal he hunted, slaughtered, and refuses to give up. He props me up on the arm, slides down his zipper, and pulls out his cock without even undoing his belt. He takes it in his hand and skims it through my wetness. “Fucking condom.” He groans. “It’s a hassle.”
“Forget it,” I say. “I’m on birth control. You've seen me take it the past few days.”
He furrows his eyebrows, then looks between us as he teases my entrance. “You wet, Hals? You look good and wet.”
I inhale sharply. “Mostly from your mouth.”
He sinks into me, and I sink into the couch. Into him. I bliss out while he pulls me onto him harder with every thrust. “Don’t come,” he says.
I lift my head to look at him. He’s golden and sexy, but there’s an edge of darkness in his eyes. Just watching him handle my body makes me hot. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. I like the idea of keeping you on the edge while I come. Of you dying for me to take you again.”
I look up at the ceiling. Don’t climax. Don’t think of Finn toying with me until he’s ready to fuck me later. Submitting to his demands excites me, the opposite of what I need to be happening. I close my eyes as he takes me, willing myself to stay in control of my orgasm. Perhaps seeing the frustration on my face, Finn doesn’t torture me long. He pulls out, dropping me back onto the couch. I open my eyes just in time to watch him pump his fist and come on the couch cushion.
He still doesn’t trust me. If I didn’t know his story, I’d be worried, but it’s less about me than him.
He looks down at me, his chest heaving. “I almost came on you.”
The ache between my legs, tender and swollen, flutters at his admission. “Why didn’t you?”
“I . . .” He cocks his head, studying me. I don’t think it’s the question he expected. “Next time.”
I should argue. I can’t imagine any other man telling me he’ll come on me and getting away with it. I’m helpless to Finn’s command, though, as his model, his girl, his doll. Maybe because I’m used to being under others’ control. But with Finn, I want to be.
He tugs my dress back into place before tucking
himself in his pants. There’s a wet spot on his trousers from my pussy. If I didn’t want to come already, that makes me pant for it.
He holds out his hand to hoist me to my feet. “How do you feel about showing some leg?”
I glance down at myself. Somehow, without explanation, I understand he means for the camera. I look back at him, at his soiled suit. “It doesn’t always have to be me, you know. I could write something for you.”
“Nobody wants to look at me.”
I grin and pull him close by his button-down. “Wrong. Some women like a man in a suit.”
“Are you one of them?”
I nod my head all the way up and then down. “Right now I am.”
“I like to be behind the camera.”
“Just this once?” I begin to unknot his tie. “I already have an idea. You can show me what to do.”
He stands tall and solid as I undo him. “I’m not a teacher.”
“Not even for me?” I ask.
He looks down his nose at me. “If you’ll give me your legs, you have a deal.”
I slip his tie off. “Deal.”
Finn leads me into the studio and unpacks his bag while I slide his silky fabric through my hands. It’s just a tie, but it has so many potential uses.
“Come here,” Finn says.
I hang the tie around my neck and take the camera when he holds it out to me. It’s heavier than I thought, colder too. I use both hands to inspect it. “I can see why you like this. It feels sturdy. Professional.”
“It is. Expensive too.” He smiles but says through his teeth, “Don’t drop it.”
I laugh. “Never.”
“You want to keep it steady.” He moves behind me to nudge my feet shoulder-width apart. “Easier said than done, but balance helps.”
“Do I look through the viewfinder?”
“Nah, we’ll use the display.” From behind, he cups his hand around mine, lifting the camera to my face. “Fill the screen as much as possible with your subject.”
“You.”
“Yes, me.” His tone is serious, authoritative. “Touch the shutter button, but don’t push it.”
I do, and he rests his index finger over mine.
