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The stylist flipped through the outfits hanging on the rack, deciding which to go with first, when the door opened and the photographer stuck his head in. His eyes landed on Shaw, and I moved to block his view as jealousy and possessiveness hit me like a punch to the gut.
“Hurry the hell up, Shaw,” he told her.
“Just because my mother isn’t here doesn’t mean I’m going to put up with your shit today, Auden,” she snapped at him. “One call and she will be here in ten minutes flat.”
I saw his face pale slightly, telling me he must fear Dallas Cage, but after a second, his eyes only hardened. “And I won’t put up with your drama queen bitchiness. I don’t care how much the client wants these shots.”
“I think you have me confused with yourself, Auden,” Shaw shot back. “Now, if you really want me to hurry so badly, get the fuck out so I can finish getting dressed. I still have to do my hair. The makeup artist said she doesn’t do hair, and no one thought to get someone who could.”
The guy grumbled something under his breath but stepped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The stylist gaped at Shaw in shock then burst out laughing. “I have never seen anyone speak to Auden like that. You…you are my hero.”
She grimaced. “It’s not me,” she assured the woman. “He’s terrified of my mother.”
“Oh, this I would love to see,” she giggled and handed Shaw a bikini.
I gulped and turned my back before Shaw could even reach for the clasp of her bra. Tipping my head back, I chugged the rest of my coffee, wishing the double shot of espresso I’d ordered in my drink was a double shot of tequila instead.
“I’m covered now,” Shaw said less than a minute later.
Cautiously, I turned my head enough to make sure she was dressed and nearly swallowed my tongue. “That… That’s what she’s wearing?” I choked out.
She was in a black string bikini with just enough material in the front to cover her pussy lips, while the material of the top only covered her nipples. My cock jerked in my jeans, trying to burst free to show her his appreciation for what she was wearing, while my possessiveness bellowed in my head that no one could ever see my Shaw like this. Ever. Not that douchebag photographer or any other person in the universe who would see whatever ads the photo shoot was for to begin with.
“No. Nope. No fucking way,” I told the stylist. “She’s not wearing that. Find something else.”
The woman blinked at me like I’d lost my mind. “This is the requested wardrobe the client picked out. I have no say in what she wears. She’ll be shooting in every one of these outfits today. I just figured we would start with the swimwear first so she could get it out of the way.”
“And I said no,” I growled at her, causing the poor woman to take a step back from Shaw, her eyes wide and a little frightened. “Call the fucking client and tell them she will not be wearing this pathetic excuse for a bikini.”
Shaw walked over to a full-length mirror, and when she turned her back to me, showing me her perfect ass with the black thong wedged between her cheeks, I felt come leak onto my thigh. My knees went weak just looking at the spectacular rear view of the girl I loved.
She made a few adjustments to the bikini and turned from side to side to inspect her reflection before sitting back down in the makeup chair. Pulling her hair over one shoulder, she picked up a brush and began pulling it through the thick, honey-blond tresses before reaching for the flat iron that was already turned on and ready to use.
“Shaw, you’re not wearing that,” I told her.
“You don’t have a say in what I do or don’t wear,” she said in a bored tone as she straightened her hair. “The client has the right to choose what I wear when I represent their product. It’s in the contract I signed with them. As long as I’m not naked, there’s nothing I can do about the wardrobe choices. Besides, this isn’t the smallest bikini I’ve ever had to wear for a shoot.”
“Your dad will kill me if I let someone take pictures of you in that thing,” I tried to argue.
“Dad knows that I have no input in things like wardrobe. He’s used to me having to wear this kind of stuff.” She quickly worked through all of her hair then brushed it again before standing, while I stood there trying to come up with a good enough reason for her not to wear that damn bikini.
Shaw took one last look at herself in the mirror before putting her feet in a pair of heels that made her just as tall as me.
Seeing a robe on the back of the door, I grabbed it and wrapped it around her shoulders. “You look cold,” I muttered when she lifted a brow at me.
Her lips twitched, but she didn’t laugh in my face as I expected her to. Instead, she slid her arms into the sleeves of the robe then cupped my face, her fingertips stroking over the scruff I hadn’t shaved that morning. “You’re adorable when you’re being all growly and possessive. I think I might like it.”
“Do you like it enough to give me a kiss?” I asked hopefully.
Her teeth sank into her dark-red bottom lip for a moment before releasing it. “Later,” she promised. “If I kiss you right now, I’ll have to go out there all mussed up.” She tilted her head to the side, causing her hair to fall over her shoulder. “I don’t think you want the world to see what happens to my body when Jagger Armstrong kisses me senseless.”
“No, I do-fucking-not,” I growled. “Fine. Later. But I need you to tell me what I should be doing while you’re out there taking pictures in this ridiculous thing. I feel kind of useless so far.”
She grinned. “Just watch out for me. If you think I look tired, tell them to take a break. Grab me water when you think I’m thirsty. If my phone rings, answer it if you think it might be important. That kind of thing.”
I nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”
For the next three hours, I watched her work her magic in front of the camera. One outfit after another, she became a sex goddess for the client as she used her face and body to make their product seem worth buying. I stayed off to the side, my eyes trained on h
