Page 43 of Cara & Gian: The Guzzi Duet

“Drop the casual bit, and you’ll see how impossible I can get,” Gian urged with a smirk.

“That doesn’t exactly make me want to jump in with both feet, Gian.”

“Liar. You know it does.”

Cara didn’t reply.

Gian didn’t need her to.

She’d already told him once …

You make it hard to say no.

“I do like the choker … a lot,” Cara finally said, softly.

“Send me a picture with it on, show me.”

“You’re serious?”

“Would you like to see some of the pictures I already have of you, Cara?”

He didn’t even need to see her face to know it was red, like her hair.

Gian laughed darkly, weaving through the restaurant and ignoring the patrons as he headed to his back office. “They’re beautiful, by the way.”

Cara made a noise under her breath. “Pretty sure that was videos.”

“I took some stills of them. I have an app.”

“Oh, my God. I have an app, he says. Like it’s not a big fucking deal or something.”

“Send me a picture,” he demanded again. “Show me how much you like it, sweetheart.”

Gian said a quick goodbye, as he had to get some work done before the guys showed up for dinner and the meet. He hated doing it to Cara, as he didn’t get to talk to her much as it were, but he didn’t have a choice.

To make up for it, as soon as he hung up the phone, he scrolled through the gallery images and videos. He hadn’t lied—the video he had took, and the subsequent stills, were beautiful. Hot, sexy, and sin.

Pure fucking sin.

Porn, at the very least to some.

Art, to him.

He’d gotten a shot of his fingers buried deep into her pussy while she was on her knees, her sex pink and wet, her arousal smeared across his hand. Another of his cock stretching her open, and a quick peek at the handprint he’d left on her thigh. Then, later in the day, he’d pulled the phone out again to catch the way his cum looked, painted down Cara’s toned stomach in white, ropey streams.

Gian was terribly careful with his phone. No one touched it but him, and not one single person knew his passcodes to get inside. He wouldn’t share the images or videos with a soul, because that wasn’t why he’d taken them.

He took them for him.

Because it made him hot and it got him off.

Because he liked reliving those moments.

Because his memory didn’t do Cara Rossi any sort of justice.

He shot off a couple of the images, and one of the videos he’d shortened to a few seconds. All had been changed to a black and white, and he’d stripped the sound from the short clip, too.

He really liked that app.