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“I’ll give them the scoop myself, if the press are so keen to cut out the middlemen. I’ll cut out the lot of them.”
Jason’s eyebrows shot up, and he sat back into the banquette, stunned.
“I was approached by Gentleman’s Review about six months back. They wanted to do a feature on my ‘coming of age’ or some such nonsense.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand, as if that were irrelevant. “At first I wasn’t interested, but when I saw these old photos, I began to think about it seriously. I figured I could maybe make it work to my advantage if I could work with a photographer I trusted.” She paused to let her point sink in. “If it was done right ... Jason, I am so sick of being a teenybopper. I want to grow up!” She abandoned her bubble gum at that very moment, sticking it on the edge of the ashtray with an emphatic gesture of determination.
Jason felt a low rumble of laughter stirring in his chest.
She shrugged at him. “Well ... it would sort Gregory out once and for all, wouldn’t it? His contacts at the press would never trust him again,” she added, dipping one finger into the froth on her cappuccino and suckling it off slowly, while watching him over the edge of her cup.
He nodded, thinking to himself that image alone would make the cover of GR, the intelligent man’s high-class totty magazine, and half the readers would cream themselves just looking at it, never mind getting inside the covers.
“Who was it that approached you about it?”
“Some guy called Joel Elliot.”
Jason shook his head, giving a low, appreciative whistle. Elliot was behind the whole damned thing, however you looked at it.
She looked at him quizzically.
“It seems this Mr. Elliot is a very determined guy. He’s the one that Gregory is hoping to sell the photos to. He also had his staff approach me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Looks like he’s kept his options open with Greg while also pursuing all other possible avenues of enquiry.
”
“Hmm, makes sense, I suppose. He wasn’t happy when I turned his offer down.”
“The redeeming factor is that he contacted you first. Greg must have approached him; how else would he have known about the old photos?”
She nodded in agreement.
“That was coincidental, but he must have got narked with Greg because Greg went to other editors behind his back. That’s when he sent his guys looking for me.”
It was all falling into place. Elliot was tenacious, but he had started out with reasonable intentions. He’d joined the scrum later on, after Greg had come on the scene and complicated matters by being underhanded.
“It would be better if you dealt with Elliot up front and direct, though,” Jason said. “If it’s definitely your decision to go ahead with it.”
“Yes. And besides, it’s the photographer’s integrity that’s most important to me.”
She smiled her lopsided smile. His pleasure at seeing her smile at him quickly turned carnal. The blood was pumping hard in his groin. It was the look he had fallen for all those years ago. Her pout drew her mouth to one side. It was so cheeky and delicious.
“Have you got a particular photographer in mind?” He turned the photograph that lay between them toward himself, allowing himself for the first time to climb inside the space of the image and remember how he had felt with his lens on her.
“I was hoping you’d agree to work with me,” she murmured. “Although, we did get ourselves in a state when we did that before, didn’t we?” She leaned forward, questioning him directly.
How could he forget -- the combination of her and the camera always left him with a raging hard-on. Even the mere thought of it had his cock aching for contact. It was one of the reasons he’d stuck to travel shots and serious interview portraits. He didn’t trust himself to indulge in intimate photography, although he’d often wondered if it was a phenomenon associated with Zoë herself. He managed a nod.
Her pout slid to one side again. “Do you remember that time at the railway sidings?”
Jason groaned, allowing his hips to slide slightly forward on the banquette for the sake of his pounding cock. They had gone down to the deserted railway siding to take some shots for his portfolio. She was keeping him company and helping with his equipment, while he looked for the best images of contrast between stone and metal, rust and gravel. She got his attention back when she stripped off her knickers, straddled an abandoned sleeper, and hoisted her skirt up. She sat with her delicious pussy pressed against the rod of iron, thrusting mightily between her soft, bare buttocks. She had rolled back and forth, her plump pussy flesh squeezing hard against the surface while she mimicked groans of ecstasy, getting his blood up in a flash. Man, but she had looked hot.
It was all he could manage to take one shot from the end of the sleeper, capturing the rod disappearing between her soft thighs, before he had to go there himself. She had attempted to run off, giggling, but he caught her and bent her over the sleeper, grabbing her hips in his hands. He had struggled with his zipper, his need so urgent that he lost the ability to complete normal tasks effectively. He’d almost come the moment he squeezed the head of his cock inside her tight, juicy slit. He had to hold his breath and count to ten before taking her hard and fast from behind, while she ground back onto him with her arms braced stiffly against the sturdy old sleeper for support. That’s what she was like -- mischievous and provocative.
“I remember it like it was happening again, right now.”
She moved on the chair, her eyes bright, her hips rocking from side to side as she moved closer to him over the tabletop. “And the time in the cricket pavilion?”
