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"How did I do?" she longed to ask, but that wouldn't be cool—better to stay silent and let him make the first move.
He handed her a glass and let his eyes run obviously and openly over her body. She felt herself grow warm. The Scotch warmed her insides, too. He'd made it very strong, and it took a real effort on her part not to grimace over the first swallow.
What a gas, she kept thinking. This dude is a billionaire, and he's in the same room with me, looking at my body. He can't hide the fact that he wants me, either
It was true—there was that familiar look in his eyes now, the look she had seen before in the eyes of other men. He put his hand out and cupped one of her breasts casually, for just an instant.
"Nice. They feel real, too. I don't know how much Jerry's paying you for his pictures, but whatever it is, I'll double it for one special one, just for me. One without the blond wig. You'll be twice as pretty with your dark hair, won't you? I pick the pose, and you get a bonus for being so sexy and cooperative." His eyes crinkled at her, although she could recognize no laughter in their depths. "Are you going to be cooperative, Frances?"
Her breast still felt all warm and tingly from his touch, and the Scotch was making her stomach burn and kind of vibrate in the same way it did when she thought about the four guys in her freshman year who had "initiated" her. Somehow, just the way Brant Newcomb was studying her with those bright blue eyes made her remember all the things they'd done to her—the things they'd made her do for them.
He was waiting for her to answer him, and just then, she felt Jerry come up to stand behind her.
"Looks like you've propositioned her already, Brant. Heck—I haven't had a chance to get my pitch in yet."
"Maybe Frances will give us both a chance. What do you say, baby?"
It was exciting—Francie had never felt more alive than she did now, standing here nude between two guys while they talked about making it with her in such casual, polite voices.
The photography session began again. This time, the pictures were a litde more suggestive, more explicit in what they showed of her. Francie kept wanting to giggle. Wow, if David ever saw one of these pictures! The thought of his reaction, of what he'd do to her afterward, made her whole body glow and get kind of weak. It gave her face a sensual, pouty look that seemed to drive Jerry wild—he kept telling her she was a natural.
When he'd finished what he referred to as the "official picture-taking," Francie went into the bedroom with both Jerry and Brant, pulling off the blond wig as her long dark hair cascaded around her shoulders. She let Brant tumble her on the bed and make it with her while Jerry took more pictures—zooming in for lots of close-ups.
When Brant was through with her, Jerry took his place on the bed, and Brant took the pictures this time. Afterward, they all had drinks and sat together looking at some of the pictures they'd taken with a Polaroid camera. They were wild and pornographic, and they turned Francie on so much that she began clawing at Brant's groin with her hands until he tumbled her down onto the floor and began screwing
her again, taking his time this go around, laughing all the while at her eagerness and wildness.
His laughter seemed to mock at her, and she got so mad that she began to bite and claw at him; then he slapped her hard, slapped her coldly again and again until her anger and viciousness subsided and she was clinging to him, begging him in a choked voice to do it to her again, quickly.
"You're one of those, are you, you little hellion? You dig being hurt. Okay, honey, I'm willing to oblige. Sometimes it even turns me on, you know? Especially when I do this to a woman."
"This" turned out to be sprawling her across his knee and spanking her bare and wriggling ass while she gasped and whimpered and rubbed herself lewdly against his leg, needing the contact of his flesh against hers.
When he was through beating her, she continued to wriggle and squirm across his thighs, the tears pouring from her eyes. But there was a sly triumph in her voice when she spoke.
"I'm really yours now, you know? You just made me yours. You can do anything you want with me, anything at all, I wouldn't mind. Do it to me, Brant, do it! Screw me, fuck me, make me crawl, use me. . . . I'm good— all the guys tell me I'm the best. And I'll do anything for you, everything you want me to, you'll see!"
Without wasting words, he took her again, bending her over the bed this time, ramming himself into her violently and painfully and satisfyingly while Jerry took more pictures. And then it was Jerry's turn again....
Brant actually offered to drive her home afterward. Sitting beside him, snuggling into the softness of real leather seats, Francie was in heaven. She'd finally found a guy—a man—who could give her everything she craved. And she was going to make him need her, too. He was definitely interested; she could tell—why else would he be taking her home?
Francie told Brant Newcomb that she lived with a very jealous and uptight guy, so he'd better drop her off a couple of blocks away. She wondered if he'd believed her, if he'd ask her any questions, but he only shrugged as if he couldn't care less. He intrigued her—everything about him intrigued her, including his money. She'd never ridden in a Jag before, either; it was neat. And she was glad that he drove fast and rather carelessly— who wanted to live without some risk and danger to make things exciting?
Snuggling closer to Brant, Francie put her hand on Iris thigh, running it up and down his crotch until she felt the sudden hardness there. She smiled. It was easy to give a guy a hard-on; she'd learned that real early.
"Shall I blow you?" she asked him eagerly, already bending her head down to him.
With one hand on the wheel, he pulled her up by the hair.
"Not now, baby. Later. You'd better learn not to be greedy."
His eyes studied her for an instant before they went back to the road. She couldn't read anything in them.
"I'm going to give you a phone number, doll. Call me sometime when your jealous lover is out of town, and we'll party, okay?"
He was full of surprises—just when she had begun to pout, fearing that he was bored and done with her for good, here he was suggesting that she call him. He was interested in her, then. Francie couldn't help wriggling in anticipation of the next time, another wildly exciting time with this strange and fascinating guy.
Even after he had dropped her off, she continued to think about him. Walking the two blocks back home, she was already planning for their next meeting. She wanted Brant Newcomb. She'd make damn sure he'd never get tired of her.
