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“Have you given him a blow job yet?” Jazz asks.
I shake my head.
Jasmine gives me a wicked smile. “If you want him to lose his shit and control then here’s what you need to do…”
All four of us huddle together and the advice she gives makes my face turn bright red. Morgan and Taylor also look a little flushed.
“After that X-rated description, I need to go cool off,” Taylor announces.
“Me, too,” Morgan adds.
Jazz sits at the edge and dips her long legs while Taylor, Morgan and I go into the pool. As I float around on my back, I think over the past week and can’t believe how everything has changed so much. I’m married to Nick Knight. It’s still surreal. Honestly, I don’t know when or if it will ever feel normal.
I pull myself up, treading water, and feel Nick’s gaze. When I glance over where he sits with Ryan, drinking a beer, my heart stutters. The steamy look he’s sending my way is quite clear and despite the cool water, a warmth saturates my blood.
When the sun starts to set, everyone begins to go their separate ways and I wave goodbye to Jazz and Taylor, the only two still outside. “Good luck,” Jazz mouths and I feel my face burn red all over again.
Nick and I wander back to the apartment, Paul’s leash in my hand. The moment the door closes, Nick drags me over and kisses me senseless.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for hours,” he says. “Since the moment you took that coverup off and pranced around in that little bikini of yours.”
“I hardly pranced,” I say.
“You pranced,” he confirms, running his hands down my hips and over my backside. When he squeezes, I drop my head back, fully expecting to feel his lips press kisses along my neck. But, instead, he releases me and takes a step back. “Take the coverup off,” he says.
I lick my lips and slowly pull the cotton dress over my head. Even though I still wear my bathing suit, I feel completely exposed before his devouring eyes.
“I want you to pose for me,” he says and reaches for his camera. “Without the bathing suit.”
I suck in a breath.
Oh. My. God.
“Nick-”
“Stop talking and get undressed.”
His voice is raspy and, at first, I’m unsure. “Here?” I ask.
“Wherever I say. I’m the photographer. And you, sweetheart, are the model whose job is to do whatever I demand.”
I swallow hard, reach behind me and untie the strings. Nick holds out his hand and I place my top in his palm. He tosses it and lifts the camera. “Up against the wall,” he says.
I follow his direction, my heart thundering in my ears, and lay my palms flat against the wall. I tip my head, arch my back and instantly I’m in model-mode. The camera starts snapping and I flow from one pose to the next, while Nick gives direction.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs.
After another minute, he nods toward the bedroom. “C’mon. Before I rip those bottoms off and fuck you up against that wall.”
My eyes widen and I scurry into the other room. Nick follows me, a predatory look in his eye, and kicks the door shut. “On the bed,” he says.
As I scoot back on the mattress, I bite my lip. “You’re very bossy when you’re holding a camera,” I say. “And, in the bedroom.”
“Because I’m in control. Are you complaining?”
I shake my head.
“Good. Now, bottoms off and lay down.”
