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Tom
Rosie’s room was even more cluttered from the last time I was here. Camera gear still in their cardboard packaging, several SD cards in another pile, waterproof camping bags on her bed and a backpack, tent, and sleeping bag on the floor. It was like an army disposals store had exploded in her room.
I sighed, dropping my head to my chest. The last time I was here, I’d kissed her and she told me she missed me. And Mama Z had made it clear I wasn’t welcome in this room either.
And now Ainslee was pregnant, and Rosie knew, and everything was wrong in the world.
And then that bloody wedding couple picture on her desk. The bride even had curly hair. My chest ached at the thought of Rosie in white, walking between the grapevines to join me in front of our families to say our vows.
I may not have wanted to start a family with Ainslee but I would love my child. Would Rosie even consider dating me again as a single dad?
I’d grown up watching Ryan take on the role of a father with Charlotte, but not once had he ever indicated he wanted to be with his ex, Em. They made co-parenting work with lots of effort.
I could do it, too.
A harsh laugh escaped my mouth. I was imagining my wedding to Rosie when I wasn’t even sure if she liked me.
I was fucked. With another sigh, I looked around desperately seeking a distraction.
The title of a publication caught my eye on her desk, partly covered by a black fabric-bound book and a notepad: ‘Wombats, wildflowers and wine: unlikely partnerships for profit’.We definitely had all three, I thought, pulling at the publication. The precarious pile gave way and tumbled to the floor.
I swore, hastily picking up what I could and then froze. The black book had fallen open to a double-page spread of a photograph. A woman lay back on an antique couch with her back arched. She was naked, her hands covered her breasts, and one leg was bent at the knee so the reader, or me, couldn’t see her anything risqué.
But it was such a hot photo. Her face was turned away, but her mouth was clear, open as if crying out in pleasure. I opened and closed my mouth like a goldfish.
Those curls tumbling over the pillow and couch … It was Rosie.
Holy shit.I picked up the photo book and flicked to the front page. ‘Sam’s Boudoir Photo Shoots’ was embossed in gold on the inside cover.
“Need help?” Rosie called out from the hallway.
I started, and the book bounced between my hands and then landed on my big toe. I saw stars, swearing several times as I lurched to the side, grabbing her desk.
Motherfuckering Jesus Christ, that bloody well hurt.
“What the—” Rosie appeared in the doorway and looked down.
Her photo book stared back. In this photo, she was lying on her stomach on the same couch in a leather bustier with her hands behind her back and restrained with something. Rope? Cuffs? Wasn’t clear. I couldn’t tell if she was wearing a thong or nothing, but the photo showed a lot of arse, and it all looked great.
Too great.
I swore under my breath and hastily picked up the photo book, my toe throbbing.
“Your book dropped on my foot, and I almost fell over.” My face flushed with heat just thinking about what photos I saw.Was Rosie into BDSM stuff?“Wha-what kind of photo shoot did you do?” I stammered.
I really had thought that the photo shoot was like fashion photo shoot, for a catalogue or website. Sexy but not like this. Sam’s photos were more than just underwear shots. They also had nothing on any dick pic I’d ever taken.
Rosie looked like a porn star. And a fucking beautiful and sexy one at that.
Christ on a pogo stick.I’d gone from the Campus Rake, as Pete nicknamed me, to country prude, as if outraged that Rosie had commissioned such photos.
She snorted, taking the book from my hands. Barely a blush crossed her cheeks as she slowly thumbed through the book, the cover slightly raised so I couldn’t see the specific pictures. But that image of her lying on our antique settee in the parlour, looking away from the camera and over her shoulder, with her wrists tied, was living rent-free in my mind.
I licked my lips. Shit, I was getting hard again. Didn’t I have any shame? Apparently, the answer was no, I did not.
The smallest consolation in getting an erection right now was at least my dick hadn’t been broken by Sonny. I hadn’t been game to test how well my equipment, ah,functioned, after the wombat incident but now, everything seemed to be in perfect working order.
