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He hesitates.
Then, after a heavy sigh, he grabs the back of his T-shirt at the nape of his neck and whips it over his head in one fast swipe. I swear my mouth goes dry as I stare at his chest, lightly dusted with dark hair down to the ripples of his abs and the V-shape leading into his gray joggers.
Holy shit, I curse silently in my mind as I stare at him.
“Pants too?” he asks.
I force myself to swallow. “Maybe just…underwear for this shot,” I stammer. “They won’t be in the frame, but even if they are, I’ll be on top of you.” My voice cracks.
Why am I so nervous?
One by one, he slips off his shoes and pulls off his socks. Then he drags his sweats down his legs, and I turn away. Why the hell must Adam Goode be such a perfect specimen of a man? Why can’t he just be as repulsive as his father?
“My turn,” I whisper to myself before I yank my Van Halen T-shirt over my head and slide my shorts off. Suddenly, we’re standing in our underwear, both of us trying to awkwardly cover ourselves as if we haven’t already screwed on this very couch. Why does this feel so much stranger now?
“All right, sit,” I say, pointing toward the sofa. Suppressing his nerves, he rounds the couch and drops down in the middle.
I quickly open the camera app on my phone and aim it at him, making sure to get him centered so his face doesn’t get cut off. I can crop more later.
With that, I climb onto his lap, one leg on each side of his hips. For a moment, my brain seems to short-circuit from this proximity. His face is just inches from mine and he’s definitely sporting a half-staff erection, pressing against my panties.
But I need to stay professional about this. Taking a deep breath, I try to center myself to focus.
Fuck, he smells so good.
“The camera can’t see my face if you’re in front,” he says. Which is a good point—the camera is pointed at the back of my head. So, I grab the tripod and maneuver it to the side, catching us at an angle. I’m still slightly covering his face, but I lean my head back a little so he's in plain view.
“You’re gonna lean back like that?” he asks with a wrinkle in his brow.
“Umm…no. That’s awkward. Here, grab my hair,” I say, picking up his hand and putting it against the back of my scalp. Immediately, he takes a handful and pulls, so my spine arches and my head hangs.
We both glance at the screen. It’s perfect. Adam is taking up most of the frame, my body only in one-third of the screen, just enough to be suggestive and honestly, hot as hell.
“Okay, so I’m going to pressrecordand we’re going to move like we’re fucking. You keep pulling my hair, but make sure to make a sexy face.”
“A sexy face?” he asks with a laugh.
“Yeah. Don’t just be, like, dead-faced. You need to scowl at me.”
“Scowlat you?”
I let out an exasperated sigh, and he lets go of my hair. “Listen, Adam. If we’re going to do this, you’re not going to fuck me like a good little Christian boy. You’re going to fuck me like you hate me. You’re going to fuck me so dirty your grandkids will have to repent for it. Spit on me. Pull my hair. Slap me around. Make it the dirtiest fucking thing you’ve ever done. Okay?”
His face is frozen for a moment, his pupils slowly dilating, and that half-staff turns into a solid staff—which I guess means he gets the message.
“Okay,” he says with a crack in his voice.
“Okay,” I reply, leaning back to press record.
“Wait,” he says, stopping me. Then he reaches around to my back and with one hand, he quickly pinches the clasp of my bra and it comes free effortlessly. He slides it off before tossing it across the room.
As he glances quickly at my breasts, I feel momentarily ashamed that my nipples are already hard and tight—and have been since he walked into my apartment, looking and smelling so damn good.
Shaking off the embarrassment, I reach behind me and hit record on my phone.
“Action,” I say, turning to face him.
Our first shot is a mess. He fumbles for my hair and I struggle with where to put my hands. I start to bounce on his lap, but my rhythm is off and his thrusts don’t match mine. Nothing about this is hot at the moment.
