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“It’s okay. Sooner or later, someone will give me a chance. Maybe the new fantasy looks we’re going to shoot this afternoon will finally get me noticed.”
The first order of business though was to take some photos of Gabriel modeling his lingerie for his new Instagram page. After a light breakfast, he sorted through his collection while I took a quick shower. When I returned to the bedroom, my cock instantly started to get hard and I had to adjust the front of my jeans. He’d changed into an all-black outfit, including a sheer robe with lace trim and a pair of black silk and lace panties. The underwear hugged his body and was cut high in the back, exposing a lot of his absolutely perfect ass. As if that wasn’t hot enough, he’d also put on a pair of thigh-high black stockings and his stilettos.
He fidgeted with the robe as he checked his reflection in a full-length mirror. Then he turned to me and asked, “Do I look okay?”
There were two very different sides to Gabriel—the one that could strut around in heels and dance burlesque, and the shy, quiet boy who doubted himself and craved reassurance. The second one looked at me from beneath his dark lashes, and I drew him close and said, “You’re so beautiful, Gabriel. Look what you do to me.” I took his hand and pressed it to my racing heart. “I’m in awe of you. I wish I had the words to tell you how absolutely breathtaking you are.”
He said, “You’re so sweet. Every other guy I’ve ever known would have put my hand on his hard-on right then, not his heart.” He meant it as a compliment, but it made me feel like a harmless little kitten, when he was used to panthers.
I stretched up and kissed him, and then I stepped back and murmured, “We should probably get to those photos. The balcony is sunny right now, but it’ll be in shadow before too long.”
As he followed me out of the bedroom, he asked, “Are you sure this look isn’t too much? There’s a line between sexy and trashy, and I’m worried I crossed it.”
“You haven’t. We’ll keep it that way by making sure your poses aren’t too suggestive.”
“Okay. I trust you.”
I stopped off in the kitchen and made him a fresh cup of coffee, which I brought along to the balcony. “You know what? Don’t even pose,” I said, as I handed him the mug. “Just enjoy the coffee and the view, and let’s see what we get.”
Gabriel leaned against the railing while I took pictures with my phone. After a while, he glanced at me over his shoulder and said, “We’d talked about leaving my face out of the shots for anonymity’s sake, but somehow that doesn’t feel right. I want men to feel sexy in the stuff I design, but it’s not just about that. It’s also about helping them explore and express their feminine side. If I hide my face, I feel like it’s sending the message that we need to keep our femininity a secret.”
I leaned against the lounge chair and said, “I definitely get what you’re saying, but one reason you decided to hide your face was because you were worried about Mason Simeck. I guess we need to ask ourselves what the chances are of him actually seeing these photos, then somehow using them to track us down.”
“Maybe the real question is, how long do I keep letting fear influence my decisions? It scared the shit out of me when Simeck’s men found me and tried to abduct me. I’ve had a hard time letting go of that fear, even after all this time. But maybe he really doesn’t give a shit about us anymore. Even if he does, how’s he going to use these pictures to find us? It’s not like we’re publishing our home address or anything.”
“It’s your call,” I said. “I totally get what you’re saying about why it’s important to show a face with the lingerie. We don’t want to treat it like a dirty little secret. But we can always find someone to model for us if you want to remain anonymous.”
“The thing is though, this is really personal to me. The more I think about it, the more I realize I want to be the face of my brand. I also want to stop living in fear because of things that happened in the past.”
“Okay. I totally support that.”
He put down his coffee mug and said, “I’ll be right back. I want some makeup.”
While he was gone, I took some photos of the view. He returned a few minutes later, dressed in a demure purple camisole with lace at the neckline and matching briefs. Both pieces fit him like a glove. “Let’s not use those first photos,” he said, as he sat on the lounge chair and tucked his bare feet under him. “I feel like that last outfit was just a bit too much.”
