I should have been ashamed. I had certainly been raised to feel that way. But I didn't. My climax, previously denied, began to build again, mounting harder this time, faster, higher. He played me like an instrument, and I let him. The satin slid against my skin, looping and tightening, my breath coming hot and fast. The cool air on my body, the dazzling lights, the darkness of the backdrop burning against my eyes as my back arched like a bow pulled taut—all of it exposed me to him, to the unforgiving lens of his camera.
Yet I trusted him to make it beautiful, to transcend it.
You were alive.
Maybe he was crazy. But if I was alive, I wanted to feel like it.
His harsh breathing cut through my haze, scraping over my ears as he moved over me, placing a foot by my shoulder and staring directly down at my face. Closer and closer the camera came, and I forced myself to be still as he stroked me, so the shots wouldn't come out blurry. Below the waist, my hips bucked, thrusting into him as he fucked me with his hand. I tried to touch myself, but my arms were caught in the satin, and I could only close my eyes and give myself over to him.
My pussy clenched, drenching his hand, and my climax was coming, just on the edge.
“I'm—” I started to say, but the clatter of something heavy hitting the floor startled me and I turned my head just in time to see the camera skitter away over the dark black cloth covering the floorboards as Malcolm Ward suddenly crouched down and slipped an arm under me. I became weightless as he lifted me, clutching me hard to him, and I, tangled and twisted as I was, could only lay limp in his embrace as his mouth found my throat. Then his fingers gave me a little push, and I was tumbling over the edge of my climax, pleasure rushing up to meet me.
Great shudders raced through my body and I curled up, my legs clamping around his arm as I came. The waves of my orgasm threatened to sweep me away, suck me into an undertow I could not escape from. More than anything I wished it were his hips I were clinging to instead of his arm, and as his hand drew my orgasm out of me, his mouth traced gentle, soft patterns over the fragile skin of my throat, a sharp contrast to the violence of his fingers in my ass and pussy. I writhed as he brought his index finger and thumb together inside me, only the thinnest of inner walls separating them. I was stretched wide, aching, and when at last the ripples subsided I collapsed in his grasp, all the tension of my body flowing away like water down a hill.
Our ragged gasps mingled together in the studio, his breath coiling in the hollow of my throat, and mine bouncing off the walls. His forehead was sheened in sweat and I remembered my own curiosity as to what it would taste like. Turning my head, I let my tongue slip along his brow, tasting him.
Salty, sweet. Dark. Good.
Then my body jolted as he jerked away from me. I inhaled sharply at the expression on his face.
He looked... confused. As though he had no idea what had just happened, even though his fingers were still buried inside my body. The smell of sweat and my juices hung in the previously cool, stale air, and his wide, dark eyes searched my face as if he were looking for some clue that might be hidden there, something that would tell him what to do next.
Personally, I'd thought we were going to fuck. But that look on his face told me that things were not quite as simple as that.
“Oh,” he said suddenly, and then, as quickly as he could without injuring me, he set me down and pulled his fingers from my cunt and ass. The swift loss sent a tremor of remembered pleasure through my body and I jerked in my twisted satin bonds. I was caught where I lay, but he retreated from me, leaving me to work my way out on my own. He stood at the edge of the black backdrop and watched, as though he had had no part in my predicament. Sitting up, I struggled out of the tangled white satin, and then stood up. The sweat on my skin was drying and cooling rapidly, and I started to shiver.
I stood, naked, in the middle of his studio, and he stared at me as though he had never seen me before.
Well, I thought to myself, that's what you get for trying to fuck a crazy guy.
I tossed my tangled hair back and met his stare head on, daring him to say something. But he just took another step back.
“I'll call you tomorrow,” he said. “Will you see yourself out?”
My jaw clenched, but he backed away again, and I was suddenly reminded of my mother's old cat, who, after a lifetime spent in our house could never tolerate people and never wanted to be touched or spoken to. An abused cat. That's what he was reminding me of.
Wow. Sexy.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
“Yeah,” I said. “I'll see myself out. No problem.”
“Okay then,” he replied, and with that he turned and walked out of the studio, his footsteps thundering on the stairs until he stepped off on one of the floors below. His camera lay on the floor and I thought, briefly, of going over and stealing the SD card, but some artistic camaraderie stopped me. I hadn't stopped him from taking those pictures. They could still be wonderful. And he certainly didn't need money from porno pics.