The After Dark Collection: Books 1-3 in The Gift Series Page 11

  “Run your hands through her hair,” I told him.

  A groan rumbled up his chest so loud I could hear it. His fingers roped through her honey-brown strands, and I snapped that shot, capturing provocative moment after provocative moment, even as my mind ran away again.

  I wanted that. Wanted it for me, and wanted it for my damn job. If only so I could get these images out of my head while I worked.

  Surely my overactive, overheated imagination helped my job of capturing sensuality. But I didn’t need dirty images bearing down in the studio. And the images showed no signs of abating as I pictured his hands tightening around her glossy locks later, tugging, pulling, yanking.

  Did he make her scream?

  Moan?

  Or simply melt?

  All of the above, I decided as they cast hot stares at each other. The longing in her eyes was visceral, a palpable force in the room. In his irises, I saw intense devotion and filthy desire. This was when I stopped directing them, letting their natural instincts take over. She pressed her body closer to her man, sealing herself to him like she was riding him.

  “I want something that captures us in the throes of passion,” she said, her voice smoky, like she could barely hold back as she looked at me. “Nina, do I look like a woman about to be devoured?”

  I answered her with complete honesty. “Yes.”

  A small smile seemed to tease at her lips. “Best feeling ever, isn’t it?” She winked, like we were soul sisters on this front.

  I answered her with a total lie. “Of course.”

  Inside, I replied truthfully, privately, saying, I wouldn’t know.

  I’ve never had what she’s having.

  * * *

  Evangeline pulled on a robe as Marco excused himself to the restroom to dress.

  It was funny to see his modesty after I’d already witnessed him so exposed—though not physically. I never captured full nudes of men. Only women, and only if they requested.

  But I was grateful he was gone for a few minutes, because I found it easier to show women the images on the back of the camera without their lovers by their side. She could look at them through her own eyes, not his.

  And women saw their bodies differently than men did.

  Mostly women saw the emotions in the photos, not simply the beautiful bodies. That was what I always tried to convey in both the solo shoots of women and the couple shoots—the emotions.

  Evangeline couldn’t contain a wildly pleased grin as she stared at the window on my camera.

  “You’re very good,” she said, cooing at the shots, almost tracing her finger against the screen. “I’ve never seen us look this way before. Our faces caught in these moments . . . moments of passion.”

  I smiled. That’s what I loved most about my job—when my clients were comfortable enough to relax and let go, to reveal to the camera what was so rarely seen in front of others.

  But I wasn’t going to take credit for their desire.

  “The two of you make it easy,” I said, deflecting the attention to the client, where it belonged. “You’re obviously so deeply in love.”

  I expected her to murmur a quiet thank you or to simply agree, giving me a yes, we are.

  But her answer took me by surprise as she looked away from the camera and met my gaze. “It’s not easy. It took me a long time to get to this place.”

  I tilted my head, curious. “What do you mean?”

  Her brown eyes were rich with secret knowledge, insight into the ways of sensuality. “To ask for what I wanted.”

  “You weren’t able to before?” I was eager to understand what she meant. I wanted to know how to ask for that. I wanted to have that.

  “No. I was terrible with communication in my early twenties. I was unsure of my own desires. I didn’t know what I needed in bed, and in love, and in life. And then I learned how to speak about my desires.”

  “How?” The word hung in the air, a desperate plea. “What did it for you?”

  She moved in closer, like she was about to impart the kind of secret passed down through generations, protected by a secret society. “Aphrodite. She changed my life.”

  “The ancient Greek goddess? Have you been visiting Mount Olympus?” I asked with a light laugh.

  She answered with a chuckle, but shook her head. “Please. You don’t have to go beyond these four walls to visit with her. And she is a modern-day goddess. A goddess of sensuality. I’ll introduce you to her.”

  I blinked, trying to figure out if my client was talking in code or truly believed she could speak with mythological figures. But I was intrigued enough to keep going. “How would I find Aphrodite?”

  “Do you have a smartphone?”

  I laughed and couldn’t resist rolling my eyes. “No,” I teased as I reached for the mobile device in my jeans pocket. “Of course I do.”

  “And do you have a podcast app?” Evangeline asked, and the puzzle pieces started to slide into place. She wasn’t in touch with ancient Greek gods and goddesses, but rather the world of podcasts. I was down with that.

  “Yes. I love science podcasts and how stuff works podcasts,” I said, brightening as I thought of my collection of “Geeks R Us” podcasts, as my friend Lily playfully referred to my listening addiction.

  “File this under how stuff works, then,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes as she tapped on the screen, then showed me the artwork for Ask Aphrodite. Ah, that made sense. “I swear you won’t regret it. Aphrodite changed my life. I learned how to ask for what I want in bed. And Marco gives it to me. Now, thanks to her, I know what it’s like to feel incredible, to have a lover take me to the edge of desire.” She sighed seductively as if remembering that feeling. “To the edge and beyond.” Then she collected herself. “You know what that’s like. That kind of O.”

  She said it absently, offhand, even, as she turned around and picked up her clothes.

  I smiled and gave a quiet “Yes.”

  But the truth was, I knew nothing of the sort.

  When they left, I shut the door, a heaviness in my chest from telling another half-truth.

  I didn’t lie all day long. Some days no one asked about me. But questions from clients arose more often than not, peppered with knowing glances and sisters-in-sensual-arms winks. And I wanted to stop telling little white lies in my studio. I wanted to have one full, honest conversation with a client when she’d ask about sex, or desire, or longing.

  Color me a contradiction.

  I was the boudoir photographer who’d never been naked with a man before.

  The more I shot, the more I wanted to know what the couples in my photos were feeling.

  Wait. Correction: the more I needed to know.

  2

  Nina

  With Marco and Evangeline banging in the elevator or screwing in the car, I popped in my AirPods and toggled over to my podcast app to learn the inner workings of black holes, then attached my camera to my computer to download the photos.

  But as the host explained that a black hole is a region in space where the force of gravity is so strong that light can’t escape, a notion published by scientist David Finkelstein in the 1950s, I hit stop.

  I couldn’t listen anymore.

  My virginity was a black hole.

  And I needed to escape from it.

  And the longer the pull of gravity worked on my V card, the harder it would be to give it up.

  And, in turn, to fully connect with my clients. To relate to them as a woman in the know. And then, once I was on that other secret side of knowledge, the images of their pleasure wouldn’t tease me as I worked.

  But there was more at play, of course. I wanted what they were having . . . because.

  Because pleasure was its own motivation.

  And I’d never experienced true pleasure from another person.

  It was time.

  Time to fully connect with my own desires—desires that had lived only in my mind.

  Communication.
That was what I needed. The few times I was involved with a man long enough that I thought it might lead to sex, I’d never known exactly how to bring up the nagging little issue of breaking my hymen. So I hadn’t ventured down the roads that led out of virginity.

  “Sorry, Finkelstein. It’s time for the goddess,” I said, and I hit download on the first episode of Ask Aphrodite, reading the description aloud.

  “How to have the love life you deserve. A love and intimacy advice show with your hostess, Aphrodite, answering all your questions.”

  I had so many questions. I turned away from the computer, knowing I’d come back to Marco and Evangeline’s passion soon enough.

  For now, I gave Aphrodite my full attention as her voice filled my ears.

  Hello there, gorgeous lovelies. Welcome to episode one of Ask Aphrodite. I’m your guide through the wilds of desire and sensuality, wherever you are in your journey. Ask any question, and I’ll endeavor to answer it, even if I have to dig far and wide.

  But first, I want you to take the initial step on the path to knowing yourself, to understanding your fantasies, and perhaps to having them.

  This is what I want you to do today.

  Ask these questions and respond honestly. Only with honesty comes passion, intimacy, and incandescent bliss.

  What do you want?

  What thoughts and desires keep you awake at night?

  What are the images that race through your mind when you’re alone?

  We all know secretly what gets us off. Think about your dirty dreams, and then put pen to paper, writing them down, knowing them, and in so doing, knowing yourself.

  When the episode ended, I reached for one of my idea notebooks, with an illustrated owl on the cover. I kept one in each room, writing down my ideas for new poses, new shoots as they struck me.

  This time, I wrote down something for me.

  I began a list.

  My filthy, wild list.

  I started with one, then filled in a few more items until my phone pinged with a text from my friend and next-door neighbor.

  Adam: Can I take you up on that offer for one more night? I’ll make a chicken stir-fry as thanks tonight, and it’ll be so delicious your taste buds will sing my praises for days.

  Nina: Of course you can take me up on it. But seriously, my taste buds will only sing for days? You must be slacking. Last time you made me a pad thai so yummy my taste buds performed arias for weeks. Now I get mere days?

  Adam: Do not doubt me, woman. I will ensure you’re more than satisfied. Don’t I always please you in the kitchen?

  Nina: Hmm. Always? That’s a powerful word. I’d say most of the time, because let’s not ever forget the pumpkin chocolate chip cookie incident.

  Adam: Oh, no, you don’t. Do not go there. We made a vow to never bring that up again.

  Nina: Did we now?

  Adam: Yes. We swore you’d never bring up the worse-than-cardboard batch of cookies I made, and I’d never bring up the time you insisted the Hundred Years’ War lasted one hundred years.

  Nina: Everyone gets that wrong! It’s a trick question.

  Adam: And I was tricked by pumpkin. Everyone gets tricked by pumpkin. It’s what happens every damn fall. So let’s agree to never mention the pumpkin chocolate chip cookies and I will keep that trivia faux pas under wraps.

  Nina: *grumbles* Fine. I agree. Also, can’t wait for the stir-fry. You are a master in the kitchen.

  Adam: Can’t wait to cook for you. Also, thanks, Nina. I appreciate it. I owe you big time.

  Nina: You owe me nothing. Happy to help.

  I set down the phone, a smile tugging on my lips. Adam had that effect on me, with his charming, laid-back ways, his easygoing personality.

  I’d enjoyed having my friend spend the last few nights in my guest room. One more night of his cooking, his laughter, and our long chats into the night about how solar panel highways worked, or how long badly named wars lasted, or whether it was better to say “champing at the bit” or “chomping at the bit” would be fun.

  He was always fun.

  But I had other matters on my mind and steep hills to climb.

  I returned to my list, doing as Aphrodite said.

  By the time I was done, I had ten items, and the last one would be the hardest. Take the longest. Require the most work.

  I didn’t know where to start with that one, so I doodled next to it, drawing the outline of a fox, until an idea for one more dirty wish landed in my head.

  The start of an eleventh. I began to write it down, but there was a knock on my door. A series of knocks, rapid, urgent, incessant. It sounded like someone was having an emergency.

  3

  Adam

  That was a prize-winning day.

  Two deals done. Two clients made happy. And a new streaming show premiering next week.

  Talk about a kick-ass ten hours at my production studio.

  I left my office, lowered my shades to shield my eyes from the too-bright Vegas sun, and hit the key fob on my Tesla. As the door opened, I rated my day a B.

  No, make that a B-plus.

  It wasn’t an A yet, because days didn’t receive their final grades till night rolled around. Nighttime had a way of raising grades to A-pluses.

  But when I checked my texts and found one from the painter, my shoulders sagged before I could even put the car in reverse.

  David The Painter: Still not done with the painting, Mr. Larkin. We should finish in two more days.

  And that made my day a C.

  Fumes. Freaking paint fumes in my condo for another night.

  I’d already overstayed my welcome at Nina’s place, since she’d let me spend the last few nights there.

  I didn’t want to put her out again, even though it was no hardship staying with my witty, entertaining, sexy-as-hell neighbor. And I didn’t say that simply because her guest room was better than most Vegas hotel rooms—the woman had impeccable taste and an eye for what made beds feel absolutely spectacular. I had no idea I’d like that many pillows to rest my head on, or such a top-of-the-line downy comforter.

  But damn, her guest bed rocked.

  No surprise, since she rocked.

  Staying with her was a helluva way to spend the evenings. We clicked so well, it was as if we’d known each other forever rather than simply the last few years.

  The only challenge? Nina was as tempting as the most decadent dessert, the kind you wanted to sneak a bite of when no one was looking.

  A dark-haired angel with red cat-eye glasses, glossy lips, and a tight body. With her deadpan wit, locomotive-fast brain, and toned body, my next-door neighbor was enticing every single second of the day and every damn nanosecond of the night.

  But I had mastered the fine art of restraint over the last year I’d spent on hiatus from any and every form of romantic relationship. And Nina never gave any indication that she was game for more. Even if she’d been game, I wasn’t in the market for more than that, given the way my last relationship had imploded—with my ex behind bars.

  With that kind of track record, I was taking a break from romance.

  Friendship though? I knew what I was doing in that department, and I intended for Nina to stay there.

  I banished the tempting thoughts of her once again.

  I clicked open our text thread and asked her if I could extend my stay at Hotel Nina.

  Her answer was swift, giving me the yes I’d been hoping for.

  My day improved instantly. Definitely back to a B-plus. Setting the phone in its holder, I pulled out of the office lot and headed for my high-rise, calling Jake on the drive home. My attorney, who was also my good friend, answered on the first ring.

  “If you keep calling me, I’m going to have to up my hourly. No more friendship discount for you,” he said wryly.

  A laugh burst from my chest. “If the rate you charge me is your friends-and-family discount, then I don’t want to know what you charge your other clients,” I said.
>
  “Oh, yes, you do. You might switch to law if you knew what I was pulling.”

  “Doubtful. I like being the king of my domain too much,” I said, since owning my production studio and taking all the risks—which meant reaping all the rewards—was what I liked. What I loved.

  “With the contracts we just signed, I’d say you’re the king, prince, and heir to your domain,” Jake remarked. “Those were some epic deals.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I’m calling, and this is a friend call so your hourly better be zero right now.”

  “What’s that? I can’t hear you.”

  “Drinks are on me. Can you hear me now?” I asked as I slowed to a stop at a red light.

  “That was crystal clear,” he deadpanned, but then cleared his throat. “Seriously though. Drinks are definitely on me, and yes, we need to celebrate inking deals for all these new shows. This weekend? You up for it?”

  I put my foot to the gas when the light changed. “I’m always up for a night out.”

  “And will your pajama party friend be joining the festivities?” he asked in a high-pitched tone, clearly mocking me and, by extension, Nina.

  I rolled my eyes. “Please. We don’t have pajama parties. We have pillow fights. Get it right.”

  “Aww, that’s so adorable. Do you two do face masks together and paint your nails too?”

  “Of course, then we write in our diaries,” I said, laughing. “Anyway, asshole, I’m sure Nina’s up for a night out with the crew, but I’ll ask her.”

  Jake took a beat then dropped the ribbing. “How are the sleepovers with her? That can’t be easy.”