Broken Beast

I don't recognize the piece, but the melody catches me all the same. It's beautiful, and somehow, bombastic and reserved at once.

The third floor is more open. A home theater. A library. A big window with an ocean view. And a clean white room, with hardwood floors and bare walls. The perfect space for a studio.

I don't ask. I claim the room immediately. I set up my lights, reflectors, camera.

The soft light of the night sky flows through the window. It's not like the city. It's all starlight and silver moon.

Have I ever seen stars this brilliant?

They're beautiful flecks of light in the dark sky.

I open the window, set my aperture, move the tripod, snap a photo of the sky.

It's too dull.

I lower the aperture. Try again.

There.

Perfect.

It's not as brilliant as the sky itself, but the photo is still a beautiful canvas of light on dark.

I want it as my backdrop.

I move the camera further from the window. Frame the photo.

My shirt unbuttoned, my back to the camera, my gaze turned to the viewer. Click, click.

Then I face the camera, leave the shirt open, do away with my pants, bring one hand to my thigh.

As if I'm fucking myself.

Head turned, hair in front of my eyes. Click, click.

My head thrown back as if I'm lost in pleasure. Click, click.

The wind whistles through the room, breaking me from my photographic trance. It's freezing outside.

I shut the window. Slip back into my new sleepwear. Return to my room with my camera.

The photos are more erotic than what I usually post.

Yes, my face is mostly hidden, but Adam will know it's me.

What will he say when he sees it?

Take off your dress and sit on my cock.

Or what the fuck do you think you're doing posting photos like that for strangers?

Or I fucked myself to you a hundred times.

I have no idea how the moody mogul will react, but I know I need him to react.

I post the photo.

Then I close my computer, climb into bed, let images of him fill my mind.

His eyes on my skin.

His teeth on my neck.

His cock driving into me again and again.

I come fast, but I'm not satisfied.

I only want him more.

Chapter Twelve

Adam

New post on Broken Beauty.

Danielle's site appears in my RSS feed.

Another new photo.

Taken here.

I recognize the pattern of the window. The slope of the ceiling. The cut of the shirt falling open.

Bree bought the same pajamas for the last woman Simon dressed. In slate grey, not Merlot, but her handiwork is obvious.

That's Danielle, with her silk shirt falling open, her breasts on display, her head thrown back in bliss.

Her take on The Exhibitionist.

Cropped at the hips, like that photo.

Is she fucking herself or simulating it?

Does it matter?

Her tits are on display for any asshole who stumbles on her site.

There must be a thousand men gawking right now.

A few hundred fucking themselves.

Picturing Danielle, naked, under them.

Picturing her body splayed over their beds.

Picturing her pretty red lips around their cocks.

Fitzgerald sees these.

This is how he found her.

Is he picturing her right now?

The thought makes me sick.

Because I want to destroy him.

Because I'm already desperate to protect her.

It's ridiculous. This is the point of my mission.

Make the asshole jealous. So jealous he can barely live with himself.

And I'm worried about him wanting her?

I take a deep breath. Push an exhale through my teeth.

Calm eludes me.

Sense eludes me.

Instead, my thoughts go to Danielle. Her, in this office, sitting on my desk, peeling her dress to her waist, spreading her legs.

I need her. Here. Now. All fucking day.

It's the only thing that matters.

Not convincing my brothers.

Not revenge.

Not even playing fair.

Only this, watching pleasure overtake her expression, claiming every inch of her.

This is a dare.

But is she daring me to fuck her?

Or daring me to admit this is how I found her?

I stare for too fucking long.

Until a familiar sound interrupts me.

The door downstairs.

And my brother Liam, yelling, "Lucy, I'm home."

Chapter Thirteen

Danielle

"Hello." A tall man in jeans and a t-shirt shoots me a devilish smile. "I didn't realize Adam had company." He notes my outfit—the silk pajamas and fancy slippers—with a knowing look. "An overnight guest."

Shit. What do I say here? Adam and I haven't exactly worked out our story. "Danielle Bellamy."

"Liam Pierce."

So he's Adam's younger brother. That explains the easy access to the house and the deep blue eyes. Adam hired me to convince his brothers he's okay. That might not be the whole story, but I've got a million reasons to play along.

I'm Danielle Bellamy, Adam Pierce's loving girlfriend.

I offer my hand.

Liam takes it. Drops to his knees. Places kisses on the back of my palm. "Nice to meet you, Danielle Bellamy." He stands and offers his arm. "Have you eaten breakfast?"

"Not yet."

"Escort me to the dining room?"

"Sure." I take his arm.

He turns toward Adam's office and raises his voice. "And promise you'll tell me every one of Adam's secrets?"