Broken Beast

I close my eyes. Try to channel the expression I need.

My thoughts go to Adam immediately.

His hands on my lips, his lips on my neck, his cock driving into me.

Snap, snap.

It's a gorgeous photo. Riding the line between sensual and erotic.

Easier because it's my body, because I don't have to blush over a naked model.

Harder because it's my body, because I'm revealing myself to thousands of anonymous strangers.

My photos are sexy. Sometimes, they turn me on. Not the images as much as the feeling of exposing myself.

Usually, the thought stays in the back of my mind.

Today, it's at the front.

I don't focus on composition, or presentation, or figuring out exactly what I want to say with these images.

I think of Adam.

His deep blue eyes on me.

His steady voice in my ears.

His hand wrapped around his cock.

God, I want to watch him fuck himself. I want to know he craves me. I want to see him see me.

As an artist.

As a woman.

As a person he wants to fuck.

He wants me.

And this—

There's no way he can resist this photo.

I slip into my robe to check my social media. My last post is already popular. It's enough to test him.

I add more anyway.

A cell phone snap, from the front this time. My hand on the bottom of the robe, pulling the fabric up my thighs.

Me, ready to fuck myself.

It's cropped innocently enough, but the intent is clear.

I'm here, in his gorgeous apartment, touching myself.

Woosh.

I post the image.

Return to the camera. Take a bigger, broader, better version.

Then another.

Another.

I lose myself in the rhythm of pose and picture.

My phone buzzes, but I ignore it.

Footsteps in the hallway call my attention.

The jingle of keys in the door.

I can stop now. Close my robe. Hide my camera.

This is it. My last chance to back off.

I don't.

I let my robe fall open, turn my head to one side, dig my fingers into my thighs.

The door opens.

Steady footsteps move closer.

Adam's footsteps. I recognize them.

"I'm not the only person with a key." His voice is steady. No anger, no hurt, no passion.

I don't respond.

"What would you do, if I'd sent Liam to fetch you?" he asks.

"You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't?" He takes a step toward me.

"You disagree?"

"No." Another step.

Is that seriously his response? No.

"Do you care I'm naked?"

"Yes."

"Do you care I'm taking photos in your apartment?"

"Yes."

"Is that the only word you can say?"

His eyes meet mine. "You wanted me to find you like this."

"Yes."

"You want me to see you, posing for your camera." He moves closer. Close enough to touch me.

My chest heaves with my inhale. My body moves toward his. It's an involuntary reaction. An instinct as strong as turning to the sun or pulling away from a fire.

"You want me to see you flushed and panting."

"Yes," I breathe.

His fingers skim my chest. He pushes the robe off my shoulders.

It falls open, revealing my breasts, stomach, thighs.

"You're beautiful," he says.

"Thank you."

His eyes fix on me. "Show me. Here. Now."

My cheeks flush.

"Take off the robe."

I step away from the window. Drop the silk at my feet.

"Turn around."

I do.

He lets out a soft gasp. "What do you want?"

"You."

"How?"

"Whatever you'll give me."

"You think of me when you fuck yourself?"

"Constantly."

His voice hardens. "Turn around."

I do.

"Touch yourself."

My breath catches in my throat.

"Now."

"Will you…" I'm not sure what I'm asking, only that I want it. "Can I touch you?"

"After."

"You promise?"

"No." His eyes move over me slowly. "Fuck yourself. Now. If I'm feeling generous, I'll give you more."

"Adam—"

"Now."

Fuck. The cold disappears. The nerves in my stomach disappear. I'm terrified. But I want him too badly to care.

"Don't make me ask twice." His voice drops to something deep and rough.

He wants me as badly as I want him.

He has to stay in control.

Fuck, I want him in control.

I want him touching me. I want every inch of his skin against every inch of mine.

But if this is the only way I can have him—

As long as I can have him—

I meet his gaze and I slip my hand between my legs.

He watches intently as I bring my index finger to my clit. I work myself with slow strokes.

I'm already keyed up.

I'm already so fucking close.

He stares at me with fascination. Like he's been waiting to watch me for a thousand years. Like I'm finally releasing him.

I watch him for as long as I can.

Then my eyes flutter closed.

It's too much. Too intense.

Pleasure threatens to overwhelm me.

"Come for me, Danielle." His voice is soft and rough, yielding and hard, in control and completely unraveled.

For a second, the dichotomies threaten to derail me.

Then he lets out a low, deep groan, and I go over the edge.

The tension inside me winds to a fever pitch. With my next stroke, I unravel.

My sex pulses as I come.

His name falls off my lips.

I work myself through my orgasm, then I blink my eyes open.

He moves closer. Close enough to touch me.