Broken Beast

"Even for a million dollars?"

"I should have told you everything. Maybe not at the beginning. But at some point. Before I fucked you."

"Before you posed for me."

I nod. "I was scared to lose you. More every day. I couldn't bear that thought. I know it's not an excuse, but I want you to know I wasn't pretending to care. I did. I do. I love you, Danielle."

Her eyes go wide.

"You're bright and vibrant and you make me feel bright and vibrant. You turn the world into a beautiful place. A place full of possibilities."

"I love you too."

My limbs go light.

"I… You should have told me, but I understand why you didn't. I understand your impulse. If something happened to Remy… I… I understand." She takes another step toward me. "You meant everything you said?"

"I did."

"And the pictures? Was that for him?"

"I knew it would make him jealous. That was part of it, but it wasn't just him. I wanted the whole fucking world to know someone like you wanted someone like me."

"That's petty, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I felt the same way." She blushes. "I wanted people to know I was with someone so strong and powerful and handsome."

My cheeks flush.

"It wasn't pretend?"

"No. Never."

"You really want me that badly?"

"More."

"You promise?"

"Is a promise from me worth anything?"

She motions a little.

"I promise."

She closes the distance between us. Places her hand on my chest. "I love you, Adam Pierce. There's a lot to figure out, but that… it's so big and bright it takes up all the space in the room. I love you." Her eyes meet mine. "And I really, really need you to fuck me. Please. Adam."

Once again, I'm powerless to resist her request.

Epilogue

Danielle

"Are you sure?" I check the frame again. Soft glow. White cotton. The perfect blue of the New York City sky. The steel and glass skyline.

And Adam, sitting on the bed, waiting for me.

He's already halfway out of his suit. No jacket. No tie. Top two buttons undone. Sleeves rolled to his forearms.

The scars on his chest visible.

Light and faint, but there.

The signs of what he's been through.

Proof he's survived.

"Adam?" I straighten. Look to him without the camera in the way.

His deep blue eyes fix on me.

My body buzzes. Two years and I still buzz when he shoots me that I'm going to fuck you senseless look.

There's no maybe today.

Only the promise he made last night.

We agreed. We try it. On film.

On video.

No cold feet. No last minute no.

The two of us, out of our clothes, in front of the camera. For as long as the, ahem, action lasts.

Then, we watch. And we can say delete it forever or replay it every night.

It's not like this is for public consumption.

Though—

The look on his face right now. The intensity in his eyes, the slight curl of his lips, the light scars on his cheek—

This is my Adam.

I want to take this picture and hold it close forever.

I want to keep it mine.

I want to share it with the world and shout it from the mountaintops.

This beautiful, powerful, vulnerable man is mine.

All mine.

Always.

"I could say anything I want, angel. You're not listening." His voice is light. He's teasing.

"I am too."

"What did I say?"

"You said I'm not listening."

"Before that."

"You didn't say anything."

"Before you asked if I'm sure?" He motions come here.

"It's not on yet."

"Then turn it on."

"You didn't answer the question."

He shakes his head. "I did."

"Okay, yes, before I asked if you're sure—"

"For the fifth time."

"You did say yes."

"Do you think my answer will change?"

"No, I just…" My cheeks flush. My chest too. How is it I'm more nervous than he is? I've been taking naked self-portraits for years. Almost half a decade. And since I met Adam, I've leaned into the eroticism.

But then I'm not in the self-portrait business these days. Not exclusively, at least.

I still post an image as Broken Beauty, of Broken Beauty, once a week.

An explicit one on my website.

A tame one on my social media.

Now, I sell prints. A lot of prints. Liam helped me set it up (after a lecture about how I should have monetized sooner. Under the I don't give a shit veneer, he's a helpful guy. And more practical than he lets on).

Those images make up half my earnings. But I'm behind the camera the rest of the time.

After Adam and I made up, I spent a lot of time photographing him. Myself. The two of us together.

I spent a lot of time in his bed.

Or watching soaps with Remy.

I even dragged Adam on vacation. Yes, we went to a secluded island, not a busy city, but I got him in a swimsuit in public.

Well, a private beach.

Adam Pierce in blue trunks on a sunny beach. The mental image is absurd. And absurdly hot.

For the first time in my life, I had room for myself. Room to play. For six months, I didn't worry about money or food or preparing for my future.