Broken Beast

I took the pictures I wanted to take. I watched the movies I wanted to watch. I fucked my boyfriend the way I wanted to fuck him.

Okay, it's more accurate to say he fucked me.

But that's a minor technicality.

After six months of playing, and taking self-portraits in increasingly exotic locations, I started looking for actual photography work.

Small campaigns at first.

A new lingerie company. An aspiring model who needed images for her portfolio. A bride and groom whose photographer bailed on them last minute.

Then a friend of a friend asked a favor. She wanted pictures for her wife. To surprise her on their one year anniversary.

She wasn't a model. She was a normal woman, with no experience posing, and a lifetime of being told she wasn't perfect.

I had to coax her out of her shell. Make her comfortable in front of the camera.

It wasn't like working with a professional model. It was different. More intimate. More honest.

It took a while to get great images, but we got there, then I selected, edited, showed her the final pictures.

The second she looked at me, I knew. That was what I wanted to do.

Danielle Bellamy, boudoir photographer.

Yes, I shoot a lot of fine art in my free time. I hire models, take beautiful black-and-white images of them, pose questions about the line between art and pornography.

And then I go and work with women who've only posed for selfies, who want images for themselves or their partners, who want to feel glamorous and beautiful.

And I give that to them.

It's an amazing feeling.

"Angel, you're already off somewhere." Adam chuckles. "Do I need to lose another layer?"

"You sound like Liam."

"No. Liam would say, 'do I need to whip it out to get your attention, Danielle? Well, I better try and see how it goes.'" He raises his voice an octave to imitate his brother.

It's dead on.

It's scary.

"Don't do that again," I say. "It's terrifying."

"What are you thinking about?"

"You. Us. The last two years. It's almost our anniversary."

He nods. "Next week."

"We met two years ago. Can you believe that?"

"It's gone fast."

"And we've been through so much. You've been through so much." After we made up, Adam gave me the details about his brother's accident. The foul play he couldn't prove. Not legally.

It made more sense, why he needed to take such drastic measures.

He wanted revenge.

But he knew he had to let go of that to move on.

And he did.

Simon… not so much. I still don't know the aloof older brother that well. He's, well, aloof.

I don't know the details, but I know Simon got his revenge. He's satisfied. The Pierce family is safe.

The other details are his. Maybe the family's.

They're not mine. I don't want them.

I get too protective. If I knew someone wanted to hurt Adam, if I knew every detail of how Fitzgerald hurt Adam—

I'd kill the asshole myself.

I'd do anything to protect him.

And he'd do anything to protect me. Even stupid, reckless things. Especially stupid, reckless things.

"Do I need to whip it out?" he asks.

"Did you just say 'whip it out'?"

"I did."

"Adam Pierce just said 'do I need to whip it out'?"

"You have a problem with that?"

"No." A laugh spills from my lips. "It's just… not very Adam Pierce."

"No." He motions come here again.

"You didn't answer."

"I did."

"Say it again."

He shoots me that really look. The one the entire Pierce family shares. Even Opal, somehow. Even though she didn't know her brothers until she was a teenager.

"Please."

"I'm sure."

"Thank you." I turn the camera on.

"If I have to say it again, I'm not fucking you."

"Now, I want to call your bluff."

"Then do it."

I shake my head. "I can't risk it." I take another step toward him. "You look too yummy like this."

"Like this?"

I nod.

"Which part?"

"Every part."

He taps his bare chest.

I nod.

The forearms.

Again, I nod.

The tie on the bed next to him.

My cheeks flush. "All of it. I told you." My knees brush his. "I love you." I bring my hand to his chin. "So much it hurts sometimes."

"I know."

"You know?"

He nods.

"What happened to 'I love you, too'?"

"Angel, you're too easy."

"Too easy how?"

"To tease."

"This is how you tease me now?"

He pulls me into his lap.

I gasp as I straddle him. "Adam."

"I love you too."

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever doubted it?"

"Never." It's in everything he does. The coffee he fixes me every morning. The look he gives me when I climb out of bed. The way he holds me. The attention he pays as I describe the events of my latest soap. The way he teases.

How can the woman who loves obscure foreign films also love such trashy television?

I feel it more every day.

I love him more every day.

It's scary sometimes. It hurts sometimes. But in a good way. In a really good way.

"Do you?" I ask.

"Do I what, angel?"

"Ever doubt I love you?"

"Love me? Or love me as much as you love photography?"