‘No!’ trills Sasha. ‘I don’t do porn. I do erotic and boudoir. These will be sensual, non-explicit shots of your faces and upper bodies during the act of love.’
I nearly vomit. The act of love. With his customary presence of mind, Lloyd speaks hastily over my incipient snort.
‘Of course, we understand that. Sophie’s being cheeky.’ He gives my wrist a little tap. ‘Bad Sophie.’
The bastard has me hot again. Fuck him. How dare he?
I move a little closer to him, rumpling the jacket. He reaches an arm behind me, pressing a fingertip to the nape of my neck, a small but devastating connection. I start to believe that I can do this. My breathing deepens.
‘So, I can fold out the couch for you to use,’ suggests Sash. ‘Or I can put cushions on the floor, or in the cupboard I have a sex chair, even a swing …’
‘A swing! Ooh, exciting! Can I see?’
‘I was going to say I don’t really recommend the swing. I have to be seriously on top of my game to get good shots from
it. It’s just so … swingy.’
‘Well, the sex chair then? Lloyd?’
‘Yeah, sex chair sounds interesting.’
‘OK, I’ll get it out. Can I get you two a drink while I set it up?’
‘No,’ says Lloyd. ‘We’ll just get warmed up.’
And, without warning, he tilts my head and swoops down to claim my lips. God knows what happens to his jacket, but we crush it between us, too caught up in arms and legs to care about its pristine creaselessness.
‘So,’ he questions me, between thrusts of tongue, ‘did you come just now? For the camera?’
‘Shut up. You know I did.’
‘I wondered if you would.’ Tongue goes back in, tongue draws back out. ‘But you’re so flushed. I love it when you’re flushed.’ More kissing. ‘I can’t wait to see the pictures.’
‘Who says I’ll show them to you?’
‘Oh, they’ll come to me first. I’m paying for them.’ His leg wedges itself over mine, trapping me underneath it.
‘I hate to think how much they’ll cost.’
‘Hmm, well, yeah, so do I.’ He kisses me again, the longest, dirtiest snog so far. ‘But I’m thinking of it as an investment.’
‘Oh my!’ Sash interrupts us from the centre of the floor. ‘Please come and do that for my camera. You have such chemistry.’
I cast a bleary look over to the chair she has assembled. It’s not what I imagined. For some reason I thought it would be a dungeon fixture with cuffs and stuff – in fact, it is a simple padded S-shape in expensive-looking zebra print leather. It’s almost more a bed than a chair, good and wide and full of possibilities.
‘So this is a sex chair?’ Lloyd rises to his feet, freeing me from my limb bondage.
‘There are various designs,’ says Sash.
‘I know. I haven’t seen this type before though. It looks so comfortable.’
She laughs, patting the padded upholstery. ‘It is. Come and see for yourself.’
She flits back to her camera, preparing for the highlight of the set. ‘So then, Lloyd. Time for your striptease. Now, you’re a male model, you need to bust out the moves.’
He mock-snarls at me and does that whip-cracking belt buckle thing that makes my knees weak. It lands on the floor in a curl of shiny leather, reminding me of all the times I’ve been struck with it.
Once the socks and tie are disposed of, he deals with the trousers, stepping out of them elegantly, then removing his pants so that he stands in only his long white work shirt, open at the collar, linked at the cuffs.