"You saw the prints at the studio. The nature of my photos. They're not porn, and they're not snapshots from a strip club," he adds, aiming his thumb toward X-tasy. "But there is an edge to them. A raw sensuality I'm trying to convey. Do you get that?"
Once again, I simply nod.
"And that means I need you to wear what I tell you and pose how I direct. Agreed?"
"Of course," I say, a little confused. Because how else would this go down?
"Good. You have to do what I say, Kelsey. Like I said, that's non-negotiable."
"Well, yeah. Isn't that pretty obvious? I mean--"
"In front of the camera," he interrupts. "And in my bed."
I gape at him. "You're joking."
"I assure you I'm not."
"But . . . why?" I don't know what else to ask. More than that, I don't know what to think, what to feel. I know I should slap his face and storm off, but somehow, I can't quite manage.
"Why?" he repeats. "You already know why." He takes a single step closer. "I'm punishing you, Kelsey. Exactly like you said in my studio earlier today.
"I'm punishing you," he repeats, as I stand there mute and confused. "But you can still walk away if you want to. I'm leaving this entirely in your hands. You know my conditions. Now ask yourself what you want. And then ask yourself how much you want it."
He walks to the driver's side, opens the door, then pauses before sliding in. "I'll be in the studio. You've got one hour to make up your mind."
Then he slams the door and starts the car, and I'm left standing like an idiot in the parking lot wondering what just happened--and what on earth I'm going to do next.
11
Twelve years ago
Wyatt watched her, his body tightening with a combination of excitement and nerves, as she continued to unbutton the dress. The style reminded him of one of his grandmother's old movies, with a fitted bodice, a narrow waist, and a skirt that flared.
It suited Kelsey perfectly. Sweetly feminine, but with a definite allure. But right then, what Wyatt liked most of all was how the buttons went all the way from cleavage to hem. Because, holy shit, watching her fingers move over each of the flower-shaped buttons was like watching his most anticipated Christmas present unwrap itself.
Her fingers were at her waist now, so that the bodice of the dress parted in a way that made his jeans feel too tight. She wore a plain white bra that was just about the sexiest thing he'd ever seen, and that included all the lacy bras--and Photoshopped models--in the Victoria's Secret catalog.
But what really made his mouth go dry was the moment when she reached the button at the hem. Because that's when she parted the dress, revealing her perfect dancer's body in that unassuming bra and matching cotton panties.
"You're amazing," he whispered, as she let the dress fall to the floor, then crossed her arms, as if trying to hide. He moved closer, and he could hear the way her breath stuttered as he gently took her wrists and drew her arms away from her body.
She made a little whimpering sound, and he leaned in, quieting her with a kiss. He was afraid she'd be too nervous, but the moment his lips touched hers, he could feel the fire in her. She opened her mouth to him, letting him explore and taste her. And when she tugged her arm free of his grip and slid her hand around to cup the back of his neck, he knew that he'd won her completely.
He kissed her, long and deep, his hands on her shoulders and back as he held her close to him, the pressure of her body against his driving him absolutely completely crazy. "Kelsey." Her name was so sweet. He never wanted to stop saying it. "Kelsey, please."
"I--" She cut herself off with a little swallowing sound, and for a moment he thought his heart had stopped. Then she nodded, and Wyatt knew that it wasn't just Christmas, but also his birthday and Valentine's Day and every other holiday all rolled up together.
"You're perfect," he whispered, as he reached around to unfasten her bra. He felt her stiffen, but then relax as he stroked her skin, sliding the strap down her arm and then pulling the bra free.
He let it drop from his fingers as he reached up to cup her breast, thrilled by the way she moaned and pressed herself into his palm. "Wyatt," she whispered. "I want to, really. But I'm not--"
He couldn't bear to hear the words, and so he closed his mouth against hers again, persuading her with his touch rather than words. He wanted her to melt into him, to let him touch her and explore her. To feel the power that came with making her crazy.
And, yeah, he wanted to be her first.
"Please," he said. "Kelsey, you know we both want to."
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