Scandalous (17 page)

“Just the skirt?”
I asked, suddenly feeling shy. Jack’s eyes pierced me, raking across my body, landing on my face and finally meeting my gaze.

“Just the skirt.”
Stubble lined his jaw, making his eyes appear brighter, bluer. Air rushed out of my
lungs in a shallow gasp. For some reason, doing this in the middle of the day seemed more risqué than doing it in the middle of the night. But the look in his eye told me the skirt was only the beginning.

I came out of the dressing room, my arm covering my chest, as I held up the huge skirt with my other hand, walking toward him. Jack stood next to three open boxes of glittering jewels. When I was close enough to see what they were, my jaw dropped. “Jack, are those real?” Of course they were real. He was rich, but I never seemed to remember that. I saw my high school version of Jack, the boy clad in jeans and Chuck’s. The man worth millions was watching me, grinning at the arm covering my body.

His dark brow arched as he stepped toward me, “As real as you are, but your perfection makes them seem trite.” He reached for my hands, forcing me to reveal myself. The muscles in my arms were tense. There were no midnight hour, sleepy, half-conscious minds making decisions. This time was different. This time I was giving myself to him in way that I hadn’t done before. I knew he wanted me, but I didn’t know how, and the look in his eyes said it would be different. He held me at arm’s length, my hands in his as he parted them, holding my arms away from my body, admiring me. Jack’s hot gaze
slipped over my neck, lingered on my breasts, before dipping to my waist. He released one hand and raised the other. “Spin,” he commanded, passing me under his arm. I spun once slowly, on the ball of my foot feeling like a wanton ballerina, wishing that he’d touch me—but Jack only watched.

His eyes slid over me as I turned, caressing the curves of my body, seeing them in the full light from the window. My heart pounded in my chest. I glanced at the open window, worried. He saw my gaze pass his shoulder and land on the glass. “No one’s here, Abby. It’s private property. Trust me.” My eyes moved back to his face. I nodded once, and didn’t look at the window again.

Jack took a deep breath, smiling to himself. “You are so stunning, so captivatingly beautiful.” He breathed heavily, his eyes growing darker. He blinked once.
Twice.
Forcing away the emotions that were dominating him.
“I’m going to reposition this,” he took a fist full of skirt, tugging it, “and then the jewelry.” I nodded, still feeling exposed, still shocked by how much I wanted him.

Barefoot, I padded behind him to a table filled with brushes, tiny tubes, palettes, and shears. Jack picked up a silver pair of scissors. He gripped my waist, and tugged at the skirt until the slit was in
front—off center—over my leg. He pushed the fabric back, seeing my lack of panties, and smiled. Leaning closer, he kneeled in front of me, pressing his face to my bare skin and inhaled. My fingers found his hair and as I tried to hold him there, but Jack pulled away, his hair getting tugged as he retreated.

Every inch of me was tingling, aching to be touched. Without thinking, I whispered, “You’re making me crazy, Jack.” I breathed deeply, my chest expanding fully as he looked up at me.

“Remember, your promise, Abby.” With that he took the skirt in his hands, and layer by layer hacked into it. When he was done, it looked like a wild animal had eaten the front of the skirt. There wasn’t any fabric left to cover anything below the waist. The remnants of the skirt trailed down behind my waist, covering my butt. I swallowed hard, trying to remain still and silent.

Jack stepped back, his fingers touching his face, arms folded, as he surveyed the new slutty skirt. Hesitating for a moment, he seemed to come to a conclusion. Practically running, Jack bounced over to the storage racks and climbed up. He dug a black piece of satin from one, and a pair of shiny black heels from another. “Size 7?” he asked, before
jumping down. I nodded, frozen. This felt erotic, making me feel vulnerable in a good way.

Jack walked back toward me. It seemed like he deliberately slowed his step. I commented on it, “Less eager now, are we?” My voice had bravado that I didn’t feel. I wondered where it came from, as he walked toward me holding heels that had to be a health hazard. They promised broken ankles and other naughty things that made my cheeks burn.

Jack stopped in his tracks when the rosy glow spread across my body. His eyes slid over me, his hands gripping the shoes tighter, and crushing the scrap of black fabric. He breathed deeply, his chest rising, his eyes focused. “Every time you say something, I have the insatiable urge to sink my fingers into your ass and take you.” My blush deepened as I looked down, trying to hide it. Jack continued to walk toward me, slowly, seductively. My heart beat faster with every step. He looked like he wanted to do those things and more. “Eagerness does not begin to describe what I want to do with you.” He held out the shoes. I reached and took them.

They were black patent. The toe was so pointed, I didn’t know if they’d fit. The heel was at least four inches. I usually wore ballet flats or sandals. I slipped
one on, trying to stand, looking at the other sexy shoe in my hand, “Jack, I don’t know if I can walk in these.”

He grinned, “They’re not for walking, Abby.” I blushed harder. “There’s a reason they’re called fuck-me heels. They’re recreational shoes.” I knew what they were called. I was a minister; I didn’t live in a bubble. I just never owned a pair. There was no reason to, but with the way Jack watched me, I wished I had. I slipped on the second shoe and was lucky I could stand up. My ankles were threatening to wobble, when Jack’s gaze slid over my body, appreciatively. His arms folded across his chest, the curve of his
pecs
outlined perfectly.

I felt such a strange mixture of things as he looked at me, lust and sensuality climbed to the top, crushing the shyness that was dormant beneath. Oh, I wanted him to touch me. I wanted his hands on my body, feeling my curves and not just tracing them with his eyes. Jack crooked a finger at me. “Come here.”

I took a step in the shoes, carefully moving toward him. His eyes locked on my body, my breasts thrust forward, the angle of my butt forced out from the insanely high shoes. I stopped in front of him, willing him to touch me. He lifted his hand, pressing
a single finger to my neck. His skin was warm, barely touching me as he trailed his hand down the curve of my neck, caressing the soft flesh of my breast, and causing me to gasp when he lightly brushed my taut nipple. I glanced up at him in wonder. He made me feel so much, and I wanted more.

“Jack,” I moaned, ready to beg him, but he stopped me.

Smiling softly, eyes full of lust, he said, “Your promise, Abby. Seal those sexy lips before I give you something to suck on.” The seductive threat made a pool of heat shoot straight to my core. His words only made me want him more. The idea of tasting him was beyond appealing, and once he mentioned it, I couldn’t clear the thought from my mind. “Abby. You’re so incredibly hot. The fact that you’re like this and have only been with me makes it hotter.” His gaze rested on my face for a moment. It was like we were both lost all these years and we’d finally found each other. He stepped toward me, gently running his fingers down the side of my face, making my heart pound harder. My eyes closed as he spoke, “You’re mine.” Opening my eyes, I nodded. There was something in his expression, something hotter, more dark and desperate than he seemed a moment ago.
“Last chance to back out.”

I shook my head slowly, “I’m not going anywhere. It’s everything I can do to keep from begging you to touch me. If you blew on me, I swear I’d lose it.” My breath hitched. Jack’s hands moved under the skirt, reaching around to my bare ass, and pulled me against him. The bulge in his pants felt so hard. I wanted to feel him inside me.

“Stop talking, Miss Tyndale. Not a word for the rest of the shoot.” His hands squeezed me hard, before releasing me. He looked down, smiling softly to himself, as I nodded.
Silence.
I could be silent, right?

Jack turned his back and lifted the jewels out of the case. It was a layered pearl necklace – each pearl perfectly round and perfectly black. I eyed the jewelry. Jack brushed my hair aside, lifting the necklace to my throat. It fastened tightly, with multiple rows of pearls hanging down. Each row dipped further and further, finally dipping down between my breasts. The rows were tightly nuzzled, showing little flesh between the perfect pearls.

“This set was made by Tiffany’s—special request. I had a vision of someone wearing it several years ago,” he glanced to the side as he touched the pearls, making me gasp. “A dream, I guess. A beautiful redhead, the girl that haunts me was sitting
at my feet draped in black pearls, half naked.” I started to open my mouth to say something, but he pressed his fingers to my lips. “I swear to God, Abby, if you say another thing I’ll tease you for the next two days and not let you come once.” My shoulders stiffened. That sounded wonderful and horrible at the same time.

He grinned. “Come here,” I stepped toward him. He slipped his hand between my legs, pushing them up, feeling how wet I was. Withdrawing his hand, he locked his eyes with mine. Putting each finger in his mouth, one at a time, he licked me off his fingers. My body was already in overdrive. His fingers touching me made me feel more, want more, but watching him do that—I couldn’t hide how much I liked it. Before I could gasp or anything else, he reached for more jewelry. Another rope of pearls was draped around my waist, and twisting waterfall earrings of a million tiny pearls and diamonds sparkled in my ears. He grazed my breasts, putting them on me, but I remained still and silent, proud of myself. The last piece he pulled from the box was a triple row of tiny pearls strung across a silver chain. I looked at him, wondering where that would go. I was already covered head to toe in pearls.

Jack held the two ends up, showing me a tiny hook. “These are breast jewelry, Abby. They dangle from your nipples.” My jaw dropped slightly. I didn’t see how they attached. Jack saw the question in my eyes. He grabbed me by the waist as I started to step away, stopping me, the rows of pearls sliding beneath his palms. “This is the last piece. The hook is padded with plastic. It slides over your nipples, and clamps on. It’ll feel like me pinching you. It’ll hurt a little, but in a good way.”

I froze, watching his hands move toward me. Part of me was ecstatic, the other part hesitant, but Jack’s hands were on me, pulling my tender flesh softly, teasing me firmer between his fingers melting any remaining reluctance. I gasped, unable to contain myself. At the same time the rush of air came out of my lungs, he fastened one side onto my breast. It pinched tightly, pulling me gently. Jack’s hand started working the other side. Within moments, both hooks were pinched over my sensitive breasts, pulling the nipples with the weight of the chains and pearls.

Jack watched me, darkness glinting in his eyes, hungry. He moved across the room, pulling down a black backdrop from a roll of canvases on one side of the studio. His voice made warmth pool between my legs. “Come.” He pointed to the backdrop.

As I crossed the room, he closed the window shades, sealing out the light. My ankles protested with each step I took in the heels. The beads shook while I walked, the breast jewelry making me moan, shooting hot sparks through all the right places. Jack’s eyes watched me move through the darkness, his hands folded over his chest. He didn’t offer to help, he just gazed, unblinking—his blue eyes dark as sapphires, hot as coals.

I stopped in front of him, standing on the canvas, nearly climaxing from my short walk. Reaching for the nipple chain, he tugged lightly, and breathed, “Not yet, preacher-girl.” I gasped, a rush of air ripping from my throat. The sensations that flooded my body when he pulled the chain and made me tremble.

Jack smiled, enjoying every moment of my exotic agony. “If you’re a very good girl, if you do everything I ask
,
I’ll make sure you feel completely satisfied at the end of the shoot.” My mind felt so drugged with lust that I barely caught what he said. The moment after it registered, I glanced at him. He was holding his camera up.
“Deal?”
I nodded. Hell yes. I would have done anything at that point. Reason was forced out, and only desire for Jack remained.

The poses were sexy at first, mainly because of my outfit—if you could call it that—which I wasn’t sure I could. Being draped in pearls, diamonds, and silver with a skirt that didn’t cover anything wasn’t the kind of wardrobe I would have called an outfit. But Jack’s dark gaze, the want in his eyes as he posed me, as he shot me, made me feel like the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. The first poses I stood with my ankles apart, showing the long lines of my naked legs, facing the camera, hands over my head showcasing the jewelry adorning my body like I was Cinderella going to the exhibitionist’s ball. The shutter snapped again and again. Jack repositioned the poses, moved the lighting. They flashed every time he shot, making me feel more glamorous.

I tried to squeeze my thighs together to help ease the lust that was building beyond control within me. Gravity was pulling on the chains on my breasts, so that even when I didn’t move, the sensations didn’t stop. Jack’s face was hidden behind his camera, concealing his thoughts. Finally, when my knees were pressed so tightly together that my legs were shaking, he said, “Sit, legs apart, arms in front of you like this,” he held out his hands, one wrist touching the other. Slowly, I sank to the floor, closing my eyes, feeling the exquisite sensation tugging on me. My legs
were together off to the side. When I pulled them apart, I went to copy the pose of his arms, but Jack stopped me. Walking over to me, he kept my legs curled to the side, but separated my ankles. “Like that,” he said when he was done, “Now reach for me Abby.” I lifted my arms toward his face, but he smiled, saying, “Reach for me, Abby. Like you want me, like you want to taste me.” My breath caught. My breasts were swollen, wanting his touch, sensitive. When he said those words I froze, staring at his dark jeans, wondering what it would be like. My private parts
tingled
thinking about it. Jack’s voice was firm, “Reach for me, Abby. Reach for me before I tug that chain and make you cry out.”