Working It (9 page)

Ben: That was fun.

Me: Yes it was.

I needed to find a way to tell him that wasn’t happening again. I released a heavy exhale and my phone chimed again.

Ben: I want to fuck.

Me: Ben, I don’t do the casual sex thing.

Ben: No worries, doll.

I had no clue how to interpret his last text. Should I not be worried because he didn’t either . . . or because this was just harmless flirting? Get a grip, Em! God, we were coworkers. What had I been thinking shoving my hand down his pants tonight? I didn’t want to sound like a dipstick, but I needed him to understand I was not some hussy he could have his way with.

Me: Tonight was fun, but we’re coworkers, Ben. That can’t happen again. Cool?

Ben: Whatever you want.

His message did nothing to calm my anxieties. What did I want? And why was I suddenly flooded with disappointment?

7

Emmy

By Thursday, I was ready to dropkick Fiona. We’d spent the week prepping for Ben’s upcoming campaign. She had daily meetings to discuss budgeting, location scouting, styling, and storyboarding—all while weighing me down with heaps of Post-its.

I sat at the desk in her suite and she leaned over my shoulder, as if supervising my typing skills was a necessity. I was creating a new portfolio page for Ben that included a couple of his most recent shots. Fiona would share this with the fragrance company that was considering making him their spokesmodel. I opened the photo from his Calvin Klein shoot. Ben was in just his skivvies, a lucky pair of heather-gray boxer briefs that hugged him in all the right places. I reached for the mouse to click to the next photo but Fiona’s talons caught my hand.

“Hold on.” She leaned in closer to the screen.

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye.
Gosh, drool much??
It was Ben in his underpants, so I got it, but sheesh.

“This is a nice one,” I commented, trying to keep my tone neutral.

A slow smile curled Fiona’s mouth upward. “He’s a big boy.” Heat blossomed in my cheeks. Her words were confident, sure, and left me reeling. “Yes, let’s use this one, the one from his Gucci shoot and the
GQ
cover.”

Still speechless, I assembled all the photos into the document. Then I added his height, measurements, and the Status Models logo before printing several color copies. Fiona slid them into her leather portfolio and began packing up her things for her meeting.

I scrubbed a hand across my face. I hadn’t heard from Ben since our encounter in my hotel room and our subsequent texting when I told him that that was a one-time thing. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. Supermodels probably weren’t used to the word
no
.

My last text to him ran through my head on repeat. He seemed to have taken it to heart, but what did I expect? Did I want him to argue with me?
Hold me down and make love to me?
The visual made me shiver.

I checked my phone for messages. Nothing. It was time to get ready for tonight’s cocktail mixer, anyway. I excused myself from Fiona’s room and made my way downstairs to shower, fighting off the feelings of disappointment and hurt.

Ben

I stood under the rough spray of water, letting it wash away the makeup from the shoot. It had been a tiring day. Henri, the photographer, was known for favoring a jumping style in his shoots. He liked to capture his subjects midjump to evoke a sense of movement, so I’d spent several hours leaping into the air, pushing my body into various positions and angles while keeping my face neutral and making sure the clothes and my hair remained in place. Fun times.

The streaming hot water beat against my back, relaxing me, and my thoughts wandered to Emmy. She was proving to be quite the contradiction.

Some girls were model-fuckers—willing to drop their panties as soon as they heard my profession. Others were intimidated and self-conscious, assuming they’d never be good enough to be with a model. Both types annoyed me.

Emmy was neither. Her self-confidence wasn’t as robust as it probably should be; I sensed some of that was from Fiona’s hurled insults. But, mostly, I was attracted to her uncanny ability to keep me guessing.

Since I was pretty sure that fucking me wasn’t number one on her agenda, her behavior confused me. She was flirty and sexy through text, polite and professional at work. Distant, even.

If I had to put my finger on it, I’d say she was most interested in being friends. And while I might have thought having her as a friend was a good idea initially, I didn’t really
have
friends. Certainly not friends I wanted to fuck. Badly.

I’d never had to work to get a girl in my bed. The thought was almost laughable. Almost. If my balls weren’t fucking aching at the thought of waiting, it would be funny. That wouldn’t do. I needed to have her.

After several long minutes, I reluctantly shut off the water and climbed out of the glass-enclosed shower. I wrapped a towel around my hips, tossing another across my shoulders. Emerging into the bedroom, I rubbed the towel across my face but the feeling that I wasn’t alone caused me to pull the towel away. Fiona sat on the edge of my bed with a wide, cocky grin.

“You were brilliant today.” Her eyes traveled down my naked chest before coming to rest on mine.

“Thank you.”

Crossing the room to the bureau, I grabbed a pair of boxers, a T-shirt, and jeans. The sound of Fiona’s soft laughter filled the silence. I pulled the shirt over my head and turned away from her, letting the towel drop to the floor. It wasn’t like Fiona hadn’t seen my bare ass before. I pulled on the boxer briefs and heard her softly padding across the room to stand behind me. Her hands came around my middle, encircling my waist as she pressed her breasts into my back.

“Love,” she whispered. Her voice was a desperate plea, full of longing.

“I’m tired, Fiona.” I removed her hands from where they’d been caressing my abs and turned to face her.

The clouded look in her eyes fell away as she snapped her gaze to mine. “Of course. You worked hard today. Dinner’s on the way and then I can give you a massage after. We’ll see if we can get you to sleep tonight.” She offered a weak smile.

I merely nodded. I’d been hoping to text with Emmy again tonight. Maybe even pay her a visit, see if I could get beyond that exterior she tried to put up. A quick glance past Fiona to the clock told me it was only eight. She should still be up for a while.

A knock at the door broke our eye contact. Fiona let in the room service while I pulled on my jeans.

We sat on my bed and dined, as we had so many times before in cities around the globe. Even the meal was familiar—grilled fish and vegetables, wine and sparkling water. God forbid there be fat or carbs involved.

Fiona’s mouth moved sensually while she ate, gliding over the tines of her fork. Her eyes stayed on mine. She was an attractive woman, despite our sixteen-year age difference, I found her appealing. Then again, I found things to appreciate about all women. Their frilly panties, their little manicured toes, the curve of a lower back, their scent. Yes, I loved women. Just looking at them, admiring them. Maybe it was because of my chosen profession that I was aware of all their beauty.

I’d spent countless hours with my mom’s old issues of
Vogue
and
InStyle
. We’d sit in her big canopied bed on Sunday morning, have breakfast in bed, and flip through every page. As a mom-son bonding experience, it was odd. But it was the one we’d had. She was usually too hung over for breakfast, but she’d sip her coffee and watch me eat and we’d comment on all the looks.

Brunette, blonde, redhead, olive skinned, or freckled, I found beauty in it all. And I didn’t discriminate. Sure, most of my female companions were models, but I attracted more than my fair share of attention from other girls, too. I’d messed around with girls in my teens years, at first a little shy and fumbling, but as I learned their bodies, I grew confident. And after I lost my virginity at eighteen, my sexual appetite increased dramatically. Much to Fiona’s dismay. She regularly reminded me how much my interest in other girls displeased her. And since she was more than just my boss—she was a family friend—I tried my best to keep her happy. I think I’d been blown on every continent as a result. Quick indiscretions were easier. Plus, there was no girl to try to get out of my hotel room later on.

Of course, now just twenty-two, almost twenty-three, I already felt jaded. Being alone was just easier. I’d never had a girlfriend, never really wanted one. And it was clear Fiona wouldn’t take well to the idea. Not that it should bother me, but it did somehow.

We finished our meal and Fiona removed the dishes, setting them outside the door to be picked up later. “Shall I get your pills?” she asked.

“Sure.”

She returned a moment later with the few bottles, shaking the pills out into my hand. No matter how much trouble she was, she really was good to me. I dutifully swallowed down the handful.

“I can rub your back if you like,” Fiona said.

A massage sounded heavenly, but I had other plans tonight. “No, that’s okay.” I didn’t want to straight up ask her to leave, but I wasn’t above doing it if she didn’t take my subtle hints.

Fiona frowned and shifted a step toward the door. “Well, I guess I’ll go then.”

I nodded and walked her to the door. “Night, and thank you for dinner.”

“Of course.”

She kissed both my cheeks before heading out.

It was almost ten and I wondered if Emmy was asleep. She’d said before that I could text her if I couldn’t sleep. I wondered if that offer still stood, since she also told me we needed to keep things professional from now on. Too bad I had no plans of letting that happen.

A few minutes later, I’d brushed and flossed and crawled between the sheets with my phone. Flipping off the bedside lamp, the bluish glow from my phone illuminated the keypad enough to type.

Me: Hey sexy

I hit send and set the phone on my stomach, laying back to stare at the ceiling. I wondered if she’d be bold and return my text. Or if I’d be able to get to sleep tonight. Several long seconds later my phone chimed. The sound made me smile. She wasn’t immune to me, despite what she’d said.

Emmy: Hiiii

I grinned. Already I felt better. I could just hear her sweet southern accent drawing out the greeting. It was crazy how one simple word with several extra vowels could make me so happy.

Me: You’re still up?

Emmy: Nope. Sound asleep. ;)

Smartass. This girl made me smile. She didn’t tiptoe around me because of who I was and I liked that.

Emmy: Can’t sleep?

Me: Not tired yet

Emmy: Did you need something?;)

I smirked. Oh yeah, she wanted it. She might try to deny it and act uninterested, but I knew the truth. I could read her like a book.

Me: Yeah, send me a pic of your tits.

I knew it was crass, but something in me liked taunting her, wanted to see how she’d react. To my surprise, several seconds later a dark, grainy photo appeared. Emmy was dressed in a white tank top that was pulled low on her chest, exposing several inches of creamy smooth cleavage. I wanted to stick my face in between those beauties and smother them with kisses.

Me: Beautiful girl. Looks like you’re lying in bed. Why aren’t you sleeping?

Emmy: I was thinking about you, actually.

Me: Oh really? ;)

I needed to keep the upper hand, get her talking without giving too much away.

Emmy: Yes, and about the other night.

Me: Go on . . .

Emmy: You’re a good kisser.

Me: You’re sexy when you come.

Emmy: Ben . . .

Me: Yes darling?

Emmy: :)

Me: What’s your favorite sexual position?

Emmy: I like to be on top.

Me: Like it deep?

Emmy: Bennn . . .

I could practically hear the whimper in her tone, the way she’d moan my name. I liked it.

Emmy: Are you okay with girl on top?

Me: Yes. As long as you’re facing me so I can look into your eyes while I fuck you.

It’d be more fun to see her reactions in person, to watch her cheeks blossom in pink. To see if she’d look down shyly or be daring and watch me with those pretty gray eyes. Her eyes were so expressive, so open. I’d love to watch the desire overtake her features, to see just how much my words affected her. But for now, I’d have to settle for knowing she was a few floors below me, alone in her hotel room, her heartbeat elevated, and her panties damp.

Emmy: We shouldn’t do this.

Me: No?

Emmy: What’s your favorite?

I actually laughed out loud. One second she was telling me we couldn’t do this, and the next she was asking for my favorite sexual position. I loved how unsure she was. It was actually a turn-on to think I’d have to coax this girl out of her shell. Somehow I knew she’d be worth the effort.

Me: Probably cowgirl too. That way I can see all of the girl and control her body on me. Also it’s also easier for her to go as deep as she can take.

Emmy: Oh . . .

Me: Are you getting wet baby?

Emmy: Yes.

Fuck, that was sexy. Part of me wanted to tell her to rub herself, to get nice and wet for me, but I didn’t want to push her too hard, too fast. I couldn’t have her shutting down on me again.

While I considered what to type next my phone chimed again.

Emmy: You get me soaking wet so fast. Are you hard?

Me: I’m getting there . . .

It wasn’t a lie. She was getting me there. Just the thought of getting in her panties again, touching her soft curves.