Friction(42)

“Beautiful.” He snaps the first photo, startling me. “Bloody brilliant.” The camera clicks twice, and when he leans close and I feel his sweet, minty breath on the backs of my hands, my fingers involuntarily spread apart. “Fold those back together for now, love. Like you’re praying.”

“That seems a bit … wrong for what we’re doing?” He kneels in front of me and takes another picture, leaving me momentarily speechless. When he raises his blue irises, daring my hazel eyes, I swallow hard. “Don’t you think?”

“We’re the picture of professionalism, Williams.”

Sure we are. I trace my tongue over my lips, and the muscles in his shoulders strain, but he doesn’t admonish me for accidentally doing the very thing he said drives him crazy. He remains on his knees, his head bent toward the screen on the back of his camera, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Have you…”

“Yes?”

“Do you take photos like this often?” I ask.

“When it’s needed, yes.” He climbs to his feet, and I follow his movements as he saunters around me. He slides onto the bed behind me, and my back arches when he cups the side of my face. “I need you to look straight ahead,” he says, his tone hoarse.

I nod. Because I can’t seem to find my voice.

Static lifts the hairs on my nape as he starts snapping a series of photos over my shoulder. “Most of our clients are visual. They want a clear picture of what they’re getting,” he explains. The mattress dips slightly beneath his weight as he shifts to the other side of my body to capture me from a different angle. “I used to hire an outside photographer to do this sort of thing, but it made me fucking nervous having someone I don’t trust back here.”

“Do you trust anyone?” I murmur, turning my face to the side to look at him.

“Not when it comes to my business, love,” he says without the barest hint of a smile. He brushes his thumb back and forth over the curve of my neck. “Look at the post again, Lucy. Open your fingers wide and bend them outward just a little.”

“Why?”

“Because I fucking asked you to.” He trails his hand from my neck and to my shoulder. “I want you like this because it’s submissive.” His fingers skim down the inside of my arm, hardening my nipples. “Beautiful.”

“Submission is beauty?” I demand, gulping down a moan when he leans over me to pry my fingers apart.

“Sometimes. And sometimes, it’s fucking perfection.”

He doesn’t see the dark glare I shoot his way when he returns to his spot behind me. Staring straight ahead, I realize my fingers are already bowed slightly. Just like he asked. “That’s a good girl,” he croons.

“I hate when you say that,” I say, but it sounds unconvincing and he lets out a wicked laugh that makes my fingers clench even more. He snaps another photo.

“And I hate when you argue, but you do. Now, hush. I know you’re anxious to get back to work.”

Once he’s done, he scoots off the mattress and brings the camera to the edge of the bed, where I’m still linked to one of the posts. Standing over me, he flips through each photo, and I release a relieved breath to find that he’s kept his promise and avoided capturing my face, though other parts of my body are there.

“That’s not what we agreed on,” I say, glancing up from a picture that features the curve of my breasts and the outline of my lips.

“I’ll crop it … for my client.”

“So now that you have what you want, can you undo me so I can get in touch with Allene. I’m anxious to—” When he sinks to his knees by the bed, and I breathe in the scent that trickles over me, I draw in a harsh breath.

He glances up from where he’s starting to unlock the manacles just in time to catch me nervously racing the tip of my tongue over my lips. He freezes, his gaze clashing with mine. “Know what else I fucking hate, love?” As if he’s forgotten all about releasing me, he comes to his feet, giving me a pained look as he wraps my hair around his hand. “When you lick your lips like that. It kills me.”

“Professionalism,” I remind him. “You said it yourself that we’re going to be professionals.”

“I know what I fucking said,” he growls, tugging on my hair as he bends my head to his. “And I’ll say it again, once I’m done.”

The kiss catches me off guard. It’s bruising, almost punishing, as he spreads my lips apart with his tongue. All the frustrations of the last several days filter through me as he kisses me, with one hand buried in my hair and the other gently closed around my neck, and I moan against his mouth. He tastes as good as he smells, and I find myself unable to quit him or this as my bound hands clench and I melt into him.

I like this—the feeling of being tied up with Jace’s mouth and hands claiming me.

No, I love this.

Which scares the hell out of me.

Soft moans of pleasure hum from deep within my core, rippling between our bodies as our mouths devour each other, and I can barely sit up straight when he drops his fingers from my hair and backs away. We stare at each other for a long time, both of us breathless, both of us unblinking, until he breaks the eye contact and unlocks the restraints.

“And this is where we go back to being professional,” he says, his chest heaving. “Where I fucking pretend not to picture that mouth of yours every time I make a goddamn pair of these things.”