Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,63

my ticket to the high-society art world.

But damn, did Jonathan look good when he opened the door. And he felt even better.

Thou shalt not sleep with thine art subject, I chanted to myself as I set up for the photo shoot.

“So what am I doing this time?” Jonathan asked. “Fabio? Magic Mike? Borat? I have a lime-green swimsuit I could cut up.”

I wanted him spread out on a white fur rug, the firelight playing all over his muscles.

Make art not sex! Eyes on the scholarship prize!

“Use your imagination,” I said. “Look sexy, like you want people to bust down the door to come get a piece of you.”

“You mean like you did?” he joked. He lounged in front of the Christmas tree, legs splayed slightly, his six-foot-five form draped over the white chair, a Santa hat drooping over his eyes.

To maintain the charade, I had him do a few poses with bottles of alcohol, setting the camera to automatic shutter to take scores of pictures as Jonathan posed and tilted his head this way and that. It still wasn’t exactly what I needed for my art piece, though the photos were hot.

“You sure Instagram is going to let you post these pictures?” he asked with a grin.

“They’re not that sexy,” I told him crossly.

His smile widened. “I bet they’re pretty sexy.” His voice lowered an octave. “But yeah, it’s way sexier when there are two people.” He grabbed my waist, pulling me toward him. I stumbled and half fell into his lap.

One large hand came up to tangle in my hair. The other slowly trailed down my torso. He rubbed a thumb over my pebble-hard nipple. Then his hand slid down to my jeans and slowly unfastened them.

“It’s way sexier,” he said in that deep voice that had me mesmerized, “if one person is completely obsessed with the other, and you see it in the picture.”

He pulled the zipper down; his mouth was inches from mine, his breath cool on my lips.

“When you can see the promise of pleasure on their face,” he continued as he pulled down the jeans to give him enough access, “and then that first crush of pleasure.” He rubbed my clit through the panties.

I whimpered.

“Don’t you want this?” he whispered. “I told you, it doesn’t matter if we don’t like each other. Nothing better than a hate fuck.”

I wanted it. And I was all ready to peel off my pants and press his face to my clit.

However, this time he was the one to pull away.

“But…” Jonathan drawled.

He was too casual compared to me; I felt like I was about to combust.

“As you said, you are working.”

I let out a breath.

He smirked up at me. I didn’t know if I wanted to slap his face or kiss him.

“If you’re not begging for it, then I don’t want it,” he said.

“Smug much?”

“Someone has to be the best,” he said with a laugh. “Did you get all the pictures you need? I’m starving. Since pussy is off the menu, I’ll take that chicken parmesan.”

Morticia: Are all billionaires cocky sociopathic assholes?

Emma: Pretty much. But I hear that makes them really good in bed.

Lilith: Did you see his candy cane?

Morticia: No. I was taking pictures for my art project. Got some for the Insta account too. Sending them over.

I scrolled through the pictures, choosing the ones to send my friends for review. They were spicy for Instagram but too bland for the scholarship submission.

A part of me had wanted to just say fuck it and fuck Jonathan, but he had basically flipped a switch and was refusing to touch me, even though my pussy was throbbing and aching.

“It’s stress,” I growled, gripping the computer mouse.

Before I had left, he had kissed me almost chastely on the neck right where my jaw met my neck.

“Beg me for it,” he had said, “and I’ll give you a magic sleigh ride.”

I should have done it just to get pictures of him sweaty and sated. I bet that would appeal to the judges.

“Oh, fuck!” I said when I reached the last of the pictures. There were a number of them of Jonathan and me with Jonathan’s hand in my panties. I made a move to delete them…except I couldn’t, because they were exactly what I needed for the next part of my art project.

Heart pounding, hoping no one returned, I printed the best one out, carefully cut it, and positioned it on the canvas. It was perfect! Unfortunately, it also showed my face