Fake Friends - Saxon James Page 0,53
my memory. I flick through the pile and pause at the one of Circus’s ass. It’s a tease of what he’s hiding under his clothes. “I’m keeping this one,” I tell him as we step into the elevator back to our hotel room.
He laughs. “Oh, honey. There’ll be plenty more where that came from.”
“Meaning …”
“Just wait and see.”
He takes my hand again, and it’s amazing to me how much easier that’s become. To hold hands and hug him to me. To let myself feel that rush of nerves, that sweeping high whenever he’s around.
All the good that’s come from my time with him is making it so hard to believe that loving him could be a bad thing.
“Go and sit on the bed,” he directs as soon as we’re back in our room.
And like every time we’ve taken photos together, I’m obedient.
I kick off my shoes, dump my things on the bedside table, and then sit back against the pillows.
Circus tosses the camera onto the bed beside me.
“The only rule is, no touching.”
“Wha—”
He reaches up and slowly starts to unbutton his shirt. We both watch his long slim fingers as they move, and then Circus glances up and hooks me in his stare. “Are you just going to sit there and look at me? Or are you going to work?”
Work … I look at the camera, and what he’s planning makes sense. This isn’t going to be like any shoot we’ve done before.
I take a deep breath and meet his eyes again. “Keep going.”
Then I start to take photos.
The hint of his chest through his open shirt.
Click.
The bare plains of his back as he lets his shirt slowly slip down his arms.
Click.
That delicious V that curves over his hips and disappears from sight.
Click.
I lick my lips as he exposes more and more skin, pretending as though I’m not here. And he knows how to work the camera. Every angle makes his body look like art, and I’m glad he made the no-touching rule clear, because my hands are itching to reach for him.
He pops the button on his shorts, and I suck in a breath. Hold it. Watch greedily as he turns his back to me again. His thumbs slide under the waistband of his shorts, and he slowly pushes them from his hips and down over his thighs.
I remember to breathe.
To take another photo.
And when Circus turns back to face me, the erection straining at his briefs tells me he’s just as turned on as I am.
He poses a few more times before he gets to work on what I’m waiting for. He runs a hand over his cock, before reaching for his underwear. And when he starts to push them down, he catches my eyes again.
I can’t look away until his eyes fall shut and he straightens, arms hooked over his head and angry red dick on full display.
It’s the first time I’ve seen it properly. Sober. No drunken haze. And I commit the sight to memory before I lift the camera again.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” I breathe. I’m beginning to get concerned I’m going to come in my underwear again. And considering I’m not a teenager anymore, I’d prefer to avoid a repeat performance.
I stand up. “Get on the bed.”
He does as I say, tight body moving so fluidly as he crawls onto the mattress and slides forward to lie on his stomach.
And he better have a shitload of film for this thing because I’m prepared to take photos all night. My breathing is so heavy it fills the otherwise quiet room.
“On your back.”
He rolls over. One arms rests above his head while the other runs slowly from his chest, down his tight stomach to rest on his cock.
“Stroke yourself.”
Seeing him follow every direction I give him is beautiful. I’m so turned on I can barely think straight, and the fly of my jeans is pressing painfully against my dick. I’m a little scared to suggest it, but I need to get naked.
“I want one more, then it’s your turn. Roll back over. Leave your face on the bed, and get up on your knees.”
Heat burns in his expression as he watches me for a second. Then he does exactly as I’ve asked. I watch the deep groove of his spine move sensually as he rolls onto his front, and when he pushes to his knees—
“Holy shit I wanna touch …” I lift the camera, noticing my hands have finally started to shake. But there isn’t an