Challenges, Book 5
by Megan Slayer
Razor’s Edge Press
eBook ISBN: 06803-02190
Dolly makes her living posing for pinup shots. She’s got the look — the tats, the piercings — and can rock a pompadour like a champ. But she’s not a size two. Some guys love a wicked hot challenge.
Note: This title has no chapter breaks. Please enjoy the first scene.
“Make me look beautiful.” Dolly watched her reflection in the mirror as her hairdresser pinned her hair into a roll high on the top of her head. The bright red streaks caught the light as the hairdresser swooped the ebony strands at the back of Dolly’s head over her shoulders in thick curls.
“The new girl in makeup did a great job with my eyeliner. Nice and thick.” Dolly blinked, admiring the way the deep black line swooped along her lash line. The colors the girl had chosen accentuated the green flecks in her brown eyes.
“She did,” the hairdresser replied. “I’m done. Thoughts?” She added a bit more hairspray, then stepped away from Dolly. “The photographer won’t know what hit him.”
“That’s the plan.” Dolly twisted a lock of her hair around her finger. She’d heard plenty about the photographer. Vito Heath, douche bag and all around nasty human being. Once the little shit saw who he’d be working with, he’d run. Or at least she hoped he would. She wasn’t one of the sweet, new girls he loved to prey on. Oh, no. She’d been around the block and warned everyone on the set not to sleep with the jackass. She knew that pain all too well. Fuck ’em, fuck ’em over, then dump ’em like hot lead.
Enter the challenge from Tats Magazine and her agent, Norman. Deal with the photographer and earn the cool ten thousand dollars. Not a bad challenge, but with assholes like Vito things could get tricky fast.
No, she’d win this challenge and then some. She’d do what he asked, with a smile, then leave him begging for more. Always leave them begging for more.
Besides, this wasn’t any photo shoot. The images from the shoot would end up on the Big Jet Movies site along with a thirty-minute clip. Being a fetish model and porn star did have its perks.
“Let’s just hope the guy is hot,” she muttered.
Dolly adjusted the tight corset, then stood. The barely-there shorts dug into her crotch, putting delicious pressure on her pussy. She pressed her thighs together. The makeup artist returned and dusted glitter on her upper body. Under the bright lights, her body shimmered. A couple of the other models strolled past her, making her stomach lurch. The girls, towering, willowy and damned near emaciated things, smirked at her, then left the room.
Dolly suppressed a groan. She loved the way she looked, with lots of curves and an ample chest. “Rock what your momma gave you and take no prisoners,” she murmured, giving herself her usual pep talk. The tattoo of a red bow peeked out from the upper swell of the corset. She picked up a length of wide black ribbon from the costume table and wrapped the ribbon around her neck. The BDSM look added to her overall rugged but sexy exterior.
She teetered out of the makeup room and into the main warehouse. The client had asked for glamour shots with his–or her, Dolly wasn’t sure who the client was –truck. Probably for a magazine. She shrugged and marched toward the late 50s-era vehicle. Just another dick in her pussy… but a job and a paycheck, too.
Instead of the photographer she expected, the man she’d planned to berate, another man turned around. The breath wrenched from her chest. Not Vito… not by a long shot. Damn it. The degree of difficulty on the challenge skyrocketed.
“Who are you?” she snapped. Treat the photographers with too much respect, and they’d walk all over you. Be blunt and they knew where they stood. She rested her hands on her hips. “So?” She dusted her gaze over him. Sculpted muscle was visible through the fabric of the tight T-shirt. The jeans encased his legs like a second skin and offered a tantalizing view of the outline of his cock. His hair swooped over his tanned forehead. She looked into his eyes and immediately regretted it. Blue eyes, the color of icy water, framed by thick black lashes, just like she preferred. Oh hell, she was in trouble.
“You must be Dolly.” He grinned. The damned sexy man had the nerve to grin. “I’m Maximilian, but my friends call me Max. I’d prefer you call me Max, since we’re working together.” He stuck out his hand. “Vito, my older brother, told me about you. In his words, you’re a harpy. You don’t strike me as such.”
“He’s an ass.” She smiled, pouring on the sugar, then strode to the truck. “How exactly do you want me?” She remembered where she’d seen him. He’d done the lighting and cameras for a couple of her other films, but he’d never tried to talk to her. Good thing he’d changed his mind.
Max picked up a thick steel collar. “The client wants you to wear this, but I’d like to grab a couple of shots without it. The dark ribbon is a good contrast against your pale skin.” He nodded to the lighting tech. “Corky, make sure we get Dolly’s best angle.”
“Oh honey, every angle is my best.” So she was laying it on a bit thick. Like she’d ever see Max again. If he was like the other men she worked with, this was a one-and-done situation.
Max leaned in close. “I know,” he whispered. He arranged her beside the truck, leaning over the hood with her best assets on display. He trailed his fingers over her cheek. “I’ve seen you work the sexy angle.” With his lips on her neck, his husky voice vibrated on her skin. “I did the lighting at the industrial shoot.”
Like she could have forgotten that. She shifted her shoulders, showing more of her breasts, and smiled. Max stepped behind the camera, but not fast enough to hide the erection growing behind his zipper. She tried to remember what she’d done for the industrial shoot… half-nude pictures on a forklift and a backhoe. She snorted and fixed her gaze on the legs of the camera tripod. She wasn’t one to mix work and pleasure, but what the hell? The challenge didn’t specify whether or not she could fuck him.
More than two hundred shots and thirty-five poses later, Dolly stood upright. She’d leaned on the truck, rolled on the hood, and showed off pretty much all of her body for the sake of the pictorial. The shorts had ended up in a heap on the floor and she’d eased her breasts out of the corset forty-four pictures ago. She rolled her shoulders. Modeling wasn’t hard, but watching the hunk behind the camera made the shoot a bit more challenging.
Did he mind her tattoos? Were the piercings in her nipples and upper lip a turn off? Was he just looking for a good time? Fuck. She needed to stop over-thinking.