Photo Play - Excerpt One

Photo Play by Pam McKenna

“Darla. Listen.” Kon pressed a palm to his chest. “Do you trust me?”

The look she gave him said, You have got to be kidding.

“I mean as an artist,” he said. “You came to me because I’m the best. You’ve seen my work.”

“How refreshing.” Her tone was arid. “A man with a healthy ego. The changing room?”

“There is no changing room.” Kon spread his arms. “What you see is what you get.”

She huffed out a breath. “Turn around, then. I’ll change… over there.” She nodded toward the far corner of the room where assorted pieces of cloth–drapes, scarves and the like–spilled from a cut-off refrigerator carton. “Better yet, you can hold up one of those drapes–high–to give me some privacy.”

“When I’m going to see you naked anyway? Come on, you can’t be that repressed.”

“Stop saying that. I am not repressed.” Darla’s pants slipped from her fingers and puddled at her feet. She struggled to keep her breasts covered as she bent to pull them up.

“If you say so,” Kon muttered. Obviously Darla Carmody had no inkling of her physical appeal. She was shy. Self-effacing. Vulnerable. Kon knew the type well. He should. He’d married three of them.

Which was why he had no intention of letting this one get close. It was just as well she was engaged.

“And I’m not going to get totally naked for you,” she said.

“It isn’t for me,” he reminded her. “It’s for your fiancé. Are you telling me he hasn’t seen you naked?”

“You know what I mean. Will you–will you just–” Darla emitted a growl of frustration as she tried to refasten her pants while holding up her bra. “Will you at least fasten this thing so I can pull myself together here?”

Kon stepped behind her and took hold of the ends of her bra. The instant she released it, he flicked the ugly thing off her and slingshotted it over her head. Darla grabbed her breasts. The pants fell. Kon seized her around the waist and lifted her as he kicked her pants and sandals halfway across the room.

“How dare you!” she howled, fighting like a tigress against his hold, her back pressed to his front. They stumbled around like that, tripping on electrical cords and nearly knocking over Grandma Drummond’s Victorian piano bench.

Darla wore only that wispy, nearly invisible thong, and the muscles of her ass pummeled his cock as she squirmed and thrashed. Not too shabby as cheap thrills went. Her skin was hot satin. She smelled of vanilla and lavender and woman.

“We don’t have time for garter belts and shit like that.” Kon’s words came in harsh grunts. Her hair whipped his face and caught in his mouth. “Settle down.” If he had an extra few hours to kill, he’d let her do the sexy-lingerie routine, let her gradually get comfortable with the process, and with him, while gently coaxing her toward the full Monty. But time, as they said, was money, and as usual, “they” were right.

“If you’ve seen my work,” he huffed, “then you know I don’t do cheesy lingerie shots.”

“I’m the goddamn. Paying. Customer.” She punctuated her words with blind backward kicks to his shins. “I get to decide.”

Kon hauled her off her feet, inadvertently grabbing a breast as he did so. It was a fine, firm breast and made a more-than-decent handle as he wrestled her crosswise onto the bench, pinning her body with his and shackling her wrists behind her back one-handed.

They remained that way for long seconds, panting from their exertions, her butt angled high and still pressed to what was now a blue-ribbon hard-on. Kon felt his heart pounding–felt her heart pounding, too, against his other hand. He eased his grip on her breast, letting it fill his hand like a ripe, heavy fruit. He weighed the silky flesh, gently stroked and molded it. The nipple pulled into a tight bud, teasing his palm.

Kon sucked in a breath. Darla was still breathing hard, but said nothing. Still holding her wrists, he leaned down and kissed her neck. She trembled. He gave in to the impulse to lightly bite the place he’d kissed.

A ragged whimper issued from her throat. “What are you doing?”

“You’re delicious.” He drew the scent of her deep into his lungs, the perfume of desire she was helpless to suppress. “I can’t resist.”

And he couldn’t. Kon was going to fuck this woman. He was going to take her right there, right then, on Grandma’s piano bench under the blazing lights. His cock was practically bursting out of his pants. Darla Carmody was one of the hottest women he’d ever met, a woman of stunning natural sensuality, and the best part was, she had no clue about this part of her nature.

Which, of course, only made her hotter–to him, at least.