One Night Of Pure Desire

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nwardly talked to myself as i stood, staring at one of the pic

me too. I only want the best for my friend, just like he does for me. In the past three years Benny has been right there to console me, drink with me, commiserate with me, and ev

in between student loans. And lately I'd been getting offers from other photographers. Benny said to be prepared for more interest

othing in the UK, he knew how to configure a picture. He'd posed me on my back with my head turned to the side, my arm over my breasts and my fingers flared between my legs. He'd wanted my hair splayed out, my legs straight up, and my pussy covered. I'd worn a string thong for the shot, but you couldn't

d his chin on top of my head. "It's smashing isn't it? And you have the most

I turned around and faced him. "So, you sell anyth

ng with Carole Andersen? He's inquired. Seems he's quite taken by your gorgeous naked self. Probably going to go for a good palm session soon as h

d my head and shook it. "It's a damn good thing I love you, Benny Clarkson." Ben could say the crassest thing and manage to make

ou know it. That chap hasn't stopped eyeballing you since you gli

o hell, you know that, don't you?" I snapped at my friend but as I looked over casually and checked out the buyer. Benny was right about him; the guy oozed hotness from the leather soles of his Ferragamos to the tips of his wavy dark hair.

ut the jerking off? No possible way, Benny!" I shook my head slowly.

that was impossible. Wasn't it? He kept staring and I finally had to look down. There was no way I could compete with the level of intensity

ow. And the show is brilliant." I hugged my friend. "And you will be fa

ty, though. It could be years before I got a cab. Should I risk the walk to the closest Underground station? I glanced down at my heels, which looked great paired with my dress but were seriously lacking in the walking comfort department. And if I

eet when i heard the voice. I knew who spoke to me without ever hearing his voice before. I turned slo

ed to his car at the curb, a sleek black Range Rover HSE. The kind that only Brits with mone

lue, very clear and deep. "Yet you call me by name and—

and extended his han

he white cuff framing the gray sleeve of his d

r a nice sum not fifteen minutes ago. And I'm fairly sure I'm not mentally

ssed a firm grip. And hot too. Had I imagined he pulled me a little closer toward him? Or maybe I was the crazy one, because my feet hadn't moved an inch. Those blue eyes w