Dirty Shots by Marissa Farrar

felt as though it wasn’t good enough. He’d study the photographs for hours at a time, scrutinizing every single aspect—depth, composition, light, did he get the position exactly right, could he have done something differently? In the past, he’d repeated photo shoots over and over, wanting to capture precisely the right atmosphere, but he couldn’t do that with Anya, could he? She said she knew who he was, but in truth she only knew the Eric portrayed by the media. She didn’t understand what it was like to be inside his head.
    He took a longer route home, wanting to fill his time before Anya arrived. He eventually reached his apartment, his legs aching after his time in the gym and his long walk, the lean muscles straining and taut beneath his skin. He would fuck Anya and then coax her into his bath, hot water and bubbles hopefully easing both his mind and body.
    Inside his apartment, Eric forced himself to stay away from both his camera and computer, busying himself by making fresh coffee and flicking through the morning’s mail.
    The buzzer sounded, and his heart leapt. She was here. He buzzed her up and then went to his front door, opening it to wait for her. The doors to the elevator slid open, revealing her like some precious pearl inside a shell.
    She walked toward him, a high flush in her creamy cheeks. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” she said, catching him out. She gave him a smile he couldn’t quite read, before brushing past him into the apartment.
    He pushed the door shut behind her. “You do?”
    “I hope you won’t be mad.”
    “I couldn’t be mad with you.”
    She lifted her eyebrows. “Are you sure about that?”
    She crossed the room to his desk, bent over, and pulled her skirt up, revealing a tiny black thong. Something was nestled beneath the thin strip of lace, something silver and shiny. Something he recognized.
    “Anya!”
    She looked over her shoulder at him and wiggled her behind. “You’re not angry, are you? I mean, it’s not like I was stealing it. You said you’d never use the toys on another woman.”
    “No, I ... I hadn’t even noticed it was missing.”
    “I wanted to prepare for you.”
    “For another shoot?”
    “No, Eric. For you.”
    “Oh ...” What she was saying finally sank in. He’d been too preoccupied with what was on his own mind. “Oh!”
    “Why are you still standing there, staring at me? You’re starting to make me nervous.”
    “’Cause I’m a fucking idiot.”
    He stepped toward her, closing the gap. The gorgeous, creamy curves of her bottom and the smooth length of her thighs met his hands first. The heat of her skin against his palms released something that had been wound tightly inside him ever since first thing that morning. He felt himself relax. This was what he had wanted, to lose himself in her, like she was his addiction and sex was the drug. And it seemed she wanted exactly the same thing.
    His cock throbbed, what had already been a semi swelling with blood, becoming hard and thick inside his pants. He stroked her skin, cupping the solid weight of her ass. With one thumb, he hooked the panties to one side while the other trailed down, over the head of the plug. She let out a little moan as he made contact with the toy, and she stepped her feet farther apart. The movement sent the scent of her arousal floating up to his nostrils. He could see the sheen of her cream on the inside of her thighs, the dampness of her panties.
    “I want you inside me,” she said twisting her neck to look back at him again. “I want your cock in my ass.”
    His breathing grew labored, his mouth dry. His fingers moved lower, dipping into the warm, wet heat of her pussy. He knew she was already aroused, but in order to take him the way she wanted, she would need to be as relaxed as possible. He was a lot bigger than either the plug or his fingers.
    Eric pushed two fingers inside her pussy, and her breathing quickened. Her inner muscles clamped around