standing and extending a hand to her.
She turned to Liam who remained seated. “Go ahead,” he said, smiling. “Luke,” he added as they walked away. Luke turned. “She’s mine.”
“So possessive,” Luke said as he led her inside.
Everything in the apartment seemed to be either black, white, or gray. Elegant wall sconces lit the way through the living room and down the hall.
“This is my work space as well as a small exhibition area,” he said, opening a door and stepping aside for her to enter. She did and her eyes took a moment to adjust to the lighting. It was brighter than the other rooms and the space itself quite large. The area where he worked was clearly marked with a plain white backdrop, several stacks of thick, old books, likely props, a bed with iron head and footboard, his cameras, and lighting. But what caught and held Naia’s attention were the photographs that hung along the walls. They were black and white photographs almost entirely of women and one man: Luke Roark. She walked closer to the first, noticing that he hung back, feeling his eyes on her as she studied his work.
In most of the photos, the women wore black corsets with garters, stockings, and extremely high heels. But it wasn’t the provocative dress that struck her. Nor was it that the women exposed their bare sex to the man in the photos. No, she thought as she wandered from picture to picture, it wasn’t those things at all. It was the artistic quality of the photographs. The fact that even though these were fetish photos depicting women in a submissive role, some even being prepared or waiting for punishment, they didn’t come across as dirty. Just the opposite. They were some of the most beautifully erotic photographs she’d ever seen.
The images were magnificent. One contained a single woman naked but for a fishnet body stocking and high heels. She sat on a stool, legs spread wide, with her back to the camera, her hands clasped behind her back, bound in soft, thick ribbon.
The next was another woman who wore a corset with the breasts cut out, thigh-high stockings and nothing else. She was posed squatting against a wall, eyes closed, knees spread wide as she balanced on her hands and the balls of her feet. Her bare sex was exposed with a mirror set at an angle to display anything the eye couldn’t see from the vantage point of the photographer.
The next, and Naia’s favorite, contained two models. One was the same beautiful woman from the previous photo, on her knees, her legs spread wide, her ass high in the air as her shoulders and face rested on the rich Persian carpet. Behind her stood the photographer himself, dressed in an old-fashioned suit, less the jacket, holding a riding crop ready to strike her upturned bottom. In his other hand he held the thin leather leash that was attached to the collar around her neck.
Arousal warmed her body as she took in the rest of the photos. “They’re… incredible,” she said, unable to take her eyes from them. She wanted to spend hours in this room studying each photograph, the detail in every scene, the raw emotion in Luke’s eyes as he modeled for his own photographs.
“Thank you, Naia. If my brother would allow it, I’d love nothing more than to add you to my library of beauties someday.”
If Liam would allow it. Naia turned, her heartbeat increasing sharply. “I make my own decisions,” she said. “Liam doesn’t dictate what I can and cannot do.”
One side of his mouth went up into a wicked, taunting grin. “Really?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What’s going on?” Liam walked in and came directly to Naia’s side, his hand closing possessively around the back of her neck.
“Nothing, brother,” Luke said. “I was just explaining about the beauty in allowing yourself to be utterly and completely seen and wondering if she’d be interested in posing for me.”
Naia could see from the look on Luke’s face that he was purposely
She turned to Liam who remained seated. “Go ahead,” he said, smiling. “Luke,” he added as they walked away. Luke turned. “She’s mine.”
“So possessive,” Luke said as he led her inside.
Everything in the apartment seemed to be either black, white, or gray. Elegant wall sconces lit the way through the living room and down the hall.
“This is my work space as well as a small exhibition area,” he said, opening a door and stepping aside for her to enter. She did and her eyes took a moment to adjust to the lighting. It was brighter than the other rooms and the space itself quite large. The area where he worked was clearly marked with a plain white backdrop, several stacks of thick, old books, likely props, a bed with iron head and footboard, his cameras, and lighting. But what caught and held Naia’s attention were the photographs that hung along the walls. They were black and white photographs almost entirely of women and one man: Luke Roark. She walked closer to the first, noticing that he hung back, feeling his eyes on her as she studied his work.
In most of the photos, the women wore black corsets with garters, stockings, and extremely high heels. But it wasn’t the provocative dress that struck her. Nor was it that the women exposed their bare sex to the man in the photos. No, she thought as she wandered from picture to picture, it wasn’t those things at all. It was the artistic quality of the photographs. The fact that even though these were fetish photos depicting women in a submissive role, some even being prepared or waiting for punishment, they didn’t come across as dirty. Just the opposite. They were some of the most beautifully erotic photographs she’d ever seen.
The images were magnificent. One contained a single woman naked but for a fishnet body stocking and high heels. She sat on a stool, legs spread wide, with her back to the camera, her hands clasped behind her back, bound in soft, thick ribbon.
The next was another woman who wore a corset with the breasts cut out, thigh-high stockings and nothing else. She was posed squatting against a wall, eyes closed, knees spread wide as she balanced on her hands and the balls of her feet. Her bare sex was exposed with a mirror set at an angle to display anything the eye couldn’t see from the vantage point of the photographer.
The next, and Naia’s favorite, contained two models. One was the same beautiful woman from the previous photo, on her knees, her legs spread wide, her ass high in the air as her shoulders and face rested on the rich Persian carpet. Behind her stood the photographer himself, dressed in an old-fashioned suit, less the jacket, holding a riding crop ready to strike her upturned bottom. In his other hand he held the thin leather leash that was attached to the collar around her neck.
Arousal warmed her body as she took in the rest of the photos. “They’re… incredible,” she said, unable to take her eyes from them. She wanted to spend hours in this room studying each photograph, the detail in every scene, the raw emotion in Luke’s eyes as he modeled for his own photographs.
“Thank you, Naia. If my brother would allow it, I’d love nothing more than to add you to my library of beauties someday.”
If Liam would allow it. Naia turned, her heartbeat increasing sharply. “I make my own decisions,” she said. “Liam doesn’t dictate what I can and cannot do.”
One side of his mouth went up into a wicked, taunting grin. “Really?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What’s going on?” Liam walked in and came directly to Naia’s side, his hand closing possessively around the back of her neck.
“Nothing, brother,” Luke said. “I was just explaining about the beauty in allowing yourself to be utterly and completely seen and wondering if she’d be interested in posing for me.”
Naia could see from the look on Luke’s face that he was purposely
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