where the blurred shape stood waiting for her.
Francie asked for a Scotch (Eve's drink—it sounded sophisticated), and while he fixed it, she could feel her eyes getting used to the ordinary fight again.
"How did I do?" she longed to ask, but that wouldn't be cool—better to stay silent and let him make the first move.
He handed her a glass and let his eyes run obviously and openly over her body. She felt herself grow warm. The Scotch warmed her insides, too. He'd made it very strong, and it took a real effort on her part not to grimace over the first swallow.
What a gas, she kept thinking. This dude is a billionaire, and he's in the same room with me, looking at my body. He can't hide the fact that he wants me, either
It was true—there was that familiar look in his eyes now, the look she had seen before in the eyes of other men. He put his hand out and cupped one of her breasts casually, for just an instant.
"Nice. They feel real, too. I don't know how much Jerry's paying you for his pictures, but whatever it is, I'll double it for one special one, just for me. One without the blond wig. You'll be twice as pretty with your dark hair, won't you? I pick the pose, and you get a bonus for being so sexy and cooperative." His eyes crinkled at her, although she could recognize no laughter in their depths. "Are you going to be cooperative, Frances?"
Her breast still felt all warm and tingly from his touch, and the Scotch was making her stomach burn and kind of vibrate in the same way it did when she thought about the four guys in her freshman year who had "initiated" her. Somehow, just the way Brant Newcomb was studying her with those bright blue eyes made her remember all the things they'd done to her—the things they'd made her do for them.
He was waiting for her to answer him, and just then, she felt Jerry come up to stand behind her.
"Looks like you've propositioned her already, Brant. Heck—I haven't had a chance to get my pitch in yet."
"Maybe Frances will give us both a chance. What do you say, baby?"
It was exciting—Francie had never felt more alive than she did now, standing here nude between two guys while they talked about making it with her in such casual, polite voices.
The photography session began again. This time, the pictures were a litde more suggestive, more explicit in what they showed of her. Francie kept wanting to giggle. Wow, if David ever saw one of these pictures! The thought of his reaction, of what he'd do to her afterward, made her whole body glow and get kind of weak. It gave her face a sensual, pouty look that seemed to drive Jerry wild—he kept telling her she was a natural.
When he'd finished what he referred to as the "official picture-taking," Francie went into the bedroom with both Jerry and Brant, pulling off the blond wig as her long dark hair cascaded around her shoulders. She let Brant tumble her on the bed and make it with her while Jerry took more pictures—zooming in for lots of close-ups.
When Brant was through with her, Jerry took his place on the bed, and Brant took the pictures this time. Afterward, they all had drinks and sat together looking at some of the pictures they'd taken with a Polaroid camera. They were wild and pornographic, and they turned Francie on so much that she began clawing at Brant's groin with her hands until he tumbled her down onto the floor and began screwing her again, taking his time this go around, laughing all the while at her eagerness and wildness.
His laughter seemed to mock at her, and she got so mad that she began to bite and claw at him; then he slapped her hard, slapped her coldly again and again until her anger and viciousness subsided and she was clinging to him, begging him in a choked voice to do it to her again, quickly.
"You're one of those, are you, you little hellion? You dig being hurt. Okay, honey, I'm willing to oblige. Sometimes it even turns me on, you know? Especially when I do this to a woman."
"This" turned out
Francie asked for a Scotch (Eve's drink—it sounded sophisticated), and while he fixed it, she could feel her eyes getting used to the ordinary fight again.
"How did I do?" she longed to ask, but that wouldn't be cool—better to stay silent and let him make the first move.
He handed her a glass and let his eyes run obviously and openly over her body. She felt herself grow warm. The Scotch warmed her insides, too. He'd made it very strong, and it took a real effort on her part not to grimace over the first swallow.
What a gas, she kept thinking. This dude is a billionaire, and he's in the same room with me, looking at my body. He can't hide the fact that he wants me, either
It was true—there was that familiar look in his eyes now, the look she had seen before in the eyes of other men. He put his hand out and cupped one of her breasts casually, for just an instant.
"Nice. They feel real, too. I don't know how much Jerry's paying you for his pictures, but whatever it is, I'll double it for one special one, just for me. One without the blond wig. You'll be twice as pretty with your dark hair, won't you? I pick the pose, and you get a bonus for being so sexy and cooperative." His eyes crinkled at her, although she could recognize no laughter in their depths. "Are you going to be cooperative, Frances?"
Her breast still felt all warm and tingly from his touch, and the Scotch was making her stomach burn and kind of vibrate in the same way it did when she thought about the four guys in her freshman year who had "initiated" her. Somehow, just the way Brant Newcomb was studying her with those bright blue eyes made her remember all the things they'd done to her—the things they'd made her do for them.
He was waiting for her to answer him, and just then, she felt Jerry come up to stand behind her.
"Looks like you've propositioned her already, Brant. Heck—I haven't had a chance to get my pitch in yet."
"Maybe Frances will give us both a chance. What do you say, baby?"
It was exciting—Francie had never felt more alive than she did now, standing here nude between two guys while they talked about making it with her in such casual, polite voices.
The photography session began again. This time, the pictures were a litde more suggestive, more explicit in what they showed of her. Francie kept wanting to giggle. Wow, if David ever saw one of these pictures! The thought of his reaction, of what he'd do to her afterward, made her whole body glow and get kind of weak. It gave her face a sensual, pouty look that seemed to drive Jerry wild—he kept telling her she was a natural.
When he'd finished what he referred to as the "official picture-taking," Francie went into the bedroom with both Jerry and Brant, pulling off the blond wig as her long dark hair cascaded around her shoulders. She let Brant tumble her on the bed and make it with her while Jerry took more pictures—zooming in for lots of close-ups.
When Brant was through with her, Jerry took his place on the bed, and Brant took the pictures this time. Afterward, they all had drinks and sat together looking at some of the pictures they'd taken with a Polaroid camera. They were wild and pornographic, and they turned Francie on so much that she began clawing at Brant's groin with her hands until he tumbled her down onto the floor and began screwing her again, taking his time this go around, laughing all the while at her eagerness and wildness.
His laughter seemed to mock at her, and she got so mad that she began to bite and claw at him; then he slapped her hard, slapped her coldly again and again until her anger and viciousness subsided and she was clinging to him, begging him in a choked voice to do it to her again, quickly.
"You're one of those, are you, you little hellion? You dig being hurt. Okay, honey, I'm willing to oblige. Sometimes it even turns me on, you know? Especially when I do this to a woman."
"This" turned out