Private Shoot

  Private Shoot

  Mina Carter

  New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author

  Copyright © 2019 by Mina Carter

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  Cover Artist: Mina Carter

  Photographer: Pamela Nicole

  IG: femmeartboudoir

  Makeup Artist: Linda Wagner

  IG: makeupbutterfly

  Model: Faith Frisco

  IG: faithfrisco

  FB: https://facebook.com/TheOnlyFaithFrisco/

  Contents

  Private Shoot

  Also by Mina Carter

  About the Author

  Private Shoot

  Drew

  A good hunter never chases. He simply waits for his prey.

  And Amelia Hunter is definitely my prey.

  In my case though, the waiting was easy. I got to lie on a comfortable bed, flexing my muscles occasionally, as the object of my interest moved around me. No, not interest. Prey. She’d been my prey since the moment I saw her. Tiny but curvy with masses of curly hair, she was like a delicate little pixie—one I wanted to pin down and ravish… in the worst possible way.

  I was determined to fuck her. To get her under me and thrust balls deep into her tight little pussy. Claim it. Own it.

  Own her.

  Just the thought had my blood racing and I breathed deeply, keeping my cock under control, flaccid against my leg. Tenting the sheets right then was not in the fucking cards.

  I’m good with women, believe me. I’m Drew fucking Callahan… international model, actor, rock star, playboy… there isn’t a woman on the planet I can’t seduce.

  Did I say seduce? Half the time there wasn't any need for any seduction on my part. Chicks screamed when I walked by and threw their panties at me…I didn’t need to lift a finger. I didn’t need to do much other than smile and my bed was filled each night with a different beauty.

  Apart from Amelia.

  She seemed immune to my looks, my charm, and it was frustrating as fuck. When they'd told me they had a new female photographer in for the Jenaris aftershave campaign, I'd immediately formed a mental image of what Ms. Hunter would look like.

  She’d be old, I’d decided. Most photographers were, especially the ones brought in to shoot me. Not being arrogant, but I’m hot property… my manager didn’t let just anyone near me with a camera. So Ms. Hunter was good at what she did, and to get to that level took years. Usually…

  But Amelia was not the dried up old harridan I’d imagined, with sensible slacks and flat shoes. Instead, she was small with dark curls and skinny jeans that clung to her generous curves like a lover. Especially when she bent over right in front of me to change lenses.

  I’d never wanted to be denim as much in my life. How the mighty had fallen… I was jealous of a fucking pair of jeans. I wanted to rip the fucking things off her and run my hands over her curves instead.

  Her camera was in her hand all the time and she barely seemed to be paying attention to me as she altered the settings on the studio lights surrounding the bed. Big fucking blow to my ego, let me tell you… how could any red-blooded woman pay more attention to freaking lights than all this lying on the bed? Ignore me?

  I scowled at the lights when she wasn't looking. Without them, I could almost believe we were somewhere else. Somewhere not in a studio. Somewhere I’d rather be… like her bedroom.

  My cock, hidden beneath the sheet draped precariously across my lap, jerked at the thought, and it took everything I had to keep it under control. What would her bedroom look like? Fuck… I held my breath as she emerged from behind the lights again and nearly caught my tent-pole dick turning the sheet into a teepee. No thinking about her bedroom. It would get me into trouble for sure… and not the sort of down and dirty trouble I wanted to get into with her.

  “Hold that expression. That’s amazing!” she ordered, her soft voice holding a whip of command I instinctively railed against. I should be the one giving orders to her… not the other way around.

  Just give me a little sign you’re interested, sweetheart, I urged silently as I alternated scowling and pouting at the camera. For each shot I tensed my abs, but it was less about the shot she was getting—I really didn’t give a fuck what images she got—and way more about having her eyes on me. Showing off my body.

  Come on… you’re interested. You know you are…

  Each time her lips pursed as she studied me, my blood heated. I knew she was looking for that perfect shot for the campaign, but all I could imagine was those pretty little lips wrapped around my dick. Her hot, wet mouth sucking me off as I slid my hands through her hair… holding her still as I fucked her mouth.

  She’d be a swallower, I decided in my fantasy world… but I wouldn’t give that to her just yet. No, I had other plans for my curvy little Amelia, and they involved me coming deep in her tight little pussy. Then… other places.

  “No, that’s not working,” she pronounced, standing as she looked at the images on the back of her camera critically. I wanted to tear the damn thing from her hand and throw it across the room… pull her down onto the bed with me.

  “I’m struggling with this one,” I kept my voice low and persuasive. She was like a woodland creature, wary as hell. One wrong move and she’d be off. Gone before I could get a hand, or anything else, on—or in—her.

  “Perhaps if you could show me what pose you want? Hop up here on the bed… it always works better for me if I see what you need.”

  I held my breath as she flicked a glance up at me, bright blue eyes spearing through me like she could see right down to my soul. I shivered and thrust the thought away. I was just here for the sex, not the whole soul-baring shit. Just sex.

  Then she cocked an eyebrow. “Really? Does that line work often?”

  * * *

  Amelia

  * * *

  Drew Callahan was an utter dick.

  A fucking handsome as hell, sex on freaking legs dick… but a dick all the same.

  I was supposed to be here in a professional capacity. Supposed to be working. But I had to keep checking I wasn’t freaking drooling. I mean… have you seen this guy? Usually plastered over the covers of all the glossies… he’s every red-blooded woman’s dream man. Come to bed eyes, a face that would tempt a nun into fucking sin and a body… shit, my hands hadn’t stopped shaking since I bloody got here. How the hell was I supposed to get decent images when he looked at me that way?

  Perhaps I could blame it on equipment malfunction…

  He smirked, just for a fraction of a second before plastering an innocent expression across his face that would rival a saint. But it didn’t matter. I’d seen the darkness and heat in the backs of his eyes before he did. Besides, I’ve got nieces and nephews… they pull the same look and I know they’re little fucking demons most of the time. Shit like that doesn’t wash with me.

  “You think it’s a line… I’m wounded,” he pressed his hand against his chest dramatically. The tiny brush of his fingers against the solidly muscled expanse drew my eyes and I shivered. Thank fuck I have a good poker face. I don’t think he noticed as I gave him my best schoolmarm look.

  “Wounded or not, I don’t touch models. It’s not professional,” I told him primly, even though I wanted nothing more than to crawl on that damn bed and get all up close and personal with that gorgeous body. Sure, he was a dick and his conquests were legendary—I had no intention of ending up a notch on his bedpost—but fuck, it was hard explaining that
to my exploding ovaries who wanted nothing more than a lot of what that dark look in his eyes was offering.

  He’s supposed to be a god in bed… the little voice in my head pointed out. Not helpful. Not fucking helpful at all. My love life wasn’t just in a dry spell. It was in full-on post-apocalyptic desert planet mode.

  His expression didn’t change as he slid across the bed to the edge, a wave of his hand indicating the clear spot in the middle. He didn’t say anything but his gaze didn’t leave mine. The meaning was obvious. I didn’t have to touch him.

  Bollocks. Just like that he blew my argument out of the water.

  “Oh that’ll do no good. I’m not a model. I couldn’t pose to save my life.” I laughed, trying for self-assured but the sound emerged breathy and unsure, revealing my nerves. I could, I modeled on the side, but he didn’t need to know that. I certainly wasn’t in his league in front of the camera. I mostly did it for the confidence boost and to help friends out when they needed someone to pose while they played with lights.

  “Just show me what you want me to do,” he said, his voice practically dripping sex.

  I froze, tempted to reply with something so inappropriate it would get me sacked from the campaign on the spot. I didn’t need this job, not really… I made a good living, one I was proud of… but it could give me that one shot that would set me up for life.

  “Amelia, get on the bed.”

  Before I realized it, the subtle command in his voice had me putting down my camera and taking a step toward the bed. I always kicked off my shoes before starting to shoot so I didn’t need to worry about them. But all of a sudden, the fact that my feet were bare, revealing bright pink toenails, seemed too much. Too revealing. Like I was crawling onto the bed in my damn underwear…

  I flopped down with the least grace I could muster. I couldn’t do sexy at the best of times so there was no point in trying. Instead, I went for the humor angle. Wriggling on my back a little, as though getting comfortable, I did my best impression of a man pose, pushing my lips out into a duck face.

  “What the fuck is that?” Drew burst out into laughter, and I slid my gaze sideways to find him in stitches. It was a real smile, not the practiced one he’d been treating me to so far and… fuck me, I had to suck in a breath quickly as my ovaries went into meltdown.

  “That’s my sexy pose,” I said, grinning up at him as he lifted on one arm.

  By the time I realized what he was up to, it was too late. He rolled over and I was trapped beneath him, his hands planted either side of my head on the pillow. My breath died in my throat as his gaze locked with mine, the heat in his searing me down to the bone.

  “That’s better,” he murmured, bending his head to run his lips just over the skin at the side of my neck.

  Instinctively my hands pressed against his chest and upper arm. Whether it was to push him away or pull him closer I don’t know. My brain short-circuited halfway through the movement. Instead of doing either, I just clung to him. The feeling of solid muscles and warm, satin skin under my hands conspired with the scent of aftershave and warm man to undo my defenses… Ha, defenses? Who was I kidding… they’d been shattered the instant he got me under him. Now all I could think about was what came next.

  “The cameras…” I whispered in a weak argument he completely ignored.

  “They’re not on,” his voice was low by my ear, his lips almost brushing against my earlobe. My eyes fluttered closed, a shiver rocking down my spine as I fought back a whimper. “Can’t have any rabid fans getting a sneaky show for free. Now can we?”

  Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. Most studios had cameras to protect their models. I’d never even thought of them being used that way… but then I didn’t inhabit the same world he did.

  “Don’t worry. No one will see.” His voice was soothing. Seductive. “Tell me you want this… Or tell me to stop if you want. No harm, no foul.”

  He hadn’t touched me. But god I wanted him to, really wanted him to.

  * * *

  Drew

  * * *

  God, she was gorgeous.

  Not like the women I usually met, all primped and preened to within an inch of their lives—false tits, eyelashes, nails. Half of them had so many extensions you couldn’t touch their damn hair. No way could you run your hands through it, or grip it in your fist without it coming out. There was nothing real about them. Fake women for the fake lives they claimed to lead on social media. It drove me fucking mad.

  Amelia was different.

  I’d known that from the moment I met her. Her hair was short and curled around her neck in soft waves. It was real, not extended or messed about with, and my fingers itched to stroke through the soft strands.

  She wasn’t plastered in makeup. Her skin was soft and dewy. She had makeup on, yes, but it was subtle, just enough to enhance her eyes. Not airbrush perfect, but that hit me harder than if she’d sat in the makeup artist’s chair for hours before I’d arrived.

  She was real. And I wanted her like I’d never wanted a woman before.

  “We could have our own private shoot,” I murmured, still braced above her. “Right here, right now… what do you say, sweetheart?”

  She was so tiny I didn’t want to hurt her… or rather, I did, in the worst possible way. I wanted to rip those fucking jeans from her, spread her pretty thighs and bury myself so deep in her tight little pussy she’d feel me for weeks.

  My dick jerked in response, signaling its approval of the idea, and this time I didn’t bother to stop it. She hadn’t realized I was naked above her. Yet.

  God, I couldn’t wait to see her face when she did.

  She was still touching me, just, her hands flat against my skin, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. Needed to feel those delicate little hands smoothing over my skin. She’d probably be a little shy, her hands hesitant as they moved over my chest and down over my abs… then further south. The idea of her hands wrapped around my cock almost made me lose it there and then.

  “We shouldn’t…” Her fingers flexed against my skin and I bit back a groan. That wasn’t a no… not anywhere close. That was an opening I could use.

  “But you want to. Don’t you?” I whispered as I bent my head, almost but not quite brushing my lips against hers.

  The tiny little catch in her breathing was the cue I’d been waiting for. The confirmation she was into this, into me. She was good. Better than good. I’d never met a woman who could hide her reaction to me so well, but that little hitch… no one could fake that.

  She didn’t reply, frozen in place beneath me. I teased her, almost but not quite brushing her lips with mine until she began to follow—a subconscious reaction as she anticipated the kiss I was denying her.

  “You do. Don’t you?” I held still, my words soft and intimate. Just between the two of us. My voice hardened into a command, “Kiss me, Amelia.”

  For a long moment I thought she was going to refuse. My cock—every predatory male instinct within me—screamed to just kiss her within an inch of her life. Kiss her until she agreed to anything I wanted. I could do that, sure, but that wasn’t the point. I wanted her to come to me.

  I wanted her to make the decision to give herself up to me.

  I wouldn’t accept anything less.

  I wanted that surrender from her.

  “Amelia.”

  My voice held an edge of command, rough and raw. She moved finally, lifting her chin just enough that our lips connected. Just connected, nothing more, but I felt like I’d been electrocuted. A bolt of heat and awareness shot through me, from my lips right down to my dick.

  But she didn’t stop there as I expected. Her lips moved against mine, slanted a little as she kissed me again, exploring my lips with her own. I held myself still, letting her think she was in charge… for a while at least. Because it was so damn cute. But not fluffy kitten cute, seriously sexy cute.

  Then I felt it. The tiniest brush of her tongue against my lower lip. The g
rowl that slipped from my throat was totally instinctive and then I kissed her.

  But it was nothing like the soft kisses she’d been giving me. Instead, I drove a big hand into her hair, holding her head still as I claimed her lips. Mine crashed down over hers, parting them with one hard sweep of my tongue. She didn’t protest, opening up for me instantly, and I drove within to taste the soft heat beyond her lips.

  I groaned at the sensation. Lust hit me broadside, filling my veins and nearly overriding every other thought. What I’d planned as a careful seduction of her senses turned into pure heat and need as I took her lips like a starving man at a banquet. I couldn’t get enough.

  Each hot, deep kiss only stoked the fire in my blood and I dropped lower over her, using my bigger body to pin her to the bed. My knee found its way between hers, pushing her legs apart as I forced her to tilt her head up to a better angle for me to ravage her lips. She didn’t fight me, surrendering with a soft whimper that did nothing to appease the savage male animal inside me. Instead of being placated by her submission, it simply roared and demanded more.

  “You taste fantastic,” I pulled back enough to whisper against her lips, barely recognizing my own voice. “Soft and sweet. So sexy.”

  Before she could answer, I kissed her again, breaking away to kiss along her upturned jaw. Letting go of her hair, I slid my arm under her neck, bracing myself and holding her still at the same time as my other hand slid down her side. I ignored the fact it shook as I yanked her shirt free of her jeans, a moan in the back of my throat as I shoved my hand beneath the fabric and found the silkiest skin I’d ever touched.

  God, did she feel like this all over? The big vein in my dick pulsed, the shaft jerking in need. So close. All that separated it from being where I wanted to be was two simple layers of fabric. Breath rasping in my throat, I nipped the soft skin at the side of her neck and pulled at her belt.