Changing Teams (11 page)

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“I do,” I replied. Right then, I trusted Sam more than anyone else in my life.

He nodded, formulating what he’d say next. “Will you pose for me without the dress?”

The request intrigued more than shocked me. “I’m not wearing a bra.”

He swallowed. “Is that a no?”

“No, it’s not.” I stood, and turned my back to him. “Unzip me?”

I heard him set his camera down on the counter, then I felt his hands trembling as he pulled down my zipper. Once I had stepped out of the dress and set it on the counter, I asked, “What about the boots?”

“Leave them on for now.”

I did, and resumed straddling the wooden chair. Sam looked at me for a moment, then he darted into his bathroom, emerging with a brush. He went to work on my hair, carefully smoothing down any flyaway strands. Having Sam tend to my hair was pure luxury, so much so I closed my eyes. Once he’d arranged my hair so it was hanging down either side of my neck and hiding my breasts, he grabbed his camera and sat on the floor in front of me.

“Give me sexy, baby,” he said as he snapped away. “You’re the sexiest woman in the world. Show me. Show everyone.”

Sam stood and moved back from me, presumably so he could fit the boots into the shot. I tossed my hair over my shoulders, baring my breasts. Behind the camera, Sam grinned. “That’s it, baby. Show me how hot you are.” After a few more clicks, he asked, “How do you feel about losing the boots and getting up on the table?”

I unzipped one boot and then the other, and extended my legs toward Sam. He reached forward and liberated my feet from first the right, then the left boot. Once that was done I hopped up on the table. “Lay on your belly,” Sam instructed. I did, and arranged my hair so it was falling past the edge of the table like a pale brown waterfall. He took a few shots, then said, “Hands and knees.”

I did as instructed, rising up on my knees with my breasts in full view of the lens. After a few shots I rolled over and leaned back on my hands and stretched out the plane of my belly, my hair pooling on the table behind me. Sam took a final shot, then he put down his camera and stood between my legs.

“I’m taking you to bed,” he rasped, his hands under my butt as he lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, and let him take me.

“Gonna take my picture there?” I whispered, my mouth against his ear. I felt his face stretch into a smile, then his hands were at my lower back as he unzipped my hot pants. Sam dropped me on his bed, then he retrieved his camera from the kitchen.

“You know, I think I will take a few pictures.”

Sam got on the bed and stood over me, a foot on either side of my hips as he immortalized the moment. I arched my back for him, enjoying the sight of the bulge in his jeans. I worked my hot pants lower, exposing the lacy pink thong I wore beneath.

“Off,” Sam grunted. I slipped off the hot pants and tossed them into a corner. “That too,” he said, jerking his chin toward my thong.

I wiggled out of my thong, then Sam grabbed it and flung it aside. Sam took one last picture of me lying naked in his bed, then he set his camera on his dresser and pulled his shirt over his head as he kicked off his boots. When he shoved down his jeans his cock sprang out; if anything, it seemed bigger than it had that night in my apartment. Then Sam was kneeling above me, taking me in his arms.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said.

“I don’t want you to stop,” I said, then I pulled him down and kissed him. He nibbled my lower lip before delving into my mouth, stroking his tongue against mine while his hand massaged my breast. I slid my hands down his back, feeling his smooth skin and hard muscles, my hands coming to rest on his butt. God, my hands on that butt was probably the closest I’d ever get to touching perfection.

Eventually Sam broke our kiss, wending his way down my neck and to my breasts with his mouth. I cried out when he took one in his mouth, his callused hand kneading the other. He bit down on my nipple, then rolled the nub between his tongue and lips. I nearly died from pleasure.

“Is this going to be like the last time?” I asked. “Just making out?”

Sam kissed me between my breasts, then he moved back up my body until his face was directly above mine. “I want to do so much more than make out with you,” he murmured, then he pressed his forehead against mine and swore. “I don’t have any condoms. Well, I do, but they’re old.”

“How old?” I asked. Did the age of the condom matter? Do condoms go bad? Honestly, I had no idea, further evidence of my epic dry spell.

“Real old,” Sam replied. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s all right,” I said, leaving off how I hadn’t had sex for so long my hymen might have regrown. Okay, I knew that wasn’t possible, but it sure felt possible. As much as I wanted Sam in every way imaginable, I was okay with not going all the way just yet.

“I know how you don’t think things counts unless there’s penetration,” Sam said, stroking his fingertips down my side, his hand coming to rest on my hip. “I just want to make you feel good, baby.”

“Well, I’m right here,” I said, my fingers dancing across his chest. “Give it your best shot.”

He rested his head on one of his hands, while the other stroked down my body, teasing my breasts, my belly, before coming to rest at the apex of my thighs. Sam nudged my legs apart, his fingers tormenting me with long, gentle strokes. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it any longer he slid a finger inside me. I gasped, shocked and startled and completely on board with this plan.

“Is that too much?” he asked.

“No,” I said, pressing my hips against his hand. “More.”

Sam obliged and slipped a second finger inside, strumming me like I was a guitar. Did Sam even know how to play guitar? I bet he was a master at it. If I’d thought masturbating while Sam jerked off above me was hot, having Sam’s fingers inside me was nuclear. His free arm snaked around my shoulder, my breasts pressing against his chest as his hand moved faster. Then the room spun and I came hard, biting down on Sam’s shoulder as I moaned his name.

“Was that good, darlin’?” Sam asked.

“It was fucking awesome,” I breathed. “Sorry about your shoulder.”

He shrugged. “It was worth it.” Sam withdrew his fingers and squeezed my hip. “So, did that count?”

“You know it did.” I pushed him onto his back. “Time for you to have something that counts.”

I threw a leg over his hips and kissed my way down his body, ignoring his protests as I took his cock in my mouth. His skin was hot and smooth, like superheated silk that I couldn’t get enough of. I sucked it just like Sam had sucked on my tongue, massaging him with my mouth as he writhed and clutched the sheets beneath me. He came even faster than I had, filling my mouth with salty liquid.

When Sam came it was everything and yet nothing, as if I’d somehow transcended the physical and only wished for his happiness. I remembered how happy Sam had just made me and grinned. I know, it made even less sense than a straight girl going to bed with a gay man, but Sam made me feel good; no, I felt better than good. With him, I felt like I belonged.

I kissed my way up Sam’s body, across his belly and his smooth chest, the return trip just as wonderful as the first. When I was at eye level with him, I propped myself up on an elbow and asked, “Did that count?”

“God, did it ever.” Sam rolled me onto my back and kissed me hard. “I don’t ever want to let you out of this bed.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

***

The sound of running water woke me, and I realized I was alone in Sam’s bed. I deduced that the noise was the shower. I know, I’m like Sherlock. Remembering the fun we’d had the last time we showered together, I slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom. What I saw made my heart fall to the floor.

Sam was standing under the spray with his back to me, shoulders hunched and shaking. He was crying.

A hot tear slipped down my cheek; in my quest to prove that Sam was bi rather than gay, had I forced him to do something with a woman he never would have done otherwise? Was I a sick fuck like Ben?

No, going to bed had been Sam’s idea, just like he’d been the one to crawl in bed with me back at my apartment. Whatever had upset him, it wasn’t me. I hoped.

I stepped into the shower and wrapped my arms around Sam’s waist. “What’s wrong?” When he didn’t respond, I asked, “Is it what we did?”

“No, baby, no,” he said, turning around and taking me in his arms. “Being with you was wonderful. Perfect.” He tightened his hold on me, and added, “I meant what I said. I never want to let you go.”

My heart did a little somersault at that. “But you’re crying.”

“I have these dreams sometimes. Nightmares really,” he admitted.

“Do you have them often?”

“Ever since I was a kid.” He pressed his face against my hair. “No matter how many times I have them, they always wreck me. I’m sorry I woke you, baby; I came in here so I wouldn’t disturb you.”

“If you’re upset, I want you to disturb me.” I pressed my cheek against Sam’s chest, hot water streaming down my face as I felt his heart hammering away. “You had one last night, didn’t you? That was why you went running.” When he nodded, I backed up and placed a hand on either side of his face. “If this happens again, I don’t want you away running from me. I want you to roll over and wake me up. We can face these demons together.”

Sam smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “What if you’re not there?”

I smiled tightly, happy that he needed me but sad over the reason. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter Twelve

Sam

Thursday morning found me waking up with the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen lying next to me, and me grinning like a fool. Had I been smiling in my sleep? I supposed I had.

A fella could get used to this.

Since Britt was still asleep, I took the time to study her features. She looked younger without her makeup, more like a sweet, innocent angel than the woman who’d posed topless on my kitchen table. I glided my thumb across her cheek, then I rubbed it across her bottom lip, remembering the sight of those pink lips wrapped around my cock.

On second thought, I don’t think I’d ever get used to life being this good.

I tugged down the blanket, baring Britt to her waist. Britt’s breasts were just about the best looking things I’d ever seen, and I could easily while away the hours staring at them. However, the lack of coverings on Britt’s torso chilled her, and she stirred.

“Sam?” she mumbled. “Why so cold?”

“Sorry, baby,” I said, tucking the blanket up under her chin. “That better?”

“Mm hm.”

I took that as a yes, and pulled her flush against me. “What’s on your agenda today?”

“Agenda?” she repeated, cracking an eyelid. “You make all the running around I do sound so formal.”

“So you are awake,” I said, nuzzling her neck.

“I was enjoying snuggles. Sue me.” She stretched her neck for more nuzzling, her long legs tangling with mine.

“You know what I love about you?” I asked, rubbing my foot up and down her calf.

“Only one thing?” she countered.

“Maybe two or three things.” We laughed, then I said, “Your height. You’re so damn tall, with these legs that go on for miles.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I was short?” she asked.

“I’d love you if you were a midget,” I replied, then I kissed her to stop all that crazy talk. As if Britt was going to shrink or something. When we parted, I said, “You didn’t answer me. You working today?”

“Yeah, I have to finish up that catalog shoot. You?”

“I’m scheduled to be at the studio at twelve.” I glanced at the clock, and saw that it was just past nine. “Up and at ’em, darlin’, I’d best be getting you home.”

We got ourselves together, and somehow Britt made catching a cab before ten in the morning in a party dress casually elegant rather than a walk of shame. It didn’t hurt that she looked fantastic.

When the cab pulled up in front of Britt’s building, I squeezed her hand. I hadn’t let go of her since we’d gotten in the cab. “I’ll call you when we finish up tonight,” I promised.

“Same here,” Britt said, then she kissed me on the mouth. “Promise me you’ll miss me today.”

“Miss you already, baby.”

Britt smiled and exited the cab. As I watched her enter her building, I realized that after we’d gone to bed the second time, I hadn’t had the nightmares. Maybe Britt really was an angel. Scratch that, she was
my
angel. I just needed to figure out how to keep her.

***

I stopped for some coffee, which didn’t taste half as good as Britt’s, and an egg sandwich, and got to Nash’s studio with thirty minutes to spare. I found the genius himself sitting behind his desk, going over some shots from the last session.

“Morning,” I greeted. I sat at my own desk and pulled out my laptop. “What’s the good word, Nash?”

“Many good words, my friend, many indeed,” he replied. “Have you heard back from the Sullivan girl about those test shots for the harem series?”

“You know, I haven’t,” I said, thinking about the nude images of Britt sitting in my camera at home. I drank some more coffee, all the while hoping the cup camouflaged my grin.

“That so,” Nash said. “Have you checked out
If The Shoe Fits
yet today?”

“You know I don’t follow that trash,” I said.
If The Shoe Fits
was a website that purported to follow the fashion and arts community, but really served as a who’s dating whom site and to pick apart people’s wardrobe choices. I had so many better things to do with my time than worry about who wore what designer to which event.

“When you have a second, have a look at today’s headlines,” Nash said. “I think you’ll find them interesting.”

“Will do,” I said, calling up
The New York Times
instead. I skimmed the actual news, my gaze catching on a picture of two sisters who had been missing for almost a week. They’d been found in a motel room, high out of their minds on so many different drugs it was a miracle they hadn’t overdosed themselves. When questioned as to their whereabouts for the past few days, the girls had rambled on about a man who’d spirited them away, fed them all kinds of candy, and transformed them into princesses.

“I’ll have what they’re having,” I muttered. I studied the image of the rescued girls for a moment; they seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place them. After deciding that I recognized them from other news reports, I checked Saturday’s weather forecast; looked like Britt’s cousin would have sunshine and rainbows for her wedding, which was what every bride deserved.

I checked my email, then I got to wondering what Nash had found so all fired interesting on that lame gossip site. Figuring that it might be a piece about Michael’s opening, I called up
If The Shoe Fits
. Then I swore.

“Great angle, huh?” Nash called over.

“Yeah.” There sure was a piece about Michael’s opening, and the top picture was of me punching Ben square in the nose, and Britt standing behind us looking horrified. The headline was even worse:

Man Gets Nose Re-Sculpted At Sculpture Showing
.

“Who writes this crap?” I mumbled, skimming through the article. It went so far as to mention Britt and I by name, information probably gleaned from the creep from
Soho Arts
Weekly
who’d asked us for quotes. Basically, the article said that Ben had been attempting to have a polite conversation with Britt, and that I flew into a jealous rage and decked him. At least they were right about the rage and decking parts.

“Did you see the last picture?” Nash asked.

“It can’t be any worse than the first,” I muttered. I scrolled down past the article, and saw an image of me kissing Britt in the back of the gallery, our profiles in full view so there was no doubt about our identities. Her hands were thrust into my hair, and my hand was on her butt, pushing up her dress and exposing those little white shorts she’d worn underneath it.

I leaned back in my chair, scrubbing my face with my hands. “Britt is going to fucking shit when she sees this.”

“Probably,” Nash said unhelpfully. “I always thought you were straight up gay, Sam. Although, if you’re going to sample the ladies, Britt’s a good one to start with.”

“She is pretty amazing,” I said, taking another look at the image of us kissing.

“You never asked her about the harem shoot, did you?”

I glanced at Nash. “No, I didn’t.”

Nash clapped my shoulder. “I wouldn’t share her either.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding, relieved he wasn’t angry with me. “I guess there is something to the opposite sex, after all.”

Nash laughed. “There certainly is,” he said, then he looked at the images of myself and Britt again. “You two look pretty good together. Now, let’s get working.”

“Yes, sir.” I nodded, scrolling over the images of Britt and I one final time before closing my laptop. We did look good together, dammit, and I was going to do everything in my power to keep us together. Britannica Lynn was my angel, and I wasn’t going to give her up for any reason. I only hoped she felt the same way about me.

***

Due to a series of catastrophes ranging from late models to missing wardrobe items, we didn’t wrap up the shoot until after ten. Did I say we? I meant I; Nash took off at five sharp, leaving me to clean up the messes he’d made. Owning my own studio couldn’t come fast enough.

I sent Britt a few texts during the evening, letting her know we were running late. She assured me she was fine, and so beat after her own shoot that she was just going to curl up in her apartment for some shut eye. That didn’t stop me from calling her the moment I entered my own place.

“Hey cowboy,” she greeted. “How did everything work out?”

“It worked out damn exhausting,” I replied. “How was your day?”

“The same,” she yawned.

I looked at the garment bag hanging off the back of my door, and said, “Got some good news, baby. Your dress was delivered today.”

Britt squealed, then she fired off, “Did you open it? What does it look like? Do you think it will fit?”

“No, I’m sure it’s beautiful, and everything Jorge makes is a perfect fit,” I replied in order. “It’s really not hard to dress a beautiful girl well. You’ll look great.”

She was silent for a moment, and I imagined I’d made her blush. “We’ll need to leave early on Saturday,” she said. “The wedding’s in Westchester, so if we take the train—”

“I can drive us.”

“You have a car?”

“Be hard to drive us without one.” I smirked.

“Then why are you always taking cabs everywhere?”

“I usually leave the car in the garage beneath my building. For getting around the city, cabs are easier than finding parking. And most often cheaper,” I added, remembering that ticket I’d gotten in Queens and had forgotten to pay. With late fees that astronomical, it’s a wonder meter maids weren’t writing tickets on gilded pads.

“Okay, then let me see how long it will take to
drive
there.” I heard her typing away on her laptop, then she announced, “It’s about two hours from my place.”

“Your place?” I repeated. “The Dress of Much Magnificence is at my place.”

“But all my stuff is here, at
my
apartment.”

“Pack a bag and haul your stuff on over,” I said. “We can have a sleepover.”

Britt giggled. “I like sleepovers.”

“Me too. You working tomorrow?”

“I just need to stop by the endless catalog shoot, and hopefully finish up all that nonsense.”

Britt’s beauty was wasted on something as banal as a mere catalog shoot, but I didn’t bother pointing that out. I knew she was only doing them to pay the bills. “Can you meet me at Nash’s by five?”

“I can do that.”

“Wonderful.” I unbuttoned my jeans and asked, “What are you wearing?”

“Panties.”

“And?” My phone beeped, indicating that I had a message.

“You should check that,” Britt said, her voice husky.

“All right.” I checked my messages, and found a picture of Britt that captured her from her shoulders to her knees, clad in nothing but a scrap of blue lace that could hardly be called a garment of any sort.

“You are never going to believe this,” I said, resuming our conversation. “Some woman just sent me a picture of her lady bits. She must have had the wrong number.”

“Sam!”

“Nice panties, though.” Teasing aside, I said, “I wish I was there with you.”

“Me too,” Britt said, then she yawned.

“I should let you rest,” I said. “See you at five?”

“At five,” she affirmed. “Sam, wait.”

“I’m right here, darlin’.”

“What you said.” She paused, and I waited for her to speak again. “You said you’d still love me even if I was a midget.”

“I do recall that.”

“Did you mean that?”

“I absolutely did,” I replied, “but don’t you go shrinking on me. I love those legs of yours too.”

She laughed. “I promise I won’t shrink.”

“Good. Get some rest.”

“I will. Night, cowboy.”

“Night, darlin’.”