Capture Me (Razor's Edge)
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Copyright ©2014 Megan Slayer
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"The photographer won't know what hit him."
"That's the plan." Dolly twisted a lock of her hair around her finger. She'd heard plenty about the photographer. Vito Heath, douche bag and all around nasty human being. Once the little shit saw who he'd be working with, he'd run. Or at least she hoped he would. She wasn't one of the sweet, new girls he loved to prey on. Oh, no. She'd been around the block and warned everyone on the set not to sleep with the jackass. She knew that pain all too well. Fuck 'em, fuck 'em over, then dump 'em like hot lead.
Enter the challenge from Tats Magazine and her agent, Norman. Deal with the photographer and earn the cool ten thousand dollars. Not a bad challenge, but with assholes like Vito things could get tricky fast.
No, she'd win this challenge and then some. She'd do what he asked, with a smile, then leave him begging for more. Always leave them begging for more.
Besides, this wasn't any photo shoot. The images from the shoot would end up on the Big Jet Movies site along with a thirty-minute clip. Being a fetish model and porn star did have its perks.
"Let's just hope the guy is hot," she muttered.
Dolly adjusted the tight corset, then stood. The barely-there shorts dug into her crotch, putting delicious pressure on her pussy. She pressed her thighs together. The makeup artist returned and dusted glitter on her upper body. Under the bright lights, her body shimmered. A couple of the other models strolled past her, making her stomach lurch. The girls, towering, willowy and damned near emaciated things, smirked at her, then left the room.
Dolly suppressed a groan. She loved the way she looked, with lots of curves and an ample chest. "Rock what your momma gave you and take no prisoners," she murmured, giving herself her usual pep talk. The tattoo of a red bow peeked out from the upper swell of the corset. She picked up a length of wide black ribbon from the costume table and wrapped the ribbon around her neck.
She teetered out of the makeup room and into the main warehouse. The client had asked for glamour shots with his--or her, Dolly wasn't sure who the client was --truck. Probably for a magazine. She shrugged and marched toward the late 50s-era vehicle. Just another dick in her pussy... but a job and a paycheck, too.
Instead of the photographer she expected, the man she'd planned to berate, another man turned around. The breath wrenched from her chest. Not Vito... not by a long shot. Damn it. The degree of difficulty on the challenge skyrocketed.
"Who are you?" she snapped. Treat the photographers with too much respect, and they'd walk all over you. Be blunt and they knew where they stood. She rested her hands on her hips. "So?" She dusted her gaze over him. Sculpted muscle was visible through the fabric of the tight T-shirt. The jeans encased his legs like a second skin and offered a tantalizing view of the outline of his cock. His hair swooped over his tanned forehead. She looked into his eyes and immediately regretted it. Blue eyes, the color of icy water, framed by thick black lashes, just like she preferred. Oh hell, she was in trouble.
"You must be Dolly." He grinned. The damned sexy man had the nerve to grin.