Eyes Wide Open: The Blackstone Affair, Book 3

My phone went off just as I was heading out of the dressing room. I could tell it was Elaina calling from work by the ringtone, so I let it go to voice mail without listening to the message. I sent her a fast text instead: Can’t talk . . . on photo shoot now. Call u later. —B

I silenced my cell but left it powered up as Ethan had told me to—something about the GPS app he’d activated—slipped it into the pocket of my robe, and didn’t give it another thought. I had a job to do and found my focus.

The hair extensions tickled my back and the floor was downright cold under my ass. I wasn’t wearing any string thong today either, but I did have some really gorgeous black stockings with pink ribbons laced around the top of my thighs and tied into bows.

Simon, my photographer for this shoot, was an unconventional dresser at best, but with his electric-blue skinny jeans paired with a lime-green shirt and white patent-leather ankle boots, he not only had me in need of retina protection but attempting a shot I’d never tried before. I could only shudder at what Ethan would say when he got a look at the proofs.

He would hate them on sight, and then try to buy the images so no one else could have them.

I felt the rush of adrenaline, though—the knowledge of doing something a little scary and unfamiliar. I liked to push myself, and wanted these pictures to turn out well, to deliver the most professional services I could to the artist.

My back faced the camera, legs spread open, knees slightly bent, feet flat, my palms holding on to my inner calves to hold my legs apart. It was meant to be a provocative shot, and anyone who walked in front of me right now would see my lady parts on full pornographic display. Ethan will definitely disapprove. But I wasn’t worried. There were rules in place, and everyone followed those rules . . . or they didn’t get called back again for another job.

The ends of the hair extensions just barely brushed the floor, in effect covering my butt, which was a good thing because I didn’t want ass crack to be visible in these pictures.

I told Simon and he laughed over at me. “Brynne, my luv, if anyone can do elegant bum cleavage it would be you.”

“Well, thanks, Simon, but no thanks, if you get my drift. No vertical grin for me on this one, please.”

“I promise you, all I see is a suggestion of curves and your long sculpted legs. You are absolutely glowing, darling. New vitamins?” he asked distractedly as the camera clicked away.

“Well, actually, yes.”

“Oh, share with me, please,” he gushed. “I need any beauty secrets you’ve got.”

I snorted out a laugh. “I don’t think you want what I’m taking, Simon . . . unless you desire a set of breasts.”

“Oh, darling, please tell me you’re not going for implants. Your tits are perfection as is!”

I laughed at the canvas drape in front of me, wishing I could see his face. “Um . . . no, not getting implants. They’ll get bigger the natural way.”

“Huh? What treatment does that?” I could tell he was way off base from where I was trying to lead. Gay or not, Simon was a man, and they just don’t catch on to subtleties in these matters most of the time. I’m guessing it has something to do with having a penis.

“The kind where you have a baby at the end of it.” I grinned and wished I could see his face now more than before.

“Oh my God! You’re up the duff, aren’t you?”

“That has got to be one of the most hideous terms you Brits have ever come up with, but yes indeed, I am.”

“Congratulations, darling. I hope this is happy news for you?”

“It is.” I was quiet for a minute, thinking about everything that had changed for me in such a short time, battling the emotions that seemed to simmer just under the surface these days. Maybe I could blame the hormones raging inside me, but it was a still a daily struggle to stay even.

Simon continued to snap pictures, directing me with subtle changes of position and then the lighting, keeping up a dialogue as was his style. He chattered constantly while he worked. “So you’re getting married to your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, August the twenty-fourth is our big day. We’re doing it in the country at his sister’s Somerset mansion.”

“Sounds very posh . . .” Simon mused over a new direction. “Can you tilt your head back and look upward for me?”

“Yeah . . . that too,” I said dryly. “Do you want to come, Simon?”

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask! Perfect excuse for a new suit,” he babbled, going off on a tangent about Italian silks and something about a green one he’d spotted in a shop in Milan that would be just perfect for a country wedding.

I thought about my dad and how he wouldn’t be getting a new suit for my wedding. He wouldn’t be there to give me away. I had nobody to do that for me now. I wasn’t asking Frank either. My mom had already tried that angle with me and there was no way. I’d go down the aisle alone before I did that one. Nothing against Frank, but he was not my father in any sense of the word. He was my mother’s husband, and that’s all he was.

The wave of grief came upon me suddenly and I tried hard to suppress it, but my posture must have showed signs of fatigue because Simon asked, “Need a break, sweetheart?”

I nodded, but I couldn’t speak. All I could manage was a deep swallow.

Sometimes when a person shows some kindness and you are in a vulnerable state, everything comes tumbling out no matter how hard you try to hold it inside you. That’s what happened with Simon when he put down his camera and walked up behind me, resting his hand on my shoulder in a simple gesture of support and comfort.

“I heard about your father. I’m so sorry, luv. This must be a terribly hard time for you.”

“Thank you . . . it’s still very fresh. Little things remind me . . . and I miss him so mu—”

And that’s the moment when Ethan busted into the room looking like a gladiator ready for the arena.

♠

“Brynne! What in the fu—” My speech cut off. It just up and died a quick and silent death once I got a good look of my girl fully naked with her legs spread and some toff with his hands on her!

I reacted and moved. That’s pretty much all I can recall. I got Brynne flying to her feet and the bloke in the green shirt flying into the canvas backdrop.

“Ethan!” she screamed, “what are you doing?!”

“Trying to find you! Why don’t you answer your goddamn phone?”

“I was working!” she screeched, standing fully nude except for some black stockings and something added to make her hair appear much longer.

“You’re finished here. In fact, this whole mess is finished!” I waved my hands and stalked toward her. “Get dressed, you’re leaving.”

“I am not leaving, Ethan. What in the hell is wrong with you? I’m working right now!”

Oh, yes, you are leaving, my beauty! In fact, I’m dead certain you are, because I’m taking you out of here myself.

The photographer wearing all the colors decided to make his move right then and pulled out his mobile. “Call security—”

“I am the security when it comes to her.” I pointed in Brynne’s direction as I relieved him of his mobile and cut the fucker off midcall. “Brynne is finished here. Ring my office if you want compensation for your trouble. I will gladly pay.” I took out a business card and flicked it. It spun through the distance between us and landed at his feet on the floor. I thought I was being remarkably calm, considering . . .

He glanced over at Brynne, who just stood there, staring at us with her mouth hanging open. And still fucking naked!

“Don’t look at her, motherfucker!” I yelled at him.

He squeaked like a girl and turned his head away, cringing.

“Simon, I am so sorry for thi—” Brynne stepped toward him.

“Oh, no you don’t!” I grabbed her arm and spun her, shielding her body with mine. “Would you put something on? You’re standing around here fucking naked, for fuck’s sake!”

Brynne glared at me with daggers shooting from her eyes and reached for her robe. It had been on a side table the whole time, just out of the camera’s view. I hadn’t noticed it there a moment ago. She pulled it on and belted the waist, her arms and hands making hard, snapping movements as she squinted her eyes, searing fiery brown daggers at me. She stuck her hand up under her hair and worked it around for a moment before extracting a long wavy brown hairpiece. She set it carefully on the table. Then she turned her back on me and bent over first one leg and then the other, removing the stockings and straightening them out to drape over the table next to the hairpiece.

I could tell she was beyond enraged with what I’d done, but I simply did not care. She was okay, at least. Couldn’t say that with much certainty about her photographer friend, but Brynne was safe in my sights and not in the hands of abductors. She was fucking naked and alone in a room with another man having her picture taken, but at least my worst nightmare wasn’t a reality. She was here and I could see her.

The ride home was pretty silent. Just some sighing and the swishing of bodies on seats, and not much else. Brynne wasn’t speaking and I was in no shape for discussion either. No telling what would come out of my mouth the way I was feeling at the moment. Best to leave it stewing for a bit.

Once we arrived and got inside the flat, she beelined it into the bathroom and locked me out. I could hear the water running, but no other sounds. I put my ear up to the door and listened. I didn’t want her to cry alone if that’s what she was doing, but I was still furious. This modeling thing? It had to go. I just couldn’t stand the idea of it anymore, and it made me utterly irrational to think of her posing in the nude for others to see. And fantasize about fucking her . . . or worse!

There were a million things I needed to do at this moment. Places I should be and people I should be meeting with, but did I even consider leaving Brynne at home and going back to my office? Negative. I was going fucking nowhere right now.

I stepped out onto my balcony instead and settled onto a lounger where I could watch the city change from day into night. And smoke cigarette after cigarette after cigarette. It didn’t help me much. Funny how something that used to soothe me when I felt agitated didn’t really do the trick anymore. I waited for Brynne to come out of the bathroom, but she took the first round in a knockdown. It didn’t look like she would be making the first move tonight.

When I couldn’t bear my self-imposed solitude for another second I went back inside to try to reason with her. “Brynne?” Silence. “Let me in.” I rattled the knob, and to my great surprise it turned. Not locked out after all.

I opened the door to find her perched on the vanity stool painting her toes, her hair pulled up in a clip, wearing the yellow silk robe that made her skin glow. She wouldn’t look at me, but continued to work the dark pink nail polish as if I wasn’t there.

“Can we talk?” I asked finally.

“What about? How you manhandled me in the middle of a photo shoot, which happens to be my job, and practically beat up the photographer? Not to mention the damage done to my reputation in the business.” Her voice was flat.

“I don’t want you in that business anymore.”

She capped the lid on her nail polish and set it on the vanity counter. “It’s all about what you want, huh?”

“I needed to know where you were and you wouldn’t answer your mobile.” I let a moment go for some kind of an explanation but she didn’t offer one. “Fine, I admit I went in there hotheaded and lost my temper, but I was running on clues that led me into a panic situation.” I dragged a hand through my hair and kept it stuck there. “And you were fucking naked, Brynne.”

She stared down at the floor as she spoke, “I probably won’t get any more calls after today. Nobody will want me now.”

Oh, the motherfuckers will still want you. I stood in front of her and took her chin in my hand, forcing her to look up. “Good. I hope they don’t call you.” She still stayed silent but her eyes flashed. “I’m serious, Brynne. You’re not posing naked anymore.” There, I said it.

“It’s my decision, Ethan. You have no right to tell me I can’t do it.”

“Oh, really?” I grabbed her left hand and held it up. “What’s this ring mean, then? You’re going to be my wife, the mother of my child—a person whom I don’t want posing in the fucking nude anymore!” I glared right back. “I definitely have a say.”

She snatched her hand away and spit up at me, “You don’t get it. You just don’t understand ANYTHING about me!” Screaming now, and looking utterly furious, she pushed at my chest to keep me from getting too close.

Fuck that! My temper was getting the better of me again as I struggled with how to bring us back together on the issue. One idea came to mind of how I might accomplish it, though. I could tear off that yellow silk robe she had on and fuck her into next week, and then we could have this conversation, or argument, or whatever the hell this shit was right here. That might work.

I pulled her up from her seat by the shoulders instead, trapping her arms to her sides so she couldn’t fight me. She still struggled, though, even as I had her gripped tight against my chest, our faces an inch apart, her soft curves melting into me and making my cock rock-hard.

“I’m trying to understand why my girl needs to take off her clothes and let people see photographs of her like that!” I said with more anger than I wanted to . . . and then I crushed my mouth against hers.

I pushed my way inside her with my tongue first. I’d get more later, but for now I just needed inside her body in any way I could manage to get there. I needed her acceptance of me more, though. She was still spitting mad but I felt her response the instant we connected. She was still my girl, and we both knew it as I held her jaw and took her mouth hard. Lips, tongue and teeth working together to send a very specific message. You’re mine, and I know you want to be mine.

I was just getting started on taking her. This session would conclude in one way, and only one way—with my cock buried inside her sweet cunt in an orgasmic frenzy.

There were no apologies for what I did next, either. I took her. I took what was mine and had my way with Brynne.

She stuck with me the whole distance in body for sure. The spirit part would have to be considered later. Shag first, talk later had worked for us before, and I felt confident it would now.

I hauled her up and carried her to our bed. She looked up at me with blazing eyes as I laid her out, stripping open that silky robe and freeing her hair from the clip. Her chest heaved and her nipples budded up tight as I shucked off of my clothes and got naked, my cock so hard it might shatter when the spunk erupted the first time.

I was about to find out, and more than willing to take the risk, because there would be a second time and possibly a third. We would be at this for a while.

I covered Brynne’s gorgeous naked form, which only I should ever see, and fucked her. I fucked her hard. She fucked me hard right back. We fucked until we both came. And then we fucked some more, until we didn’t need to anymore. Until there was nothing left but to fall into tangled sleep after all the orgasms, both of us spent physically from the pleasure that had burned us with its heat, and drugged us with its smoke . . . into utter oblivion.

♥

The nightmare woke me up. It was an old one where I see the video of myself and wish I was dead. It is still such a dreadful image that’s seared into my brain, and has stayed with me intact throughout the years. I don’t think it was even possible to remove it; I was doomed to carry that image with me throughout my life. I wondered, not for the first time, if the three of them ever thought about that video after the fact. I hadn’t known the other two at all, but did Lance ever have a morsel of regret for what happened to me? For how sad my life was after they did their deed? Did he ever even think about it? Ugly. So filthy and ugly.

I tried to have a quiet breakdown in the middle of the night, but Ethan hears everything. We’d had some explosive sex and released some anger and frustration through our bodies, but the main crux of the problem was still flapping in the breeze like a signal flag. Nothing much had been resolved.

Ethan stirred beside me and drew me close. I felt his strong arms wrap around me and his lips kiss the top of my head. He stroked over my hair and held me as I wept.

“I love you so much. It kills me to see you sad. I’d rather have you mad at me than hurting like this, baby.”

“It’s okay. I know you love me,” I whispered in between sobs and wiping my eyes.

“I do,” he said with a sweet kiss. “And I’m sorry for how I acted with that photographer today,” he paused, “but I still loathe the process and I don’t want you doing it anymore.”

“I know . . .”

“So you’ll stop posing?” There was hope in his voice. Too bad I was going to crush it.

“I don’t think I can, Ethan. I can’t stop—not even for you.”

He waited after those words left my lips. The words were painful to say to him but he had to hear it from me. The truth is sometimes hard to bear, and I imagined this would be so for Ethan, but I wanted him to get the uncensored version. I owed him that much.

“Why not, Brynne? Why can’t you stop modeling? Why won’t you do it for me?”

Those bastard tears showed up again. “Because . . .” I blubbered, “because the pictures I take n-now are so—s-so b-beautiful. They are . . . just something beautiful of me!”

Ethan held on to me while I cried. He seemed to get that this was breakthrough territory for me. I wish Dr. Roswell was around to witness it.

“They are. You’re right, Brynne. Your pictures are stunningly beautiful.” He kissed me softly, his tongue moving slowly against mine. “But you’ve always been beautiful,” he murmured against my lips.

Ahhh, but he was wrong. Ethan had never seen it so he did not know what I absolutely knew to be the truth. “No. You don’t understand me.” I wiped at my tears. “It’s okay, but you don’t understand why I need to have those beautiful pictures of myself.” I sighed heavily against his chest, my fingers starting to twirl around a pectoral muscle.

“Explain it to me so I can understand, then.”

I don’t know how I got the words out, but I managed it somehow. Through the tears, which grew stronger, and because of his quiet strength and patience as he held me and stroked my hair, I finally told another person my horrific truth. “Because the video of me was so very . . . ugly. The images were ugly. I was ugly in it! And if I have something beautiful to replace the ugliness with, I can let go of my experience a little more each time I create something new.”

Ethan rolled me underneath him and propped himself above me, holding my face up to his. “There is nothing about you that is ugly,” he told me.

“Yes. On that video I was.”

He got quiet, his eyes flickering back and forth as he studied me. “Is that why, baby? Is that the reason you tried to . . . kill yours—”

“Yes!” I sobbed into Ethan’s strong chest and let him hold on to me. He knew my truth now. My hang-up. My dysfunctional quirk. The motivation that drove me on a daily basis and that I assumed would stay with me forever. I prayed he could accept me in spite of it.

He held me for a long time without speaking. He was pondering what I’d shared. I’d learned it was his method; that Ethan was incredibly honest and blunt with his opinions and needs, and a deep thinker.

“It’s not the photography process that I hate. I get that you are all professionals doing a job. The photographer is just using you as the object of his art. A breathtaking image that is you.” He stroked his palm down over my hip. “I know that guy today wasn’t after you. He was seeing your body as art.”

“Simon is also incredibly gay as opposed to just regular gay, in case you didn’t notice.”

He gave a short quiet laugh. “I noticed, baby. If the clothes didn’t give a clue—his girly scream confirmed it.”

“Poor Simon. I invited him to the wedding, you know. He wanted to wear a new Italian suit in leaf green that he saw in a shop in Milan.” I tried for the tiniest bit of teasing.

“Awesome.” He sighed. “I’ll ring him tomorrow and apologize.”

“Thank you.”

But Ethan wasn’t done airing his feelings. He had more he wanted to say. “What I hate is people seeing your body in the photographs. Men see you. Men like me see you naked and they want to fuck you. Brynne, that is the part I hate, because I don’t want anyone to look at you like that and think those thoughts about you. I want you all for myself. It’s selfish, but that’s how it is for me.”

“Oh . . .”

“So now you know my feelings on the matter,” he said quietly, his voice carrying his honest truth straight to my heart.

“I hear you, Ethan, and I hope you heard me when I told you how I felt, and why I do the modeling.”

He reached for me with his lips, caressing soft and slow, telling me with touch, if not with words, that he understood. After some time well spent thoroughly kissing me, he finally pulled back and brushed my cheek with his thumb. He’d been doing that to me since the beginning of us. He’d done it the first time he ever kissed me. I loved the gesture.

I wondered what Ethan was thinking about now. Studying me carefully with those deep blue eyes of his, he settled on his side propped on an elbow so he could look down over me. I imagined he wasn’t done talking yet. I waited. I could wait all night if he was the view. Ethan naked in the bed was a sight I never tired of. He was male beauty personified. His arms, his chest, the washboard abs and V-cut hips, all of him—a delicious feast for my eyes.

Funny how he said the same thing about me sometimes. But my body would change as the baby grew. I would get big as all pregnant women do. Would Ethan still want me then the way he did now?

“I need to tell you something that happened today. It really shook me up and was mostly to blame for what happened at your photo shoot . . . and with me.” He smoothed my hair back behind my ear.

That makes more sense. I should have known there was something driving Ethan’s off-the-charts irrationality. Something had happened to trigger his behavior. “Okay . . . tell me.”

In the dark of our bed, he shared with me the latest events: the stalker photos he’d received earlier in the day, and the knowledge that the person was American and had been here the whole time watching me. Watching us and taking pictures of our daily movements. I was really scared now . . . and I understood better why Ethan had been so panicked and unreasonable at the shoot. This situation was not getting better. It was getting worse. Who knew what would stop them? Or if I’d even get through this alive? All I could do was think about my baby and about Ethan and knowing that whatever it took, or sacrifices I had to make in order to see us all through, I would do it.

We talked about security and GPS and guards and precautions. All the ways to ensure my safety in the next weeks until the wedding could happen and Ethan’s full attention could focus on me solely. He explained things clearly and I listened to him. We both ended up on the same page, and when I finally slept again it was up against his chest with his strong arms wrapped around me. I knew I was in the best possible hands I could be in, and that the man who held me did indeed love me. Ethan needed me as much as I needed him.

We figured out that much, at least.