Dirty Pucker (Denver Bashers #2)

18. Del

Chapter 18

Del

A few minutes later, I’m standing butt-ass naked in front of Ingrid and her soft hands are cupping my chest.

Holy shit, her hands feel like heaven on my body.

Heat flashes across my skin as I stand there and try my hardest to hold the pose. My heart is thudding like crazy.

Luc Jean is standing just a few feet in front of us, snapping away with his camera.

“Beautiful face, Del,” he muses. “Beautiful hands, Ingrid.”

Behind me, she chuckles. The corner of my mouth quirks up, but I quickly tense my lips so that I’m holding the serious expression Luc Jean wants me to have.

“Del, dip your chin a little lower,” Luc Jean directs.

I do what he says.

“Sorry if my hands are clammy,” Ingrid whispers.

“It’s okay,” I murmur. “You’re doing great, by the way. You’ve got excellent cupping skills. Like, this is some Olympic-level cupping you’re pulling off.”

She snorts out a laugh, which makes me laugh.

Luc Jean frowns and lowers the camera. “No laughing.”

“Sorry.” I clear my throat and rein in my expression.

As awkward as this is, I’m kind of glad. That’s what’s keeping me from popping a boner right now. Because if it was just Ingrid and me alone in this studio with her hands on my chest, I’d be hard as steel.

After a minute, Luc Jean hands his camera to his assistant and walks over to us.

“Inspiration has struck me again,” he announces.

He asks Ingrid to take her hands away, then grabs my shoulder and turns me around. A half-second later, I’m facing Ingrid.

Those blue eyes turn to saucers and her lush mouth turns to a perfect “o,” clearly shocked to be face to face with me.

She blinks while staring me, like she’s trying her hardest not to look down at my dick. My heart pounds. What the hell is this Luc Jean guy doing?

He positions Ingrid’s hands on my shoulder blades.

“Dig your nails into his skin,” Luc Jean says.

Her eyes go even wider. “Um, what?”

“It’s primal! It’s raw! And it would showcase Del’s physique gorgeously. Just look at those back muscles. That’s quite an impressive derrière you have, Del. And hamstrings. And calves.” He murmurs something in French. “The world must see it all.”

I hold in a laugh at just how over-the-top this guy is.

“This guy’s a cartoon character,” I whisper to Ingrid.

She bites her lip. Concern shines in her soft blue eyes. “Are you okay with all this?” she asks.

Her fingers dig into my skin and I have to hold back a moan. Fuck, that feels good.

The caveman part of my brain takes over. I fantasize about how I’d like to feel Ingrid’s nails digging into my back, except in bed, while I’m thrusting into her, driving her wild with pleasure.

I think about her moaning and thrashing. I think about her so overloaded with pleasure that she shreds my back.

A groan settles at the base of my throat. God, just thinking about that is enough to make me hard as a fucking rock.

But that’s never gonna happen. Because we’ll never be more than friends.

I press my thumb into my thigh. The sudden sting of pain staves off the boner threatening my cock.

Posing with her during this photoshoot is the closest I’ll ever get to fulfilling that filthy fantasy.

Is this fucked up? Yeah. Do I care? Nope.

I look Ingrid in the eye, nod, and say, “Dig your nails into my back.”

Her pupils dilate at my rasped command.

She licks her lips. A shaky breath falls from her lush mouth.

She digs her nails into my shoulders and I shiver at the sudden pain.

It feels so fucking good.

Behind me, I hear Luc Jean clicking away on his camera. The sound is distant though. All I can hear is Ingrid’s shallow breaths. All I can see are her gorgeous blue eyes, cloudy and dazed as she looks at me.

She drags her plump bottom lip through her teeth. “Harder?” she whispers.

I make a grunting noise of approval. Sharpness shoots through my shoulders. Like a reflex, a groan rips from my throat. I swallow back the rest of the sound.

Ingrid’s lips part as she gasps lightly. I gaze down at her, the skin on her cheeks and chest flushing brighter by the second. I watch as her chest rises and falls with each ragged breath she takes…

“Beautiful! Just beautiful, you two!”

The sound of Luc Jean’s booming voice yanks me out of my bubble with Ingrid. She instantly steps away from me just as Luc Jean’s assistant hands me my robe. I quickly wrap it around me as Luc Jean goes on and on about how inspired this shoot was.

He compliments me on being a natural model and I tell him thanks. Then he pulls Ingrid into a conversation about how beautiful her hands are while I slip my shoes back on and power walk out of the studio, toward the restrooms.

Now that I’m away from everyone, my body takes that as its cue to react how it wants.

And right now my dick is throbbing, getting harder by the second.

Thankfully, the single occupancy restroom is empty when I reach it. I shut the door, lock it, and stand in front of the sink. With one hand, I grip the porcelain edge; with the other, I grip my cock.

I give myself a rough tug and grit my teeth to keep myself from groaning.

I dip my head and close my eyes, picturing Ingrid from minutes ago.

Her pouty mouth. The rosy flush painting her cheeks and chest. Her hot, wet breath ghosting over my lips. The way she smelled, like fruit and flowers. Those blue eyes blown out from arousal…

I jerk myself slow and hard in my fist, savoring her image in my head.

Pressure builds in my cock. It works up my abdomen and chest. I let out a shaky breath, careful to be quiet. The last thing I want is someone to overhear me jerking it in the bathroom.

I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but right now, my body needs release. I’m so turned on after those few minutes of Ingrid touching me that I know this boner isn’t going anywhere.

This is the only way to get rid of it.

My balls tense, and I move my hand faster. Heat gathers at the base of my spine. The muscles in my back and shoulders and legs tense the more aroused I get.

My brain pulls up the fantasy from earlier, of Ingrid naked and writhing underneath me.

I imagine fucking her slow and deep, taking my time with her. I imagine edging her until she can’t take it anymore and she’s begging for my cock and my mouth to finish her off. I imagine her whimpering and moaning in pleasure.

I imagine her screaming my name as she comes.

My knees buckle as the pressure in my cock and balls intensifies. I hunch forward, and the skin on my back and shoulders burns from the way Ingrid shredded my back earlier during the photoshoot.

That sharpness and pain are just what I need to push me over the edge.

I picture her dragging her nails across my back as she comes.

And that’s when I lose it. I work my dick in my fist fast and hard. Pleasure and heat pummel through me. A split second later, I blow my load into the sink.

A rough groan rips from my throat. I brace my hands along the edge of the sink and hunch forward as I catch my breath.

My vision goes blurry and it takes a dozen seconds of blinking before I can see again.

“Fuck…” I mutter. I stumble back and survey the damage. Thankfully none of my jizz ended up on the floor. I flip on the faucet and rinse out the sink. I dump some soap in there too, grab a paper towel, and wipe it around to clean it up as best as I can.

Then I wash up and head back to my dressing room, my skin burning hot with shame.

I just jerked off in a random bathroom. During a professional photoshoot. While fantasizing about my friend.

I scrub a hand over the side of my face and exhale. I’m a fucking freak.

Yeah, things between Ingrid and I got a little heated during the photoshoot. And sure, she was into it too.

But I’d bet anything she’s not in the bathroom touching herself right now.

Like clockwork, my dick twitches at the thought of her playing with herself. I shove the thought out of my mind.

“You need to stop thinking about her,” I mutter to myself.

But even as I say it, I know it’s bullshit. There’s no way I’m getting this woman out of my mind.