Strut the Mall (Love at Westbrook Mall #4)

42. In My Light

42

In My Light

Even standing this close to him was risky. I was getting all swept up in old spice and beefcake proximity. He probably only wanted to make up because I was half-naked and leaving Fancee’s. I shook off the urge to hold him. We couldn’t start up again just because he didn’t want to lose me.

I needed to know he’d support me, that we had real compatibility.

“I-I have a client who likes me to step on things,” I blurted out.

“What?” Zack chuckled and furrowed his brow.

I shook my phone at him. “That’s the weirdest request I’ve accepted. I hate the mess, but it pays a couple hundred bucks, and it’s less gross than touching someone else’s disposable socks, in my opinion. I want to show you, so you know what you’ll be getting into, if I decide to let you in…”

He straightened his spine. “I’m in.”

“Good.” I let out a breath. He was open to my side gig. I yanked open the fridge door and prayed the cool air would tame my hot veins. Instead, it teased my nipples through the wet fabric.

“I thought you were going to show me a video,” he said, walking up behind me.

“You’ve already seen my gallery. I just want to see if you’re okay being around when I make this stuff, though, assuming you want to spend time with me again.”

His fingers grazed my shoulder. “I do,” he said.

My insides fluttered with the wistfulness of a spring breeze through gauze curtains. Or maybe a veil.

Now was not the time to picture him in a tuxedo. Tight pants…tight everything…

I rubbed my thighs together and grabbed the box of strawberries. When I backed up to close the fridge, my ass collided with Zack’s lap.

He gasped and steadied my hips. “Careful,” he said, his breath steaming across my skin. How did he manage to be so hot at all times?

I plucked a strawberry from the carton and rolled it across my lips. “Want one?”

He squeezed my waist. “After.”

After. So, he planned to stick around after this. I couldn’t decide if I was miffed or impressed that he managed to defer the temptation of a little treat. At least I knew he wouldn’t sell me out for something stupid like a pair of Zeezy’s. Instead, he’d help me get what I needed.

I sunk my teeth into the fruit and sucked on its sweetness until the tang turned sharp. Zack’s hand flexed against my hips. This was infinitely more sensual than anything I’d do with my feet.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Trying to get in the mood for your shoot?”

“No need. It’s like choreography.” I dropped the leafy top of the berry in the trash, then bent over to place one of the squishier fruits in the center of a floor tile.

He made some kind of strangled noise in the back of his throat.

Was he uncomfortable with this? I straightened up, and he adjusted the front of his pants.

Oh. He was uncomfortable, just not the way I expected. Tight pants and all that.

I pulled the knot of my towel-dress and rubbed my thighs together. “Sorry, I’m not usually naked when I do these.”

He glanced at the bathroom door, his face beet red. “I can grab your clothes.”

“No need.” We might not want clothes after this. Better get it over with and see if we’d take that next step. I aimed my camera at my feet and rolled the berry with my toes. “I like to soften up the fruit first if it’s not already there. Clients like this love a jam effect, especially if it’s vibrant.”

“Makes sense.” He moved behind the island, most likely to hide his growing interest.

His shadow cast over my feet.

I bit my lip and stepped back.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re in my light.”

“Oh, sorry.” He shuffled aside.

I jerked my chin. “Come to this side. You can stand by me.”

“I intend to.” He smiled, and my heart fluttered.

We could do this.

“Do you want to use my phone for another angle?” He rummaged through his pocket as he walked over.

“No thanks. One is good.” But I did appreciate the offer. “Now, quiet on the set.” I winked and nudged him with my hip.

“Bossy.” He squeezed my shoulder, and I began filming with the reassurance of his warm palm on my skin.

This part was easy–even easier with someone who cared beside me. I zoomed in on the fruit and caressed it with my toes. Each indented seed on its skin was a light exfoliant. An opportunity. I rolled the fruit under the ball of my foot, then my heel, back and forth to my toes.

Zack kneaded my shoulder–as if this was hard work, as if he respected it. Or maybe he just wanted to reassert his place in my life while I worked for a client. His thumb rolled into a knot by my neck.

I resisted the urge to moan and lean into his touch. This was work. Pleasure would come later.

I squished the berry between my toes with a soft squelch. Juice bubbled to its surface, a sweet, vibrant red.

I dragged the fruit around to draw a lopsided circle on the tile, then repeatedly pressed it down until it was a flat splotch of jam to play with. It clung to my toes and streaked the floor. But it wouldn’t stain. It never did.

Zack stood by my side, watching and massaging. At some points, I sensed his gaze lingering on my face instead of the scene. Was this silence deafening or reverent? Respectful or horrified? I squeezed the fleshy fruit down to jam, then backed up. I trailed the camera after my pink, sticky footprint for a final shot. It was almost pretty. Avant-garde art. The art of fetish, I guessed.

I lowered my phone and turned to Zack. My heart raced. “So, what do you think?” I asked.

He brushed my hair over my shoulder, the gentleness of his calloused fingertips more welcome than silk sheets. “I think…you can make anything sexy,” he said. “Even making a mess of a perfectly good fruit. At least this time, you didn’t throw it at anybody.”

I laughed, the force of it ripping through some imaginary corset around my ribs. He still liked me. I could breathe. I knocked into him with my hip. “Be careful, I still have some produce in the fridge.”

He squeezed my shoulder and smiled. “I can handle anything you throw at me, Nic.”

“Anything?” Like feet pics, clients, and maybe a few boundaries with his family?

“Anything,” he declared.

He couldn’t mean everything , but the earnest way his eyes crinkled at the edges told me we’d be in this together. Working. Loving. Laughing. Everything those damned cheesy New Year’s Eve posts told me would be coming.

I reached for a hug, but once our gazes locked, I wanted more.

My heart danced. I’d finally found someone who not only let me shine, he lit my fire.

His normally loud voice quieted to a rasp. “Do you still need to make that other video?”

“In a minute. I need to try something else, first,” I said, and leaned in for a kiss.