Fake Model by Cassie Mint

Four

Archer

“Wait.” I snake out a hand and grab Billie’s wrist before she takes hold of the garment bag. The zipper is undone, the bag open to the breeze, and those tiny scraps of ivory satin and lace bring a roaring sound to my ears.

Her wrist is delicate in my grip. Her skin smooth and creamy. I rub my thumb over her pulse point, glaring around at the small crowd.

“Everybody go home.”

“What?” Gavin splutters a laugh, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. It occurs to me for the first time that my assistant is probably considered handsome.

My grip tightens on Billie.

“Did I stutter?” I snap, and I feel her flinch beside me. Fuck. When will I stop putting my foot in my mouth? She tugs her arm away, frowning down at the sand.

Gavin waves at the equipment, helpless.

“We still have four more outfits! The light’s still good. Come on, Archer, we’re on deadline.”

All reasonable points. He’s not saying anything untrue. But that doesn’t stop me from pinning him with a murderous glare. Gavin shrinks back, baffled and alarmed, and everyone else around us holds their breath.

“Go,” I grind out. My heartbeat thunders in my chest. “Now.”

They jerk into action, packing away tables and grabbing their things, shooting me worried glances and whispering together. Billie starts to move too, but I snag her by the shoulder.

“Not you. Gavin’s right. We have work to do.”

She doesn’t question me. Doesn’t ask why I’ve sent the others away and not her. She plucks up the first garment bag and ducks into the changing space, expression thoughtful.

I rub a palm over my chest as I wait for her to change, pacing back and forth. Will the lingerie fit? Maybe she needs these adjusted too. I didn’t even think of that. And what the hell is wrong with my heart?

Fuck, I’m a mess.

When she steps back out with her robe wrapped tight around her, I swallow hard and face her. She tilts her head.

“Are you going to explain why you sent them away?”

Yeah, that’s an easy one. I prowl over to her, only stopping with a few inches between our chests. She barely comes up to my chin.

“No one else can see you like this.” I tug her robe open, eyes greedy, sucking in a deep breath at the bare expanses of milky skin. My eyes flick up to hers and she’s watching me, pupils blown wide. “Only me. Do you understand?”

“You’re very possessive.”

And her stutter is gone. I don’t point that out. Instead, I smirk, wrapping a red curl around my knuckle.

“You don’t seem to mind, sweetheart.”

She raises her chin. “You have no say in who I show myself to.”

I want to beat my chest and roar.

“No,” I croak. “Not yet.”

But she must feel this too. This magnetic pull between us, drawing us together like the tide is pulled up the beach.

“I’m possessive too,” she warns. Then her cheeks flush, and she ducks her head. “At least, I think I will be.” She glares back up at me. “Are you prepared for that?”

Is she saying what I think she’s saying? That she’s… inexperienced?

Untouched and untried?

Jesus Christ. This girl is trying to kill me.

“Oh, I’m prepared.” I slide a hand into her hair, cupping the side of her face. There are freckles dusting her pert little nose. “I’d like nothing better than you growling over me, sweetheart. Staking your claim.”

I dip my head and drag the tip of my nose along her hairline, inhaling her scent. She smells like vanilla and cocoa powder. Warm cookies on a summer’s day.

I nip her earlobe, smirking as she shudders. “I want you to rub your delicious scent all over me.”

Billie sucks in a shaky breath and pushes me away with gentle hands.

“Let’s finish your shoot,” is all she says.

It’s not an answer. The evasion is maddening, but I grit my teeth and tilt my head down the beach.

Fine. We’ll play this her way. Dancing around each other until she finally snaps.

I don’t mind waiting her out.

I can be a very patient man.

* * *

The pop-up changing station is a set of three screens and a free-standing mirror listing to one side in the sand. Billie’s clothes are tossed over the top of one screen, the sleeve of a thin emerald green sweater shifting in the breeze.

I’d been too wrapped up in preparations for the shoot to notice her outfit this morning. Her clothes are simple. Modest. Neat but worn-in. The sight of the faded patch on the knee of her jeans, of the loose thread on the collar of her sweater—it punches me in the solar plexus.

I clear my throat and knock on the wooden frame of the screen. Billie squeaks and staggers into the fabric wall, her corset half-fastened.

“May I?” I murmur. I don’t know what I’ll do if she says no. Dash my head against the rocks? But there’s no need, my skull is safe, because Billie blows out a breath and gives me a quick nod.

She flaps a hand at the row of hooks running down her spine.

“I c-can’t do them up.”

I hum, stepping closer. “They can be tricky.”

It’s meant to be comforting, a peace offering, but she squints at me like she’s trying to find the insult.

There isn’t one. I don’t know how I managed to go so badly wrong with this angel, but she’s flawless. A walking work of art. The first set of lingerie took ten years off my life.

“Maybe it’s too small,” she whispers, frowning at the mirror, her mouth twisted. No. Hell no. I’m not letting this happen again.

“It’s perfect.” I pause behind her, hooking the corset up smoothly. It’s a cruel joke—the last thing I want to do is fasten her into the lingerie. I’d rather rip it clean in two, sending hooks flying to the sand.

It takes a few seconds to do up the corset, but I linger. Her soft expanses of skin make my chest ache. The corset nips her in at the waist, emphasizing the mouthwatering swells of her body.

I breathe in deeply through my nose.

Cupcakes. Holy shit.

“D-do you always help the models dress?”

I bark out a laugh. “No. Never.”

She meets my eye in the mirror. Raises her chin.

“Why me?”

My hand rests on her shoulder, then slides around to cup her neck. It’s not a threat—it’s a caress, my thumb skating over the vulnerable places beneath her jaw.

She sighs and melts back against my chest. My heart lunges at my rib cage, trying to smash its way through to her.

I dip my head and speak with my lips pressed directly to her temple.

“Why you? Don’t you know? Haven’t I made it very fucking clear?” I pulse my grip on her throat, just enough to make her eyelashes flutter. “You own me, sweetheart.”

* * *

You know what?

Screw being patient.

Billie Blue Walsh is trying to murder me.

She wades into the surf, her robe wrapped tight around her middle. The frothy waves break against her legs, and goosebumps ripple over her skin. It’s midday now, the sun shining bronze in her hair, and licking warmth all over her body.

She turns around, fixes me with a wry look, then shrugs her robe off and tosses it to me.

I catch it, the thin fabric still warm from her body, and press it to my nose, breathing her in.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re playing this up.”

Does she think I’m exaggerating how badly I want her? The words drip out of me, voice low.

“I promise you I’m not. Your scent is addictive. I wish I could bottle you and spray you on my pillow.”

She’s flushed pink and pleased as she cocks one hip, posing in the third set of bridal lingerie. There’s even a scrap of lace around one thigh, a garter, and the thought of tearing it off with my teeth makes my head spin.

Billie snorts. “You’re supposed to take photos.”

Right. My whole career. My whole reason for existence, before I saw her. It’s fallen out of my brain, replaced by her intoxicating presence.

I raise my camera and snap photo after photo, not bothering to tell her that I’d rather sell my kidney than these pictures of her.

These will just be for me. The designer can hire someone else to finish the shoot.

“Aren’t you going to direct me?” She tosses her hair over one shoulder.

Fuck yes. I’d like nothing more.

“Seduce me,” I growl. “These clothes are for a wedding night. Look at me like I’m your new husband.”

“You mean look at the camera.” Her mouth twitches in amusement, even as she strokes her fingertips down the center of her chest, over her smooth, soft stomach.

“If you like,” I mutter, raising the camera and watching her through the lens instead. I zoom in, taking in every freckle, every inch of her body in high definition.

Her fingertips graze the top of her panties.

I breathe in hard through my nose. “Fuck.”

Her middle finger dips inside. Just the first knuckle.

“Do it,” I beg.

I’ve never been a man to ask nicely. To flatter and plead. But to see this woman touch herself, to hear the soft moans of her arousal—I would live my whole life on my knees.

She tucks another finger inside the waistband, but won’t go any deeper. Not to where her pussy must be clenching down on nothing, slick and wanting.

I could fill her up. With my hands, cock and tongue. Make that ache go away.

“Show me, then,” I rasp, and to my shock, she complies. She draws her fingers out, then tugs her panties to the side.

Her pussy is pink and swollen, dusted with red hair, and I can’t help the groan that escapes me.

“Is that for me?” I ask, reaching down to palm my cock. I’ve been hard all morning, stiff to the point of pain.

“It depends.” She runs a fingertip up her slit, just on the surface. “What would you do with it?”

“Worship it,” I say immediately. “Worship you. Until you scream so loud your lungs burst.”

She hums, circling the sensitive bead of her clit.

“That doesn’t sound comfortable.”

“Comfort is overrated.”

She laughs, a little hiccup of a sound.

I fall to my knees in the sand, placing the camera and her robe at my side.

“Come here,” I tell her. Billie darts a look around the beach, at the houses lining the cliffs above us, but there’s no one here. We’re alone with the waves.

A drumbeat starts in my chest as she walks to me slowly, the sea water sloshing around her legs. Her teeth dig into her plump, pink bottom lip, and I reach for her, impatient. She gasps as I yank her closer.

My hands dwarf her hips. She’s a doll compared to me—albeit a doll with luscious curves. The swell of her hips, her ample breasts straining against her bra…

I snarl, burying my face in her stomach. My tongue swipes a long line up her body, tasting her from her belly button to her bra, and she gasps and clutches my shoulders.

Yes.This is what I want. Her holding on to me for dear life as I consume her, as I swallow her whole.

“You’re mine,” I mutter, sliding my hands around to squeeze her ass. I bring one palm down on her ass cheek, making her jump and squeak.

The wet spot on her panties grows in front of my eyes.

“Yeah.” I rub the spot I just spanked, soothing the sting away. “You like that, don’t you sweetheart?”

She hums, tipping her head back, swaying in my hold. I hook her leg over my shoulder.

“Tell me you want my mouth on your pussy.”

I speak the words a hair’s breadth from her panties, my warm breath washing over the lace. She moans, already quaking, scrabbling at my head, my neck, my shoulders.

“Y-yes. I want your mouth on my p-pussy.”

Triumph swells and bursts in my chest, searing hot through my whole body, and I snarl as I bury my face between her legs. I mouth and suck at her through the lace, teasing her until she sobs.

A small hand bats at my head.

“D-do it properly.”

I grin, tugging her panties aside with my teeth.

“Say please.”

“Archer—”

I plunge my tongue into her folds. She’s everything I imagined and more—hot and slick and deliciously tangy, quivering with need. She moans and writhes, so fucking responsive that I can’t help but thrust my hips against the air. Even on my knees, she’s so small compared to me. Delicate and light.

“Have you ever come before, sweetheart?” I speak with my mouth pressed in her core, the vibration humming through her.

“I don’t… I don’t know.” She sounds far away. Dazed.

I swirl my tongue around her clit. “You’d know.”

She mutters something, but I don’t catch it. I’m too busy losing myself in her taste, her scent, her wet warmth. I want her all over me, from my eyebrows to my chin. I want to stamp a claim on her the way she’s claimed me. I rub around her entrance without dipping inside, my finger broad against her tight pussy.

What would that feel like, wrapped around my cock?

I shake my head and lick her deeper, my brain fried.

For a girl who’s never come before, she doesn’t hold back now. She climbs swiftly and easily, as natural as breathing, her pleasure cresting as she writhes in my arms. She jerks her hips, riding my face, and I hum my approval and smack her ass.

Yes,I want to tell her. Use me. Take me, too.

“Arch… Archer…” She comes with a breathless squeak, her limbs turning to jelly beneath her. I hold her up, licking her through it until she collapses in my arms, breathing hard. I tuck her across my lap, brushing her hair out of her face.

Billie peers up at me, squinting out of one eye.

I grin down at her, my chin slick and shining.

Hearing her snort of amusement makes my chest ache. I tuck her closer, running my palms over every inch I can reach.

I’ve found her. The woman I’ve been waiting for. My woman.

I screw my eyes shut and I swear to myself—I’ll never let her go.