Iris Blaire - Dark Frame

“Sweet.” Adam jumps to his feet and Delilah rolls her eyes, brushing red curls off her shoulders.

The girl is beautiful and doe-eyed and looks absolutely petrified. She fits Adam’s theme perfectly, which is kind of disgusting. She might even be shivering. When she sees Adam, she looks like she’s about to cry, which is funny considering how gorgeous Adam is.

The photographer, a tall, skinny, white, and incredibly city-chic-cliché looking guy, cocks his head to the side and says in a tenor voice, “Okay, I want you two to pose like both of you are made of the most delectable dessert and you want to eat each other up.”

I—without even attempting to hide my actions—slap my hand to my forehead.

Miguel, my model on the end, busts up laughing, and the Amora assistant in front of him shoots him a dirty look. Ella in the middle mutters, “Why don’t they just pose normally—like they want to fuck each other,” and that leaves all of my models in hysterics. I can’t help but crack a smile.

Dwain turns in his seat and barks, “Get them under control.” I shrug in response. This is way too much fun.

Adam catches my eye and winks at me. The girl crawls onto the bed and he follows her. As the photographer is finding his position, Adam slinks his arms around her waist and whispers something into her ear.

Whatever he says, it works. When the photographer begins, she crawls away and he grasps her foot, pulling her back to him. Her body glides against the satin sheets and he pins her hips to the mattress.

“Less aggressive, boy,” Dwain says.

Boy? He didn’t even take the time to learn my models’ names?

Adam doesn’t act like Dwain’s command fazes him at all. The way he arches his back makes him look like a cat, his hands stiff and clawed around the model’s hips. She twists her body around and it’s a beautiful shot that the photographer isn’t taking advantage of.

“Fucking idiot,” I whisper, and Delilah nudges me in the arm.

The Amora Acquisitions team write furiously on their iPads. None of them look very enthused. Adam wraps his arms around the models’ torso and pulls her up until they’re both kneeling and facing the camera, her back pressed to his chest. He drags his bared teeth across her earlobe, runs his hands up her ribcage, links his fingers beneath her bandeau, and tugs down until her breasts are exposed.

Leave it to Adam to be ballsy with a girl he’s never met before.

It’s like it doesn’t even cross his mind that there are twenty people watching him, half of them typing on their iPads like scientists at a research exhibit. Not hiding behind the lens makes me feel naked and exposed to the situation, an ache building between my legs. Everything that’s happening in this room is incredibly voyeuristic and weirdly fucking hot.

The female model releases a small gasp, and Adam whispers something else in her ear. I can tell by the way Delilah is so stiff that she’s not too happy. Considering how loose Adam always acts, it’s hard to remember that they’re constantly on-again off-again.

With stiff, crooked fingers, Adam runs his claw-like hands right over the girl’s breasts, and she closes her eyes and arches her back like she enjoys the sting of it. Another perfect shot, but the dumbass photographer is, again, shooting from the wrong angle. I ball my hands into fists. I wish I could use this, just like I used Dallas’s audition. The only difference is that I’m going to have to reshoot this entire session.

I grunt in frustration, but none of the Amora assistants seem to notice.

Even worse than shooting from the wrong angles is when the photographer decides to end early, even when the auditioning model is so willing to continue. He shouldn’t have, considering the next string of models either act like or express that they don’t want to take their clothes off. One of them, as Ella is hanging all over him and trying to portray the weightless theme that I gave her, blatantly says, “This is making me uncomfortable.”

“Hold up, hold up,” I yell as I stand. The photographer purses his lips and drops his camera, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed with the model or with me. “Do you know what East Park Exposed is?”

The guy shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

“And this is making you uncomfortable? Neither of you are naked yet.”

“I don’t know, I just…”

“What do you think we do, Photoshop your nipples on?”

Delilah snickers.

I get another wave of nasty looks from the Amora crew and finally crack. “Stop looking at me like that! You know I’m right!”

After the slew of uncomfortable candidates, there’s a slew of generic candidates. My own professional models look like broken toy soldiers as they attempt to play sexy with them. Now I don’t know if it’s the photographer or simply a string of bad luck. Finally, a crew member calls number sixteen, and I smack Delilah on the knee.

“You’re up.”

Jaime walks into the room.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Delilah breathes.

Adam grunts uncomfortably next to her.

I grab her shoulder to gain her attention. “I need you to screw this up,” I mutter.

“What?” she hisses. “Are you fucking insane? He’s gorgeous .”

“I know him, and he’s an ass to work with. Just do as I say.”

She groans and stands, trudging to Jaime and holding out her hand. “I’m Delilah.”

“Jaime.”

Delilah gapes at him, and then she slowly turns toward me.

Oh, fuck .

I’d forgotten that I spilled my secrets to Delilah and Evan one night when the three of us were drunk at the house. We were talking about dumb high school perceptions and decisions, and what we would tell our teenage selves if we could.

And I drunkenly said, I’d tell my teenage self to stop fantasizing about Jaime eating you out, because he’s an asshole and will never do anything other than tease you.

Delilah and Evan responded with a chorus of, Oooooh, Jaime! That’s when I told them about my brother’s douchebag best friend.

Delilah’s eyes hold a deviant glint as she connects the dots. She wouldn’t.

She would.

I’m so screwed.

As the photographer finds an angle, Delilah whispers into Jaime’s ear her plans. He nods.

Before the photographer has even begun shooting, Jaime has swung Delilah up into the air. She wraps her legs around his waist and presses her forehead to his.

“Move onto the bed,” Dwain orders, but Jaime doesn’t listen to him.

And then they’re kissing.

Several of the models hoot and holler. “Yeah, baby!” Miguel yells.

Crazy that a simple kiss can spark such a reaction from a room of soft-core porn stars.

But it’s not just a simple kiss. Delilah drags her teeth across Jaime’s lower lip. He unhooks her bra seamlessly without stumbling once. She arches her back, letting one hand drop and clutching his neck with the other. It’s like her creamy porcelain skin is spilling off and over him. It’s such a goddamn perfect shot despite my reservations with Jaime, and I swear if the photographer doesn’t catch it, I’m going to punch him in the nuts.

Suddenly, a feeling I’ve never experienced during a photo shoot swells in my gut—jealousy.

I shove my fists into my stomach, as if that will stop it. What the fuck is my problem?

The way she gyrates her body against his makes me sick, even though they’re perfect together. There’s no way Jaime won’t make the cut, so I better get used to the thought of him.

Existing in my business, my job.

Existing in my life again.

She presses herself to his body. His tongue glides up her neck and he nips at her jaw.

Then his eyes break away from her, and he finds me in the dark sea of observers and models.