I pull myself together, sort of; try to tell myself that this is a good thing. Really, it is. He’s saved me a job. ‘You want your wallet,’ I say, even though it’s stating the obvious.
‘Yeah.’
I hold it out and he reaches for it, taking it from me with those big, thick fingers. He’s wearing the same awful beige suit he had on earlier. It’s beyond hideous, but he gets away with it. Probably something to do with the vast quantity of muscle I now know is hidden inside it. ‘Is that everything?’ I ask, hoping it is and then he’ll leave and I can get on with pretending that today never happened.
‘How was your afternoon?’ he asks. ‘Did the shoot goOK?’
My resolve is flimsy. That iota of concern breaks it. ‘No,’ I tell him. ‘Not exactly.’
‘What went wrong?’
He steps forward, into the studio, and my feet move me out of his way. ‘What didn’t?’
He closes the door behind him. ‘Would you like to talk about it?’
‘Maybe.’ It feels strange talking to him about it, but I’ve got to talk to someone. And I can’t exactly talk to Amber right now. ‘That couple that arrived earlier?’
He nods. ‘Looked like they washed before and after sex. And probably during, just to be on the safe side.’
The description nails them so perfectly that I can’t help but laugh, and I dig my nails into my palm when it comes out as more of a snort. ‘Yes. Anyway, we’re all ready to go. He’s looking smug, she’s flicking her hair and flashing the diamond, and I turn on the camera and a shot of you and Amber comes up on the screen.’
‘Oh,’ says Tom. ‘Shit.’
‘You could say that. He sees it, gets…excited, and then she starts giving him the third degree.’ I sink down on to the sofa; drop my head into my hands. Tom plants himself on the arm. This is the second time I’ve been alone and in touching distance of him today, and it’s obviously starting to screw with my head, because I’m finding this conversation almost comforting, and I’m starting to think things I shouldn’t be thinking.
‘Poor bloke,’ he says. ‘She could have been a little more understanding.’
‘Why? Because no man can be expected to control himself when Amber’s you know whats are on display?’
Tom laughs, but he doesn’t answer the question. ‘So what happened then?’
I shuffle a little in my seat. He’s not who I thought he was, not even close. I don’t seem to be me, either. I’m still talking. And I’m saying things that don’t sound like me. ‘She asks him what the hell that’s all about, I tell her I accidentally put up an erotic photo, and she tells me to show it to her, so I do. The pair of them take one look at it and leave.’
He laughs harder then, louder, slapping his big hands down on his thighs.
‘It’s not funny! Seriously. I can’t have my normal clients knowing I take pictures like that. It will ruin everything!’ There’s more than a touch of hysteria in my voice, and I know it. I try to make myself sound reasonable and not unhinged. ‘And I didn’t take a single shot of them, which means they aren’t going to buy any photos, which means I don’t get paid.’ There. He’s an accountant. He’ll understand that.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. He’s holding in the laugh, but it shows in his shoulders, which refuse to be still. ‘If I’d known my dick would cause you all these problems, I’d have kept it in my pants.’
‘Actually,’ I point out, ‘the problem wasn’t your…it wasn’t you. It was Amber.’
‘Ah,’ he says. ‘She didn’t like the fact that looking at Amber gave him a hard on.’
‘Not quite.’ I hesitate then, but if I’ve learned anything today it’s that Tom Hunt is pretty open-minded when it comes to sex. And by pretty open-minded, I mean has absolutely no shame and quite possibly no limits. I wish I had no limits. ‘I think her exact words were “god, I’d like to suck on her tits”.’ My ears go all buzzy after I say those words out loud. ‘God.’ I cover my face with my hands. ‘I can’t believe I just said that.’
There’s a moment of something then, something silent and hot and scary. He doesn’t look at me and I don’t look at him, but I’m so aware of him that it’s almost like he’s touching me all over. My skin is tight and I’ve never been more aware of my nipples. ‘Anyway,’ I say, stretching the word out as long as I can, ‘I’ve got to get home, and I’m sure you’ve got numbers to crunch. Calculators to dust. Stuff to do.’
He’s still looking at me. I can feel it. ‘Yeah,’ he says, after what seems like forever. ‘Stuff. Why do you think it would ruin everything?’
‘What?’
‘Why do you think it would ruin everything if people knew?’
‘Because…because they’ll think it’s inappropriate. They won’t want me to take their normal photos. They’ll think I’m dirty and messed up.’
‘I see,’ he says. ‘Can I see the pictures?’
‘What pictures?’ I ask, like I don’t know. Like my brain hasn’t been hopping between Tom Hunt sat six inches away, all big and warm and fully clothed, and Tom Hunt in my camera, all naked and hard and coming.
‘Be serious.’ He gets to his feet, pokes one of the overhead lights with the tip of his finger. ‘You know exactly which pictures I mean.’
‘Why do you want to see them, anyway?’ I’m stalling and I know it. The idea of the two of us looking at those pictures is too intimate. Too weird. Too much. But I’m not outright refusing. I don’t seem to be able to.
‘Curious, I guess. So come on. Let’s see them.’
‘You know what they say about curiosity.’ I push myself up from the sofa. Still stalling. Still thinking about him naked and hard and coming. It’s all strange and wrong. He is all strange and wrong. Clearly I am too, because my mind has started to veer off in a whole new direction, one which involves me and Tom Hunt looking at those pictures and then having wild, banging sex on my velvet sofa.
Tom Hunt would let me take pictures of him pleasuring himself. He’d do it without batting an eye. He’d probably like it.
‘Yeah,’ he says, flashing me a grin. ‘If men weren’t curious, women would be bored. Show me the bloody pictures already.’
Curiosity is crawling all over me now, making me hot and sweaty, like one of those viruses that comes on from nowhere and turns you into a wreck. Now I want to see the pictures, too. More than that, I really really want to be in the room with Tom Hunt when he looks at them. ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Have it your way.’
I try to pretend that I’m not breathing a bit too fast as I turn on the screen and hook up my camera, then take the memory card out of my pocket and slot it in. I press a couple of buttons. The screen flicks from blue to black and white.
‘Do you want me to set it to slideshow?’ The words come out a little breathy, a little strange.
‘Sounds good,’ he says, so I scroll though the menu on the little screen on the back of the camera and set it up, then I take up position behind the sofa. Tom is still sat on the arm. We get ten seconds to look at each one before the next one appears. Ten long, luscious seconds. By the third picture, I’m throbbing. By the fifth, I’m wet and aching. I rub a hand over the back of my neck, though that’s not really where I want to rub.
Tom is hunched over, rocking slightly forward every time the picture changes. His big shoulders are rigid with tension. The slideshow ends, and I can hardly breathe.
‘Got any more?’ he asks, his gaze fixed firmly on the screen.