Free Kept by Him by Red Garnier

she was especially excited as she headed to the third floor, where the photo
     sessions for their winter catalogs took place. They had a special session planned
     this morning, which had been scheduled with a Chicago top ad agency months before.
    Her marketing staff was intent on using Monica’s iconic face for a publicity shot
     they expected would boost sales dramatically. The team wanted to interplay her Ice
     Maiden nickname with the warmth of cashmere, so rather than standing behind the photographers
     and watching them shoot the models, Monica soon ended up spread on a bed of cashmere,
     their finest two-ply from China, where the Capra hircus goats produced the softest
     hairs known.
    Tons of cashmere pillows were tossed out behind her while Monica lay in nude-colored
     panties and golden heels, her only cover an earthy cashmere throw that matched her
     glossy earth-toned lips. In the background, a winter wonderland showcased enough fake
     snow to rival an Aspen ski slope.
    Monica hadn’t realized how difficult it was for models to look into a camera lens
     and willingly, openly transmit their emotions into the lens.
    It seemed to be an art—and one at which she was not a natural.
    She clutched the cover to her chest and tried to look warm. Chris, an amazingly talented
     photographer who always did their most successful ad campaigns, rubbed his bald head
     in exasperation a half hour later. “Go for more warmth, soften your expression, Ms.
     Davenport.”
    Monica tried fixing her expression for a couple of more minutes, first and foremost
     attempting to calm her frustration, for it didn’t made her feel necessarily warm or
     giving, much less sensual.
    She did her deep breathing exercises, but the more she thought about being closed
     off, the more she actually closed off. She didn’t mind being physically naked as much
     as showing some inner vulnerability, which she usually dared not show anyone.
    “I still need you to relax, Ms. Davenport.”
    “Can’t we tweak in Photoshop, Chris?”
    “No, Ms. Davenport, it’s your entire expression. It’s too controlled, your jaw is
     tight. Give me slackness, part your lips, give me an on-the-beach sensual look while
     holding the throw tighter.”
    Monica tried parting her lips, all while wondering how much they could improve with
     Photoshop, when suddenly a dark figure moved through the swinging doors at the end.
     Monica’s assistant turned, gasped, and stepped aside to make room for it. Recognition
     struck Monica and her system froze and restarted as though the bolt of lightning had
     struck her dead on her sex.
    Her nerve endings trilled with a strange sexual alertness. Daniel came to a stop a
     few feet away from the photographer, his feet braced apart, his stance oozing that
     air of natural authority that always surrounded him. His shoulders were draped in
     a dark black button-down shirt that matched his slacks, and all clad in black, he
     looked even blonder, tanner, his eyes greener—every feature of his enhanced and striking.
    Instantly, his forest green eyes locked intimately with hers, raking her form almost
     possessively. Heat. It spread suddenly all over her and she became hyper-attuned to
     him. Her awareness of him had heightened to new levels, and now it was almost painful
     in its force.
    This morning, what they’d done last night had felt surreal. Now her pussy throbbed
     in memory, still sore from his touches, becoming strangely even sorer at his presence.
     Monica had never been more painfully mindful of how empty she felt inside until she
     stared at Daniel Lexington across a room full of dozens of people while desperately,
     desperately wanting him inside her.
    His intense green eyes stayed fastened to hers, only roaming briefly as he once again
     took inventory. She became aware of every bit of skin exposed from the cashmere. Her
     toes, her ankles, a part of her calf, her rounded shoulders, one of her arms … What
     was he thinking?