Don't Tempt Me...

Don’t be a slut, Samantha Kay. It was a plaintive cry.

Samantha had rushed to the bathroom, expecting to see the cute, sexy girl who’d just left there, but what looked back at her was a cheap, trashy fool. Try as she might, she couldn’t get back that glow, the sparkle she’d seen as clear as day.

“Can I help?”

Rick startled her back to the moment and she realized the mannequin was rattling on its posts as she struggled to adjust the bustier in place.

Now he was so close that arousal replaced sadness, tingling through her like a tuning fork continually struck. She finished the ties and they both moved back.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his gaze on her, not the mannequin.

“I’m fine.” She glanced at him. “I was just thinking that my folks would be shocked if they saw me now.” Her parents only knew she had a portrait studio, not that she took intimate photos. Eventually, she’d have to tell them, but not until she was confident of her success.

“They might surprise you.”

“I don’t think so. Small towns are small in lots of ways.”

“At least you know where you stand.”

“Or where everyone wants to lock you and throw away the key. I didn’t have the courage to rebel like you did.”

“It wasn’t courage, trust me. I just did what I pleased. My brother Brian had the grades and the ambition. That meant I was free to hang loose.” Rick shrugged, but she could see he had regrets. And he didn’t really strike her as a hang-loose kind of guy. He seemed serious and conscientious to her.

“I didn’t have any brothers or sisters to distract my parents. I was the center of their universe—total focus of their hopes and dreams.” And probably a disappointment, though they never said anything during formal family visits, polite smiles covering the tension of questions unasked, answers withheld.

“They don’t understand why I’m not living in Copper Corners, leading the church choir, growing tomatoes, married with two kids. I mean, I’m already twenty-seven. What’s the holdup?” She sighed and tried to smile.

“But you want more than that.”

“Lots more.”

“To splash around and almost drown?” He smiled.

“Exactly. I have to have something to settle down from.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

It was strange. They’d known each other such a short time, but she felt as though she’d shared a lot with Rick. He watched her so carefully, listened so closely, asked good questions. He seemed to really want to understand her.

Rick crouched to lift the boots out of the shoe box. They were vinyl platforms with stiletto heels and tons of laces. “Now these?” he asked, holding one up.

“Perfect for Donna D.,” she said, turning one plaster leg so Rick could tug up the boot, his tan a delicious contrast to the pale limb. He yanked the laces tight and she could picture him doing the same thing to a velvet tie around her wrists. Oh, my, make it tight.

“Got it,” he said softly, telling her she could let go.

“Sure, sure,” she said, moving to the other leg, determined to focus on the work at hand, not the hungry fantasies that danced at the edge of her awareness.

With Donna dressed in leather and vinyl, they moved to her submissive partner, for whom Val had selected the red see-through open-nipple bra and matching thong Samantha and Rick had first opened. Rick knelt below her and pulled the thong into place while she attached the bra above him.

This was such a suggestive activity it felt like pure torture to Samantha, made worse because as he worked, Rick brushed against her calf below her capris. His gaze kept touching hers, then jerking away, and the mannequin rattled on its moorings from their shakiness. He seemed as unsettled as she was by the task.

When they finished, Samantha moved Ms. Nipples so that her arms overlapped Donna’s, creating a unified picture, then backed up to survey the effect, Rick at her side.

Very hot. The open bra seemed to serve up the pale plaster nipples, carved to look very natural. The black bustier and boots made Donna seem darkly erotic.

“I think that does the trick, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, then shook his head, hands on hips.

“What?”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this, that’s all.” He waved at the mannequins. “Dressing dolls in underwear.”

“Does it threaten your masculinity?” She quickly added, “Because it shouldn’t.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Let’s just say a man’s big hand on a shred of red lace has a certain…je ne sais quoi.”

“Je ne sais what?”

“It’s hot, okay? Let’s go with hot.”

“I’ll take it.” He held her gaze for a long moment, his mood-ring eyes swirling, all right, but murky, as if he planned to hold back at all costs. “Shall we start on the next?”

He stepped down, helped her to the floor and up into the bigger display window, which held two standing mannequins, a blonde and a brunette, with a third, honey-skinned, in a black Afro, lying on her side between them.

Samantha handed Rick a mint-green camisole with delicate straps for the standing blonde and she dressed the lounging woman in a butter-cream satin teddy. Finished, she reached for the third outfit and stopped short. “Oh.”

“What’s wrong?” Rick said, looking down at her.

She stood, holding the teddy. “I have this same one.”

“Yeah?” He moved closer.

“I wore it for my first bedroom shot.” She fingered the shimmery fabric with both hands.

“Your first shot? And it was of you?”

She nodded. “It was for my boyfriend Barry. We were taking each other for granted, so I thought…why not?”

She’d thought all they’d needed was to relight the spark, so Val had helped her gather an outfit and she’d intended to march into the bedroom wearing it. In the end, taking a photo to show him had made her feel less vulnerable. Which should have been a clue to the outcome, but she hadn’t been ready for the truth.

“How did it turn out?” Rick asked softly.

The story was embarrassing, but it had been a turning point in her life. Something about Rick’s gaze—as if nothing in the world mattered more than what she had to say—made her want to tell him.

“The photo turned out great.” In it, she lay on her side, one leg bent, lace garters and white fishnets showing, her auburn curls cupping her cheeks, a white feather boa teasing her jaw and her breasts swelling out of the gleaming teddy. She’d been so excited by how she looked, couldn’t wait to show Barry, to read the pleasure in his face.