His Acquisition by Ava Lore Page B

above me the camera clicked and
whirred, capturing every moment.
    I should have been ashamed. I had certainly been raised to feel
that way. But I didn't. My climax, previously denied, began to build again,
mounting harder this time, faster, higher. He played me like an instrument, and
I let him. The satin slid against my skin, looping and tightening, my breath
coming hot and fast. The cool air on my body, the dazzling lights, the darkness
of the backdrop burning against my eyes as my back arched like a bow pulled
taut—all of it exposed me to him, to the unforgiving lens of his camera.
    Yet I trusted him to make it beautiful, to transcend it.
    You were alive.
    Maybe he was crazy. But if I was alive, I wanted to feel
like it.
    His harsh breathing cut through my haze, scraping over my ears
as he moved over me, placing a foot by my shoulder and staring directly down at
my face. Closer and closer the camera came, and I forced myself to be still as
he stroked me, so the shots wouldn't come out blurry. Below the waist, my hips
bucked, thrusting into him as he fucked me with his hand. I tried to touch
myself, but my arms were caught in the satin, and I could only close my eyes
and give myself over to him.
    My pussy clenched, drenching his hand, and my climax was coming,
just on the edge.
    “I'm—” I started to say, but the clatter of something heavy hitting
the floor startled me and I turned my head just in time to see the camera
skitter away over the dark black cloth covering the floorboards as Malcolm Ward
suddenly crouched down and slipped an arm under me. I became weightless as he
lifted me, clutching me hard to him, and I, tangled and twisted as I was, could
only lay limp in his embrace as his mouth found my throat. Then his fingers
gave me a little push, and I was tumbling over the edge of my climax, pleasure
rushing up to meet me.
    Great shudders raced through my body and I curled up, my legs
clamping around his arm as I came. The waves of my orgasm threatened to sweep
me away, suck me into an undertow I could not escape from. More than anything I
wished it were his hips I were clinging to instead of his arm, and as his hand
drew my orgasm out of me, his mouth traced gentle, soft patterns over the
fragile skin of my throat, a sharp contrast to the violence of his fingers in
my ass and pussy. I writhed as he brought his index finger and thumb together inside
me, only the thinnest of inner walls separating them. I was stretched wide,
aching, and when at last the ripples subsided I collapsed in his grasp, all the
tension of my body flowing away like water down a hill.
    Our ragged gasps mingled together in the studio, his breath
coiling in the hollow of my throat, and mine bouncing off the walls. His
forehead was sheened in sweat and I remembered my own curiosity as to what it
would taste like. Turning my head, I let my tongue slip along his brow, tasting
him.
    Salty, sweet. Dark. Good.
    Then my body jolted as he jerked away from me. I inhaled sharply
at the expression on his face.
    He looked... confused. As though he had no idea what had just
happened, even though his fingers were still buried inside my body. The smell
of sweat and my juices hung in the previously cool, stale air, and his wide,
dark eyes searched my face as if he were looking for some clue that might be
hidden there, something that would tell him what to do next.
    Personally, I'd thought we were going to fuck. But that look on
his face told me that things were not quite as simple as that.
    “Oh,” he said suddenly, and then, as quickly as he could without
injuring me, he set me down and pulled his fingers from my cunt and ass. The
swift loss sent a tremor of remembered pleasure through my body and I jerked in
my twisted satin bonds. I was caught where I lay, but he retreated from me,
leaving me to work my way out on my own. He stood at the edge of the black
backdrop and watched, as though he had had no part in my predicament. Sitting
up, I struggled out of