Page 27 of Dirty Like Dylan
“The thing is, as you kind of found out, what I don’t love is people posing for me,” she said. “Being hyperaware that I’m photographing them at the moment I make the photograph. Those are my least favorite types of shoots. Like the stuff Liv does. I really shouldn’t have taken that job. It was just supposed to be behind-the-scenes, candid stuff, which is fine, but… I should’ve known. It wasn’t the right job for me.” She cocked her head a little, her green eyes locking with his, all passionate earnestness and dick-hardening charm. “Plus, I was in kind of a bad mood. I’m sorry I was so… rude. I didn’t mean to be rude at your shoot.”
Dylan just dismissed that with a shake of his head. “I get it. You would’ve done it differently, if it was your shoot.”
“Yeah, well. I would’ve just filmed you in your environment. But I get that’s not the vision they had for their underwear…” She trailed off.
“He’s a drummer,” I said. “The stage and the drum kit are his environment.”
“I disagree,” she said, sparing me another cool glare. Amazing, how her mood could shift temperature by several hundred degrees in the span of a nanosecond as she looked between us.
“How so?” Dylan asked.
“They didn’t hire you because you’re a drummer,” she told him. “They hired you because you’re a ‘rock god.’” She shrugged, and one of the skinny straps of her dress fell off her shoulder. She didn’t even seem to notice, and I stuffed down my groan with a forkful of roast as Dylan’s gaze skimmed her tanned, slightly freckled shoulder… and her lacy pink bra strap. “I just would’ve tried to film you in an environment that expressed that. And preferably a real one, not some sound stage.”
“Like a mountaintop cliff… or a bedroom?” he said, remembering what she’d said at the shoot.
“Right.” Amber took a sip of her wine, and she was definitely fucking blushing. “I’d set you loose in one of those spaces and see what I could capture organically. And it would probably be the photos in-between the posed ones, when you weren’t even aware I was still shooting, that would be the best ones.”
Well, fuck.
Dylan was done. Hook, line, sinker. Fillet him and serve him up on a platter.
Not only was the girl hitting every hot button he had with her bright-eyed sincerity, but she was a fucking photographer, and talking about taking photos of him? Total dirty talk.
The guy had always been an exhibitionist.
Shit.
This was all happening way too fucking fast…
I watched them talking and flirting, and it all started to kinda blur together. I couldn’t even hear what they were saying anymore. But I could see it all happening in front of me in weirdly slow yet too-fast motion…
Too. Fucking. Fast.
Yes, I’d expected him to go sniffing around. Checking in with Liv at the shoot, casually inquiring about her sister. And obviously, I knew he’d get Amber Malone on her back. The girl had an attitude, but I’d seen the way she looked at Dylan. She’d play the game, maybe she’d play it cool, but soon enough, she’d be giving it up to him. It really didn’t take much. Dylan didn’t even have to open his mouth to make a woman open her legs; I’d seen it too many times to count.
I’d never actually been jealous of another dude’s skills with women until I met him.
But here was the other thing about Dylan Cope: when it came to women, he had some serious ADD. If this was any other girl, all I should’ve had to do was throw him off the scent. Whisk him off to the island and toss some flashy blonde pussy in his face.
But I’d underestimated that, too.
I did not expect him to blow Susanna off so easily after I’d invited her out here. After she’d dropped everything to come over on the morning ferry, and busied herself with her other clients on the island for most of the day, waiting on him, until I told her it was a good time to come over. Even when Amber had showed up in my bathroom, naked, I figured Susanna still had a fighting chance. Or at least, I managed to convince myself that her mile-long legs and juicy tits might have the power to eclipse Amber’s natural appeal. Her sun-kissed hair and thrift store clothes. Her perky tits. The earnestness she wore as nakedly as the freckles on her face.
The girl had fucking freckles.
They were smattered faintly across the cutest nose in existence. And I wasn’t even gonna get started on the tiny little pink nose piercing.
She also had a small tattoo inside her left wrist that I’d only just noticed; a few embellished letters or initials or something I couldn’t quite read. Probably some stupid hippie thing. Namaste or some shit.
Made me wonder if she had any other tattoos on her body, though I kinda doubted it. Probably way too practical for that. Obviously, she took herself way too fucking seriously. She looked all clever and idealistic with her straight shoulders and short, bare fingernails. And when she was pissed, she twisted up her pretty lips and made an adorable little duck face. I’d seen it already, several times.
Add to that the thick, wavy hair just dusting her shoulders, the color of caramel melting at sunset, and the mesmerizing, light-green eyes, the little tan lines peeking out that made you want to undress her… She was a full foot shorter than Dylan, and as she gazed up at him now… shit. If she wanted Dylan’s cock down her throat right now, she could have it. If he wasn’t already, the guy was definitely gonna be hard for her in like five more seconds. All she had to do was—
Laugh.
I cringed as she fucking laughed at whatever clever shit Dylan had just said, tossing her head back, her light-green eyes sparkling, her canine teeth poking down a little longer than her other teeth… and Dylan fucking sprang wood. I knew he did. No way he couldn’t. The girl had a sexy, infectious laugh and perfectly imperfect teeth, just like the rest of her.
Dylan’s eyes caught mine as he sipped his wine. He raised one eyebrow a fraction, and I knew what he was thinking.