But J.J.’s next haul isn’t coming in until next Sunday morning, so I can breathe easy for now. At least until tomorrow afternoon, when I’ll have the endurance test of my life.
25
Maddox
I spend the rest of the day and the next morning in a state of semi-arousal, hating my dick just a little for how hyperaware it is of what’s to come. I don’t typically open the shop on Sundays, so I spend the morning cleaning my apartment and taking exhaustive inventory of my photography gear. I clear all the clutter from every surface because I want as many options as possible for settings. My entire loft is fair game, but I have a feeling things won’t move outside the safer zones of my bedroom and the area beyond. I put clean, white sheets on the bed along with a crisp, white cotton duvet on the down comforter. Neutral, plain backgrounds are preferable for the most striking shots, and I don’t want any noise distracting from the two models.
Thinking of Leo and Celeste as nothing more than models is the only way I can keep this event in perspective. This isn’t new to me by any stretch, so I should be able to keep things professional, but when I’m finished setting up and hit the shower, I’m bombarded with the memory of Celeste throwing herself at me within this small space. I turn the heat up and soap up my dick, bringing myself off with punishing strokes that leave me feeling empty rather than sated when I’m finished.
This is just a project for a friend, at least that’s what I keep telling myself, but when the buzzer outside the garage entrance sounds, my skin prickles with awareness of what’s to come.
“Be right down,” I answer with a press of my thumb to the speaker button. I steady my breathing and focus to keep my heart rate steady when I head down in the lift. It almost feels like I’m heading off on assignment into a combat zone, so it takes work to settle my nerves and remind myself that I’m just spending the afternoon with two friends. So what if they’re going to be fucking right in front of me? At least nobody’s aiming a gun at my head.
When I open the door, they’re snuggled up together against the December chill that persists in the shaded alley at the back of my shop. Leo’s in jeans and a leather jacket, and Celeste is in a dress with a fluffy, fleecy thing wrapped around her. Leo tilts his head back toward the alley.
“Is it cool if I park back here?”
I follow his gaze to a black Bentley, and my brows shoot up. “Ah, why don’t I let you pull it inside? Jesus Christ, Leo, you’re really milking this new position, aren’t you?” I usher them in, then hit the switch for the garage door.
Leo laughs and eyes Celeste, whose already pink cheeks flush darker. “Papá bought it for him,” she says. “Insists he needs to keep up appearances, since everything he drives or wears reflects on the business.” To Leo, she adds, “I told you we should’ve had Baz or Benny drive us.”
“And have the pair of them know our business? Hell no. Mad Dog has us covered.”
When the door opens enough, he ducks out and jogs to the Bentley. The engine rumbles to life a second later and settles to a low purr as I maneuver my bike out of the way so he can pull into the open bay.
Somehow it feels like a cleansing of sorts, to have this brand-new, expensive car resting in this space, its engine ticking faintly as it cools. Karma has seen fit to shine brightly for my friend, and I can’t help but be happy for him.
Leo claps me on the shoulder and leans in. “I’ll let you take her for a spin later if you want. Just don’t let it get back to Papá.”
My dick twitches in interest, more for the man at my side than the car, but I give him a wicked grin anyway, because a turn at the wheel of this beauty wouldn’t be a terrible consolation prize.
I turn to lead them to the lift and am caught off guard by Celeste, who has removed her coat. She’s wearing the same dress she wore that day she visited for her consultation. It’s a flowery blue thing that wraps around her body and clings to all her curves. I vividly recall how she looked when the belt came undone and I was on my knees in front of her. It takes every ounce of willpower to accept her hug without burying my face in her hair and inhaling her like a drug.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” she asks in a soft voice. Her eyes search mine, then she glances at Leo, who is engrossed in something on his phone.
“It’s all good,” I say, averting my gaze and slipping past to open the lift.
The music I put on earlier fills my loft with the subdued, sexy beat of trip-hop fusion. The lyrics blend with the hypnotic instrumentals, calming my frayed nerves as well as lending a sexy ambience to the experience. We step out and I take their coats, hanging them on the hooks by the lift before heading to the kitchen.
“We can take this at a pace that’s comfortable for you. I have drinks if you want a little something to relax and get into the mood first.”
A bottle of inexpensive champagne and two flutes rest on my bar counter, alongside an assortment of liquor: whiskey, tequila, and vodka, the three staples. A bowl of lime wedges and a saltshaker sit beside the tequila.
I pick up my camera and sling the strap over
