Chapter 8: The Second Shoot
The air in Suki’s bedroom was still, charged with a new kind of intention. The previous shoot’s frantic energy was absent, replaced by a slow, deliberate calm. Catriona adjusted the main camera on its tripod, her movements precise. A second, smaller camera was set up on a dresser, capturing a wider angle.
“Lighting’s even better today,” she said, squinting through the viewfinder. “Cloud cover. Softbox effect through the sheers. Perfect for skin tones.”
Suki stood by the bed, already in a silk robe the color of charcoal. She watched Aidan, who hovered near the doorway, his hands in his pockets. He looked more settled than the first time, but the air of uncertainty was still there, a low hum beneath his easy posture.
“You remember the concept,” Suki said. It wasn’t a question.
“I’m disposable. At your disposal. Same thing, right?” Aidan replied, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.
“Right. So no questions. No moving unless I tell you to.” She walked over to her vanity, picked up a narrow strip of black silk. “We’re starting with this.”
Aidan’s eyes followed the fabric. “A blindfold?”
“It simplifies things. For you. For the performance. You become a sensory object. Less thinking.” Her tone was clinical, but her green eyes held a spark of something warmer. “Okay?”
He glanced at Catriona, who gave him an eager thumbs-up from behind the camera. He exhaled, a slow, surrendering sound. “Okay.”
“Clothes off. Then kneel at the foot of the bed.”
He obeyed, shedding his t-shirt and jeans with a quiet efficiency. The cool air raised goosebumps on his skin. He knelt on the plush area rug, the pattern pressing into his knees. The city murmured beyond the windows, a distant, grounding rumble.
Suki approached, the silk whispering in her hand. She stood before him, a towering presence. He caught the scent of her—vanilla, citrus, and something uniquely, intimately Suki. Her fingers brushed his hair aside as she tied the blindfold. The world vanished into a warm, pressing dark.
His other senses immediately sharpened. The sound of Catriona subtly repositioning the camera. The rustle of Suki’s robe being untied and dropped. The faint, metallic click of the camera recording.
Then, touch.
It was a light, tracing touch at first. Her fingertips grazing the line of his jaw, down the column of his throat, over the swell of his pectorals. She mapped him. He felt his own heartbeat under her fingers, a frantic prisoner in his chest. Her touch moved lower, skimming his ribs, the flat plane of his stomach. He jerked slightly when her nails dragged gently through the coarse hair leading downward.
“Still,” she murmured, her voice close to his ear. It was low, a private command.
He forced his muscles to unlock. Her hands returned, this time more possessive. She palmed his shoulders, his biceps, testing his solidity. Her thumbs rubbed circles into the inside of his wrists where his pulse hammered. It was an inspection. A claiming.
Her mouth followed her hands.
A soft, open-mouthed kiss on his collarbone. The wet trail of her tongue down his sternum. She took one of his nipples into her mouth, biting down just enough to make him gasp, then soothed it with her tongue. She did the same to the other, her hair falling around his face like a curtain. He could hear her breathing, steady and controlled, a contrast to his own which was growing ragged.
She traveled lower, her kisses becoming fleeting, teasing brushes along his hips, the tense cords of his thighs. She avoided where he was now fully, achingly hard, the neglected weight of him straining upward. The denial was exquisite, a slow burn that had sweat beading on his spine.
“Suki,” he breathed, a plea and a protest.
In response, he felt the warmth of her body settle over his thighs. Not taking him inside, just hovering. The heat of her was maddening. He felt her hand wrap around him, her grip firm and knowing. She stroked him once, twice, a slow, lubricated glide—he realized she’d used the spit from her mouth—and his hips bucked instinctively.
“I didn’t say you could move.” Her voice held a smile now.
He swallowed a groan, forcing himself back to stillness. The hand continued its leisurely pace, a rhythm designed to unravel him. He was close, too fast, the edge looming like a cliff. Just as he felt the inevitable tightening in his gut, the sensation vanished. Her weight left his legs.
He whimpered. The sound was pathetic, raw, and entirely involuntary.
He heard Catriona’s soft, delighted laugh from across the room. “God, the audio on this is amazing,” she whispered, more to herself than to them.
Suki’s hands were on him again, but differently. Guiding him. “Lie back. On the bed.”
He scrambled to comply, his body thrumming with unmet need. The silk sheets were cool against his back. Then she was over him, straddling his hips. He felt the damp, hot press of her against the head of his cock. She teased, rocking gently, letting him feel the incredible, tight warmth but not allowing entry.
“Please,” he grated out, the word torn from him.
She lowered herself, an inch, a devastating, slow surrender. He felt her body stretch to accommodate him, the fierce, clutching tension he remembered from the first time. She took him halfway and stopped, her own breath hitching. She was so tight it almost hurt.
“Look at that,” Catriona said, her voice a hushed, awed directive. “The shot is… holy shit. Just hold there, Suki. Let me get this.”
Suki held. Aidan could feel the minute tremors in her thighs where they framed his hips. He could feel the internal, fluttering clench of her around him. The blindfold made it all consuming, a universe of sensation focused on that single, joined point.
Then she began to move.
It was a slow, undulating roll of her hips, a deep, grinding rhythm that milked him with every lift and fall. She set a pace that was purely for her own pleasure, finding the angle that made her breath catch. He could only lie there and take it, his hands fisting in the sheets, his hips instinctively trying to meet her thrusts.
“Don’t,” she commanded, riding him with a relentless, controlled grace. “You don’t get to yet.”
He obeyed, the submission fueling his arousal to a dizzying peak. The room filled with the sound of it: their skin meeting in wet slaps, Suki’s sharp, bitten-off gasps, his own ragged groans. Catriona was silent now, just the faint whir of the lens zooming in and out.
Suki’s rhythm began to fracture. Her movements became quicker, less controlled. A high, thin whine escaped her throat. She slammed down onto him, once, twice, and then her body seized, clamping around him in a series of brutal, rhythmic pulses. Her cry was short, sharp, and real.
The violence of her orgasm tipped him over the edge he’d been denied. “Suki, I’m—“
“Now,” she gasped, collapsing forward onto his chest, her body still convulsing. “Now, Aidan.”
Permission granted. His control shattered. He drove up into her, deep, his thrusts losing all rhythm, purely instinctual. The blinding, tightening rush overcame him. He came with a choked shout, his body arching off the bed, pumping his release deep inside her as she shuddered through the last waves of her own pleasure.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their panting, the mix of their sweat.
Catriona’s voice, gentle but clear, cut through the haze. “Don’t move apart. Not yet. Suki, lift up just a little. I need the shot.”
Suki, her face buried in Aidan’s neck, braced her hands on his chest and raised her hips slightly. Aidan, spent and sensitive, slipped out of her. Catriona moved in close, the camera lens a silent, unblinking eye.
Aidan felt the hot trickle escape, a messy proof of what they’d done. He heard the camera’s quiet click, capturing the image he knew Catriona was obsessed with: the slow, thick leak of him from Suki’s body.
Suki finally rolled off him, lying on her back beside him, one arm flung over her eyes. Aidan reached up and yanked the blindfold off. The muted grey light of the room felt blinding. He turned his head to look at her. Her chest was still heaving, a faint sheen covering her skin.
Catriona finally stopped recording. The room fell into a profound, exhausted quiet.
“Well,” Catriona said, her voice thick with a mix of professional satisfaction and something more personal. She set the camera down. “That’s the one. That’s the video that breaks the internet.”
Suki didn’t answer. She just reached out, her hand finding Aidan’s on the sheet between them. Her fingers laced with his, tight, grounding. It was an anchor, a silent conversation. It felt more intimate than anything that had happened in the last hour.
Aidan squeezed back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the rapid, slowing drum of his heart. He was disposable. He’d been used. And it had felt, impossibly, like a gift.