After the Shoot by Casey Quinn

By the time the photographer finally pronounced himself satisfied, I'd been wearing makeup for almost eleven hours. I was tired, my feet hurt, and I was more than ready to be alone.

But when I got back to my hotel suite and caught sight of myself in the dressing table mirror, I stopped. Oh, my. I'd almost forgotten what they'd done to me.

My hair was pinned up in a loose, elaborate arrangement that somehow managed to look as though I'd done it carelessly myself. A few strands framed my face.

The makeup was dramatic, much more dramatic than anything I would ordinarily wear. Deep violet shadow surrounded my eyes, fading into an almost electric blue at the corners. My lashes were impossibly long, and my lips were painted a rich plum. I leaned closer to the mirror. Those eyes. I'd always liked my eyes, but tonight they were something else. The woman looking back at me seemed extraordinarily sure of herself.

A little dangerous, perhaps. The kind of woman who knew perfectly well what effect she had on men and saw no particular reason to apologize for it. I smiled. James would be helpless.

I could picture him standing behind me, perhaps with his hands in his pockets, trying to look amused and unaffected. He'd make some clever remark about my makeup, and I'd turn toward him and simply look into his eyes. That would do it. He'd stop talking. His expression would change, and I'd know exactly what he was thinking. I gave my reflection a slower smile.

"Poor James." I was wearing a pale pink satin robe over the little lace camisole I'd brought for the trip.

The robe was beautiful, and the contrast between its delicate color and my extravagant makeup pleased me. I loosened the sash, adjusted the collar, and watched myself turn slightly in the chair. I hadn't felt quite this pleased with my appearance in a long time. But it wasn't simply vanity. I knew I was beautiful. Modeling had settled that question years ago, at least to my own satisfaction.

What interested me tonight was how much I enjoyed watching myself become a different version of Sienna. Not a better one. Just a more theatrical one. Showtime Sienna, James would have called her. I laughed at the thought. And then, quite unexpectedly, I thought of Lexi. I reached for my phone. She answered on the fourth ring.

"Well, hello, stranger. How's the glamorous life?"

"Exhausting. I've spent the entire day being told to turn my chin two degrees to the left."

"How terrible for you."

"And I'm beautiful tonight." Lexi laughed.

"Only tonight?"

"No, tonight I'm spectacular. You should see me."

"Send a picture."

"Maybe later. I have an idea."

"That sounds ominous."

"It probably is." I settled back into the chair and crossed my legs.

"Lexi, I want you to invite James over." A pause.

"All right. Why?"

"Tell him you need help moving something in your bedroom. A dresser, perhaps. Something heavy."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I want him to come to your house."

"That much I've gathered. What happens when he arrives?" I studied my reflection.

"I want you to seduce him." For several seconds, she said nothing.

"Sienna."

"What?"

"Are you serious?"

"Completely."

"Sweetheart, I don't think you've thought this through."

"I've thought about it quite a bit, actually."

"James isn't the sort of man who would casually climb into bed with me while you're away."

"I know."

"And the fact that the three of us have a history makes this considerably more complicated."

"I know that too."

"Then what exactly are you proposing?"

I considered how to explain it. "I want him to find himself in a situation he wasn't expecting. I want you to be irresistible. I want him to have to decide what he wants."

"And if what he wants is to leave?"

"Then he leaves."

Lexi was quiet. "You really mean that?"

"Of course I do. I'm not asking you to trap him."

"Well, that's comforting."

I laughed. "Lexi, you know what I mean."

"Yes, I think I do. But there's a difference between offering a man something and putting him in a position where he thinks he'll disappoint someone if he refuses. You do know I'm very, very good at seducing men."

That made me hesitate.

"Then make sure he knows he can refuse."

"And does he know this is your idea?"

"Not yet."

"Sienna."

"Oh, don't say my name like you're warning me."

"I'm using that voice because you're being rather casual about something that could go badly."

I looked at the woman in the mirror again. Her expression had become thoughtful.

"All right. Tell him I'm aware you're interested. Tell him there's no secret you're keeping from me."

"That's a start."

"But don't tell him I arranged the whole thing. Not immediately."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know what he does when I'm not standing beside him."

Lexi sighed. "That's what worries me." I waited. Finally, she said, "There's something you should know."

"What?"

"I want James."

I smiled faintly. "I know you do."

"No, Sienna. I don't think you do." Her voice was quieter now. "I want him more than you know." That surprised me.

"Really?"

"Really." For once, I couldn't think of an immediate reply. Lexi continued. "He's intelligent, affectionate, funny, and remarkably decent. And I've had enough time around him to notice all of that."

"He's also very attractive."

"Thank you. I had noticed." I laughed.

"So you will?"

"I haven't said that."

"But you want to."

"Yes," she admitted. "I do."

I turned my chair slightly, considering her words.

"Then why not?"

"Because wanting something doesn't automatically make pursuing it a good idea."

"That's an awfully responsible thing for you to say."

"I have my moments."

"Lexi, you could seduce almost any man you wanted. I've watched you do it."

"Seducing someone isn't the same as persuading him to do something he might regret."

"I know. But you don't have to persuade him. Just let him see that you're interested."

"And if he is, too?"

"Then perhaps you both get something you want."

Lexi let out a small breath. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Immensely."

"I can hear it."

I smiled at myself. "I wish you could see me right now."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Probably nothing. I'm in a very interesting mood."

"That is becoming alarmingly clear."

We talked for another ten minutes, most of it devoted to James. Lexi knew him well enough to anticipate his objections. He would worry about hurting me. He would worry about changing his friendship with her.

And he would want to be absolutely certain that whatever happened was something all three of us understood.

"He's going to ask questions," she said.

"Of course he is."

"And I'm going to answer them."

"Fair enough."

I hesitated, then nodded, even though she couldn't see me. "All right."

Lexi was silent for a moment. "I'll invite him over."

I smiled. "Wonderful."

"That's not a promise that anything else will happen."

"I understand."

"And Sienna?"

"Yes?"

"If this goes anywhere, it's because James and I both want it. Not because you've decided it would be entertaining."

I looked at my reflection. "Agreed."

"Good.

Now send me that picture. I want to see what all this fuss is about." I took a photograph and sent it while we were still talking. A few seconds later Lexi made an appreciative sound.

"Oh, sweetheart."

"Well?"

"You're going to cause somebody a great deal of trouble looking like that."

"That's the general idea."

"Poor James."

I laughed. "Exactly what I said."

After we hung up, I sat for a while with the phone in my lap.

Lexi wanted James. More than I knew. That was interesting. I'd always understood there was attraction between them, but Lexi's admission had been unusually direct.

She wasn't a woman who confessed things carelessly, and she certainly wasn't inclined to exaggerate her feelings for dramatic effect. I wondered how long she'd been thinking about him. And I wondered what James would say when she finally told him. Would he be surprised? Flattered? Uncomfortable?

Would he laugh and change the subject, trying to preserve the comfortable friendship they already had? Or would he look at her with the same sudden seriousness I'd seen so often myself? I found that last possibility particularly intriguing. I turned back toward the mirror. The elaborate makeup was still perfect.

I leaned forward, examining the tiny differences between my ordinary face and the version the makeup artist had created. The blue at the corners of my eyes was almost startling under the dressing table lights. I lowered my lashes, then lifted them slowly, studying the effect. James would notice that. He noticed everything.

I imagined him sitting across from me while I held his gaze, saying nothing until he finally smiled and asked what I was up to. I practiced a look of exaggerated innocence. It was hopeless. I looked guilty even to myself.

"You're trouble," I told the mirror.

I reached for a tissue, intending to begin removing the makeup, but stopped. Not yet. For once I wanted to enjoy the work that had gone into making me look like this. Not for a photographer, not for a client, not for an advertisement. Just for myself.

I stood and moved a little farther back from the dressing table, where I could see more of myself. The satin caught the warm light.

I adjusted one shoulder of the robe, swept my hair away from my neck, and turned to examine my profile. It was almost funny how professionally I approached it at first.

I checked the line of my shoulders, the angle of my chin, the arrangement of my hair. Then I stopped posing. I sat down again and let myself relax. The woman in the mirror looked back at me with a faint, knowing smile.

I thought about Lexi waiting for James to arrive, wondering whether she would be nervous despite all her experience and confidence.

I pictured James appearing at her front door, cheerful and unsuspecting, ready to help with some imaginary piece of furniture. He'd be wearing jeans, probably, and one of those shirts I liked. Lexi would offer him a drink. He'd accept. And eventually she'd tell him why she'd really invited him. I wondered whether she would say it plainly. James, I want you. Knowing Lexi, she just might.

I smiled. Whatever happened, I wanted it to be something they chose for themselves. That much of our conversation had stayed with me.

I could arrange an opportunity, but I couldn't decide how two other people should feel. And perhaps the uncertainty was the most fascinating part. I picked up my phone and looked at the photograph I'd sent Lexi.

I was pleased with it, but a photograph didn't quite capture the way my expression changed when I moved, or the effect of the light when I turned my head. I made a short video instead.

I looked into the camera, smiled very slowly, and said, "James, darling, you have no idea what you're missing." I picked up my phone and looked at the photograph I'd sent Lexi. Not bad. Actually, considerably better than not bad.

But the photograph didn't capture the way my expression changed when I moved, or the effect of the light when I tilted my head. And it certainly didn't capture my voice. I opened the camera and switched to video.

For a moment I studied the screen, adjusting the angle until my face filled most of the frame. The lighting was perfect. My eyes looked enormous, the violet shadow deepening toward the outer corners, with just enough blue to make them almost unreal. I smiled. James was going to love this. Or perhaps hate it. That was part of the fun. I touched the record button.

"Hello, sweetheart." I waited a moment, looking directly into the camera.

I settled back into the chair in front of the dressing table, the pale pink satin of the robe cool against my skin. The camera was already open, the front-facing lens framing my face and the upper curve of my chest. The lighting from the vanity bulbs made the violet shadow around my eyes look almost liquid, and the plum of my mouth caught every small shift of expression.

The woman in the mirror adjusted the angle until she could see both the screen and the full-length reflection in the mirror behind it--herself, the robe, the lace edge of the camisole, the way the satin had already slipped a little at one shoulder.

Her free hand drifted to the sash of the robe. She loosened it slowly, deliberately, so the satin parted and fell open. The camisole was thin enough that the points of her nipples were already visible against the lace. She watched herself in the mirror as she slid one strap down her arm, then the other, letting the camisole pool at her waist. Her breasts were bare under the open robe, full and soft, the nipples already tightening in the cool air of the suite.

She looked straight into the camera.

"I know. I know everything."

A pause. She cupped her left breast, lifting it slightly, her thumb brushing across the nipple in a slow circle. The mirror showed her everything: the way the flesh yielded under her fingers, the way the nipple hardened into a tight, dark peak. She pinched it lightly, rolled it between thumb and forefinger, and felt the corresponding pull low in her belly.

"Yes, darling. I know what you've been doing."

She kept her eyes on the lens while her fingers continued their work--circling, tugging, then sliding across to the other breast so both were being attended to. The satin of the robe brushed her sides with every small movement. In the mirror she looked decadent: makeup perfect, hair still pinned up in that careless, elaborate style, bare breasts flushed and sensitive under her own hands.

"You and Lexi. While I'm away working myself to exhaustion, the two of you have been having a wonderful time without me."

She shook her head slowly, still pinching and rolling both nipples, harder now. A soft breath escaped her. She watched the way her chest rose and fell, the way her fingers looked against her own skin.

"Shameful."

She brought the phone a little closer so the frame filled with her eyes and mouth, then tilted it downward just enough that James would see the tops of her breasts and the deliberate motion of her hands. She pinched both nipples at once, pulling them slightly outward, and felt the sharp little sparks of sensation travel straight between her legs.

"And you thought I wouldn't find out."

She pressed her lips together, fighting a smile, then released her breasts long enough to push the robe completely off her shoulders. It slid down her arms and pooled on the chair behind her. Now she was naked from the waist up, the camisole still bunched around her hips. She leaned forward slightly so the camera caught the full weight of her breasts as she cupped them again.

"Oh, James. You really should know me better than that."

Her right hand stayed at her breast, kneading, thumb flicking over the nipple in a steady rhythm. Her left hand drifted lower, past the lace of the camisole, over the soft skin of her stomach, and between her thighs. She was already wet. She could feel it the moment her fingers slipped against the silk of her panties. She pushed the fabric aside and stroked two fingers slowly along her folds, gathering the slickness, then brought them higher to her clit.

The mirror showed her everything: the way her thighs parted a little wider, the way her hand moved under the camisole, the flush rising across her chest.

"Now, I'm sure you have an explanation. You'll probably tell me that Lexi started it. And she'll tell me that you were simply too adorable to resist."

She laughed softly, the sound catching as her fingertip found the exact pressure she wanted against her clit. She rubbed in small, tight circles, watching herself do it--watching the way her hips shifted forward in the chair, the way her breasts moved with every breath.

"And the terrible thing is, I'll probably believe both of you."

She paused, studying her expression on the screen while her fingers kept working. Two fingers slid lower, pushing inside herself with a slow, deliberate thrust. She was tight and wet and the stretch felt perfect. She fucked herself with those two fingers while her thumb stayed on her clit, rubbing in time with the motion.

"But that doesn't mean you're getting away with it."

She leaned forward, eyes locked on the lens, breasts swaying slightly with the rhythm of her hand.

"Do you understand me, James? You're both going to pay."

She gave him her sweetest smile even as her fingers curled inside her, seeking the spot that made her breath hitch. The mirror reflected the flush on her cheeks, the parted plum-painted lips, the way her thighs trembled just a little.

"And you're going to hate every minute of it."

She considered that, then shook her head, still moving her hand. "No. That's not quite true, is it?"

Her smile widened. She added a third finger, stretching herself further, and the wet sound of it was soft but unmistakable in the quiet room. She watched herself in the mirror as she did it--watched the way her body accepted the intrusion, the way her clit looked under the steady pressure of her thumb.

"You're going to love it. Both of you. Even when you're begging me to stop teasing you."

She sat back, pleased with herself, but her hand never stopped. She was close already; the combination of the performance, the mirror, and the knowledge that James would see every second of this was pushing her hard. She rubbed her clit faster, fingers still buried inside her, and felt the first deep flutter of orgasm starting to build.

Then something occurred to her.

"But here's the really interesting part, sweetheart."

Her voice softened even as her hips began to rock against her own hand.

"I'm not even angry."

She let that sit while she fucked herself more deeply, the wet sounds louder now. In the mirror she looked wrecked in the best way--makeup still perfect, hair still elegant, body open and greedy for her own touch.

"Because I've been thinking about you and Lexi together, and I have to tell you something."

She hesitated, suddenly conscious that this was no longer entirely a performance. Her fingers slowed, then sped up again.

"I like imagining it."

She watched herself on the screen as she said it, two fingers still thrusting, thumb circling her clit with increasing urgency.

"I like imagining her looking at you. I know how she looks at a man when she wants him. She's very good at it."

She smiled, breathless now.

"And you're not nearly as difficult to read as you think you are."

She lowered her eyes for a moment, watching her own hand move between her legs in the mirror. The sight of it--her fingers shiny with her own wetness, her clit swollen and flushed under her thumb--made the pleasure spike harder.

"I wonder whether you'd be nervous. I think you would be. You'd want to make absolutely certain you weren't hurting anyone."

She looked back into the camera, eyes dark and heavy-lidded.

"That's one of the things I love about you."

For several seconds she didn't speak. The only sounds were her breathing and the soft, wet rhythm of her fingers. The silence felt unexpectedly intimate. She could almost imagine James sitting across from her, listening rather than watching a recording.

"And Lexi," she continued, voice low, "would probably understand that better than anyone."

She smiled again, even as her thighs started to shake.

"I wonder which of you would make the first move."

Her free hand returned to her breast, pinching the nipple hard enough to make her gasp. The dual sensation--fingers inside her, thumb on her clit, nipple pulled taut--pushed her right to the edge.

"Actually, I know exactly who would."

She laughed softly, the sound breaking into a moan.

"Poor James."

She leaned closer to the camera, breasts full and flushed in the frame, hand still working between her legs with open, shameless need.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea how much trouble you're in."

She held his imaginary gaze while her orgasm built, relentless and deep. Her fingers curled inside her, her thumb pressed hard against her clit, and she came with a long, shaking breath, hips lifting off the chair, eyes never leaving the lens. The mirror showed her everything--the way her body arched, the way her mouth opened, the way her fingers kept moving through the pulses until the last tremor faded.

She stayed like that for a moment, breathing hard, then slowly withdrew her fingers. They glistened in the vanity light. She brought them to her mouth without looking away from the camera and sucked them clean, slow and deliberate, tasting herself while James watched.

"There's something else I want you to know."

She waited, still sucking the last of the wetness from her fingertips.

"You don't have to pretend with me. Not about what you want. Not about Lexi. Not about anything."

Her expression softened.

"But don't mistake that for permission to be boring."

She laughed at herself, the sound still a little breathless, and brought the camera close enough that her eyes dominated the screen again.

"Look at me, James."

She held perfectly still, lips still parted, the taste of herself still on her tongue.

"Just look."

She knew the effect those eyes would have on him. She knew he'd watch the recording more than once, trying to decide when she was joking and when she was entirely serious. And she liked knowing that.

She drew the phone away slightly, watching the smile return to her face.

"You know what? I think I've said enough."

She started to reach for the stop button, then changed her mind.

"Oh, one more thing."

She looked directly into the lens, still bare-breasted, still flushed from orgasm, fingers still faintly shiny.

"You're so fucked."

She burst out laughing, nearly spoiling the recording.

"And so is Lexi."

She recovered her composure, drew herself up, and gave the camera the most imperious look she could manage even while sitting half-naked and thoroughly pleasured in front of a mirror. The girl in the mirror appeared very angry.

"You both cheated on me, and I'm going to make you regret it."

She held the expression for another few seconds.

Then she smiled. Very slowly.

"You're going to have such a wonderful time."

She stopped recording.

* * *

I watched the last few seconds of the recording again. I looked outrageous. Absolutely outrageous. James would be delighted, scandalized, and probably a little confused. I knew him well enough to expect all three reactions.

I set the phone on the dressing table and stood up. My robe was on the chair, my camisole was somewhere near my feet, and my hair and makeup still looked spectacular. It seemed a terrible waste to spend the rest of the evening alone.

I dressed again, choosing the fitted black dress I'd brought for dinner the following night. It was considerably more dramatic than anything I ordinarily wore around the hotel, particularly with my elaborate makeup. I studied myself in the mirror and smiled.

I knew exactly who I wanted to see.

The cameraman had been working with us all week. He was pleasant, a little shy, and unfailingly polite. Tall with very large hands. Whenever I looked in his direction, he seemed to be smiling at me. I'd smiled back often enough, although we'd never had a conversation that wasn't about the shoot.

His room was down the hall.

I found his number on the production contact sheet and called.

"Hello?"

"Hi. It's Sienna."

"Oh! Hello. Is everything all right?"

"Perfectly. Except I've got a little wardrobe problem, and I was wondering whether you could come down and help me."

"Of course. What do you need?"

"I think it would be easier to show you."

He arrived a few minutes later. When I opened the door, his eyes widened. He looked at my face, then at the dress, and finally back at my face.

"Wow."

I laughed. "Thank you. Come in."

He stepped inside, glancing around the suite.

"So what's the problem?"

"Actually, I wanted to see you."

He looked surprised. "Me?"

"Yes, you. I've enjoyed working with you this week. You're always smiling at me."

"Well, you're pretty easy to smile at."

"That's a very nice answer."

I took a step toward him. He looked nervous, but he didn't move away.

"Would you like to kiss me?"

He stared for a moment, then smiled. "Are you serious?"

"Quite."

"Then yes. Very much."

I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. He was tentative at first, but that didn't last long. When we separated, he was grinning. "I wasn't expecting that."

"I rather gathered."

I took his hand and led him toward the bed. By then he understood that the wardrobe emergency had been entirely imaginary. I gave him another opportunity to change his mind, and he assured me that he had no intention of going anywhere.

For once, I had no interest in prolonging the anticipation. I wanted to enjoy myself, and I wanted him to enjoy himself just as much.

I didn't bother with the lights. The city glow through the windows was enough. I pushed him down onto the edge of the bed and stood between his knees, already working the zipper of the black dress. It slid off my shoulders and pooled at my feet in one smooth motion. Underneath I wore nothing but the remnants of the evening's perfume and the flush still high on my cheeks. His eyes went wide again, darker this time, looking directly at my incredibly erect niples. I climbed onto his lap without asking, straddling him, and took his face in both hands.

"Look at me," I ordered, voice low and rough. "Don't you dare close your eyes."

I kissed him hard, all tongue and teeth, rolling my hips against the obvious bulge in his trousers until he groaned into my mouth. My hands were already at his belt, yanking it open, shoving fabric down just far enough. I wrapped my fingers around him and squeezed, slow and proprietary, feeling him jump in my grip. He was already leaking. Good. I needed him ready the second I decided I was finished teasing.

"You're going to fuck me exactly the way I want," I told him against his lips, stroking him firmly from root to tip. "Hard. Deep. And you don't come until I say. Understand?"

He nodded, a little dazed, already breathing faster. I rose up on my knees, guided the head of his cock to where I was slick and aching, and sank down in one ruthless slide. The stretch punched a sharp sound out of both of us. I didn't give either of us time to adjust. I started riding him immediately, short, greedy thrusts that ground my clit against the base of him every time I bottomed out. My hands braced on his shoulders; my nails dug in. I used him like something I'd paid for and intended to get my money's worth from.

"That's it. Take it," I hissed when he tried to meet my rhythm. I shoved him flat onto his back and followed him down, never losing the connection of our bodies. My hair spilled over us both. I fucked him in earnest then, hips snapping, the wet sound of it loud in the quiet suite. Every downward stroke dragged another broken noise from his throat. I leaned forward, braced one hand beside his head, and used the other to pin his wrist to the mattress.

"You feel that?" I panted. "How wet I am for you? I've been thinking about this all week while you were looking at me through that lens. Smiling at me. Wanting me. Well, you've got me. Now be good and let me use you."

He thrust up harder in answer, hands finally finding my waist, gripping tight enough to bruise. I encouraged it with a sharp moan and a roll of my hips that made stars burst behind my eyes. The urgency only climbed. I was chasing it openly now, head thrown back, thighs burning, every muscle working to drag myself over the edge as fast and as hard as I could. When the first tremor hit I clamped down around him and rode through it without slowing, riding the aftershocks until a second, sharper climax ripped through me and left me shaking.

Only then did I let him roll us. I hooked my legs high around his waist and dragged him deeper, nails raking down his back.

"Now," I gasped. "Fuck me like you mean it. Fill me up. I want to feel it."

He drove into me with a desperation that matched my own, the headboard knocking against the wall in a frantic rhythm. I met every thrust, urging him on with filthy praise and the tight clutch of my body until he finally broke, burying himself to the hilt and coming with a hoarse, grateful sound against my throat. I held him there, pulsing around him, milking every last drop, until the urgency finally bled out of both of us and we collapsed into the tangled sheets, breathing hard and laughing under our breath at how thoroughly we had wrecked each other.

Ten minutes later, I was lying beside him, laughing about the expression on his face when I'd opened the door.

"You really thought I needed help with a dress?"

"Of course I did!"

"You're a very trusting man."

"Apparently."

I kissed him once more and got up to retrieve my robe. "Thank you for coming down."

"Anytime."

"Careful. I might remember that."

He dressed, kissed me goodbye, and left looking considerably happier than he had when he'd arrived.

I returned to the dressing table. My hair had lost some of its elaborate arrangement, and my makeup, while still impressive, was no longer quite the masterpiece it had been an hour earlier. My cheeks were flushed. I looked tired, thoroughly pleased with myself, and not remotely like the woman who had spent eleven hours patiently following a photographer's instructions.

I picked up my phone.

James deserved one more video.

I switched on the camera, checked the framing, and smiled directly into the lens.

"Hello again, darling. I thought you might like to see what I look like after a very enjoyable evening."

I moved the phone slightly, and brought the rest of my body in frame. I knew James could see the still erect nipples and the come dripping out of me.

"Not quite so perfectly put together anymore, am I?"

I laughed.

"But I'm very, very happy."

I blew him a kiss, stopped recording, and sent it before I could reconsider.

Then I leaned back in my chair and wondered what James would make of my evening. Knowing James, he would have questions.

Quite a few questions, actually.

And I was looking forward to answering every one of them.