Page 13 of Double Obsession

Then, teasing the camera, he slid out of his shirt. His hands roamed down his torso.

“Fuck, that’s sexy,” called Clark. “Push your pants lower on your hips.”

With Mother Nature as the backdrop, Hunter used his hands to showcase the dark pubic hair peeking out from above his waistband. Bush-tease photos made both men and women lose their shit. Sometimes he was afraid it also made Clark lose his shit, but his buddy was all professional.

He dropped his camera to his side. “Hey, I’m gonna switch to video mode. Are you ready?”

Hunter combed fingers through his goatee and sighed. “Yeah,” he called back.

Clark brought the camera to his eye.

Hunter could strip with the best of them when he was about to fuck. He just had to pretend that hot Chrissy or bodacious Gina was watching. His pants dropped onto grass-covered boulders. His underwear followed. He ran his hand down his happy trail to his fat cock, rubbed, and the world disappeared.

“Good,” called Clark. His voice jolted Hunter into the present, and his once-growing prick shrunk.

“I think that’s all I got in me.” He shoved himself back into his clothes.

Clark peeked into the lens of his camera. “Gorgeous shit. You’re gonna blow up the ratings on your release day.”

Ten seconds later, Hunter had second thoughts. “Could you ditch the video for now?”

Clark scratched his head. “Maybe you need to do this in steps. You could get naked and cover up your schlong. Have fun and be creative hiding behind things.”

“Maybe,” Hunter said. “You think I could have a few photos with Lizzie to post on my feeds later tonight?”

“Sure. And I’ll get the rest cleaned up and sent to you so you can get ready for the big day.”

Hunter nodded, then took one last look at the view while Clark packed up the gear.

“Speaking of social media—did you ever write back to that MILF author?” Clark asked.

“Nah. Haven’t had time.” That wasn’t quite true, but Clark would rib the shit out of him if he knew it was taking him forever to write the perfect message.

“Did you know that she has a million-dollar contract for her next book?”

“Oh?” Hunter had heard rumors.

“If she asks you to do another cover, ask for majormulathis time. She’s rollin’ in dough.”

Hunter’s first professional gig and big break had been a cheap photoshoot for her publishing house. Bonus—she’d had a great ass and a swinging blonde ponytail. He loved that shit.

“For sure,” he said.

But first, he wanted to play with his knob in private. Then he’d flirt with the sexy author he’d wanted for years.

Chapter Seven

Jenna opened the window beside her desk so she could absorb the spring air into her lungs. She exhaled with a smile; today would be productive. Her older children were at school, and Lisa was napping with Mister Bunnykins.

She sat at her desk, powered on her computer, and was greeted with a thirty-two-thousand-word document. Within moments, she joined Rosalyn and Edward in nineteenth-century England. The breathless lady and the shirtless duke were in quite a precarious position when Jenna drifted back to twenty-first-century Philadelphia.

She strolled around the room, then lifted her arms to the ceiling. A few yoga poses and she’d get back to work. She completed three downward dogs and bit her lip. Should Rosalyn or Edward make the next move? Maybe a peek at Hunter’s profile would help her decide.

Jenna grabbed her phone and plopped onto the swivel chair. As usual, her message box was full. Although she had intended to wait until after she shipped her manuscript to Berta to respond to her fans, for some inexplicable reason, she clicked on the letter symbol.

Two names stood out from the others. The first was because the obsessive ABC had bombarded her. The second was because Hunter Stone’s name appeared in her inbox.

Her throat tightened. Did he know she was stalking his feed?