Page 64 of Driving Him Wild

Another day filled with sex, conversation, good food cooked together and more sex. We barely

slept for more than a couple of hours.

No surface within the cabin was left un-christened by Graciela’s sizzling demands. More than her

blinding, more frequent smiles and the intelligence that shone from her eyes when we discussed the

diverse topics that captivated us both, it was the siren-like fire in her eyes just before she ordered me to fulfil a desire that stoked a craving in my soul I was beginning to suspect would never be equalled once this thing was over. It was the reason a knot of dread had taken up residence in my stomach at the thought of it ending.

The force of the storm had lessened, snow falling with less frequency in the last half-day. I’d taken the coward’s way out and avoided checking the weather forecast.

We couldn’t stay here for ever, but I could sure as hell enjoy whatever hours we had left. Her

favourite setting for fucking was in front of the fire, but, for the sake of extra comfort, we’d relocated to the bed last night and promptly fallen asleep.

Our limbs were tangled together, her head on my shoulder as she breathed, deep and steady. I was

turning into one of those corny idiots who even enjoyed the way his woman slept, unable to help my

smile as I stared down at her.

Even in slumber, Graciela Mortimer remained a Dominant. One leg rested over both of mine, her

arm firmly anchoring my middle. If I weren’t miles stronger than her, I’d remain pinned in place until she decided to let me go.

And fucking hell, I liked her wanting to keep me close even in sleep. I glanced at the window,

willing the snow to start falling again.

But after an hour of lazing about in bed, when my prayers weren’t answered, I eased away from

her. Restlessness that usually drove me outside for a walk in the woods or exercising the dogs,

regardless of the time of year, sent me downstairs to my office.

Sitting at my desk with my camera, I scrolled through the pictures I’d taken for Graciela.

The perfectionist in me was pleased to see there were several exceptional ones she could use for

her magazine, with more shots on autofocus that I could use to make an interactive video for the

digital version of her magazine if she wanted. I was confident I had everything she needed.

But my reason for coming to my office had nothing to do with work right now. I scrolled until I

reached the one I wanted. Connecting the camera to my laptop, I sent the image to print, my breath

stalled as the machine spat out a single portrait, glossy photo. On a wild impulse I printed off another five in various exposures to make an even half-dozen.

I placed them up at vantage points in my office, playing with the lighting and scrutinising each one critically from a different angle.

As I experimented, an idea began to form in my head, excitement building in my chest.

Graciela Mortimer was without doubt the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her unique beauty,

the light she tried to hide needed to be stoked. Kept alive.

I sat down at my desk, fingers flying over the keyboard as I activated my emails. As suspected,

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