CHAPTER 6: I Wanted More

I shoved Andrew Parker away. "One shoot," I bit out. My pulse was already pounding, my temper hanging by a thread. "That’s it."

Andrew barely stumbled, his stupid towel staying perfectly in place like it was glued to his hips. He just lifted a brow, "One shoot, huh?" His lips curled to a soft smile. "Sounds fair."

Fair, my ass.

But whatever.

I was already here.

And if I was gonna humiliate myself, I might as well make some cash while doing it.

Andrew turned, walking back into the hotel room, and I followed, jaw clenched so hard I thought I might crack a tooth.

The suite was nice. Plush carpet, sleek furniture, soft lighting. A huge bed with crisp white sheets—practically begging to be ruined.

I refused to think about that.

"Let’s get this over with." I said, crossing my arms.

Without looking remotely phased, he ran a hand through his hair, and—of fucking course— let his towel drop to the floor like it was nothing.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

I immediately looked away, my jaw locking as I focused on the nearest lamp like it was the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen.

"Relax," he drawled, stepping toward the bed where a camera was already set up on a tripod. "I’ll wear something."

"Yeah, you better."

I finally risked a glance, just in time to see him stepping into a pair of gray sweatpants. Nothing else.

No shirt. No hoodie. Just sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips, emphasizing his stupidly toned abs and the deep, distracting V-line leading down his fucking dick.

I turned away again, shoving a hand through my hair. But his low, husky chuckle drew my attention back to him.

"You sure you’re up for this, Captain? You seem a little—flustered."

"Fuck off."

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus.

I had done plenty of shoots before. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I just needed to treat this like any other shoot—professional, routine, easy.

Ignoring the fact that Andrew was currently shirtless in front of me.

Ignoring the fact that he had the audacity to look that good.

Ignoring the fact that I was already on edge, and we hadn’t even started yet.

I walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge and adjusting the camera settings. "What’s the theme?"

Andrew plopped down beside me, entirely too close. "Sensual rivalry."

I turned to glare at him. "You’re joking."

"Not at all."

"Fine," I gritted out. "Let’s just shoot this thing."

He nodded, moving behind the camera to set up the angle. "Alright. You ready?"

No.

Not even remotely.

But I gave a curt nod anyway. "Yeah."

The red light blinked on and he started slow.

He leaned back on his hands, all lazy confidence. His sweatpants hung lower now—how, I had no fucking clue—but it was definitely on purpose.

I kept my posture rigid, arms crossed over my chest, trying to ignore the heat creeping up my neck.

"Relax," Andrew murmured, smirking. "We’re supposed to have chemistry, remember?"

I scoffed, shifting my weight like I could physically shake off the effect he was having on me. "I’ll fake it."

Andrew chuckled, tilting his head slightly. Then he reached out, brushing his fingers over my knee.

The touch was barely there. A light graze. Nothing inappropriate.

But my entire body locked up.

It wasn’t that it bothered me. It was just—

Too much.

Too warm.

Too fucking distracting.

I clenched my jaw, trying to focus on literally anything else as my length throbbed painfully inside my pants.

Andrew’s gaze flickered down, like he noticed. But he didn’t even react.

Like none of this was affecting him, and I was the only one struggling to keep my shit together.

That irritated me more than anything.

"Alright," Andrew said, shifting closer. "Let’s play it up."

He lifted a hand, brushing the backs of his fingers along my jaw, the touch feather-light, but enough to send a jolt straight down my dick.  

I barely held back a groan. Fuck.

"Still with me, Captain?" he murmured, voice like silk—smooth, effortless, and most of all infuriating.

I forced out a scoff, even though my voice felt strained.  

His smirk deepened. 

"Good,” he breathed out and did the one thing I wasn’t prepared for.  

He grabbed my chin between his fingers—firm, deliberate—and tilted my face toward his.

Not enough to kiss me.

But close.

Too fucking close.

My breath caught in my throat.

His eyes flickered to my mouth. And just for a second—just a split second—I thought he might actually close the distance.

I thought—

No.

I jerked back, ripping my chin from his grip.

Andrew blinked, surprised.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to shake off whatever the fuck that was.

"That’s enough," I muttered. "We got the shot."

Andrew didn’t argue. He just sat back, watching me with a blank expression.

The tension in the room was thick, crackling, like a live wire sparking between us as I stood up. "I’m done,” I said, clearing my throat

Andrew still didn’t move. He didn’t say a word as he continued to watch me. And I hated the way my stomach twisted under his gaze. I hated that I could still feel his touch lingering on my skin. I hated that, no matter how much I tried to deny it—

I wanted more.