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As Wendy moved away, Marcelle stood and tipped a wink to Cat. “Looks like D isn’t the only one with a fan club, hmm?”

It was Cat’s turn to blush.

Laughing, Marcelle led the way to the two director’s style chairs that were set up to the left of the shooting area, which displayed a plain white backdrop, a

professional lighting setup, a tripod, and several cameras.

As she settled herself in, Cat looked to Marcelle, who was giving the area a casual once over. “Marquis and Dylan seem like good friends. Have you guys

known each other long?”

“Since college. Marquis and I were high school sweethearts, and we both went to UCLA on scholarship. Marquis, of course, for basketball.”

“And you?”

Marcelle smiled. “Pre-law.”

“Impressive. I’ve always been interested in law.”

“Well, I passed the bar, but I’m not practicing.”

“Why?”

“I like traveling with Marquis too much, and he likes having me there, so….” She shrugged. “When he retires, I’ll set up a nice little estate law practice

somewhere and work to my heart’s content.”

Before Cat could ask anymore questions, the door to the back room opened and Marquis stepped out. Cat’s jaw dropped as if unhinged and she felt her

eyes actually press from their sockets. He strode confidently across the room, more god than man, his ebony skin oiled to a high sheen, his muscles

rippling and cut to diamond perfection. He was naked save for white high-top Nikes and a black g-string that would have left absolutely nothing to the

imagination—had there been anything to look at.

“It’s called ‘tucking’.”

Marcelle’s amused voice cut through Cat’s haze and she found herself, once again, blushing furiously. “I…um…I….”

Marcelle’s laughter was rich and full as she reached over and gave Cat’s shoulder a friendly smack. “Breathe, my friend. It’s alright.”

Any breath Cat might have taken whooshed right out of her as the door opened again and Dylan stepped through. “Blessed Mary,” she gasped, her eyes

wide and round as saucers.

Like Marquis, every inch of Dylan’s magnificent form was oiled to a high, wet gloss. Her engorged muscles, shot through with plump veins, were chiseled,

standing out in bas relief against the flawless silk of her skin. Her hair, wet and drawn off of her face, trailed down her back in a shining, fat ebony braid,

throwing her striking features into high, gorgeous definition. And like her photo mate, she was also naked, save for black high top Nikes, a flesh-colored gstring. A pair of small pasties had been added in deference to her gender.

“They make a beautiful couple, don’t they.”

Marcelle could have been speaking Martian for all Cat understood of her words. Her body was too busy trying to coerce her into doing something that was

illegal in thirty seven states. At least in public. And when Cory entered the frey, water bottle in hand, and started spritzing “fake sweat” on them both, she

considered chucking it all and dragging Dylan off somewhere a little more private.

Like the middle of Times Square.

On New Year’s Eve.

At this point, even the parking lot would do in a pinch.

Or that nice roomy couch just a few short steps away.

Mmm.

“Earth to Cat.” A dark, perfectly manicured hand waved itself before her dazed eyes. “Earth to Cat, come in, Cat. Yoo hoo. You in there?”

Blinking, Cat forced herself out of a fantasy that was growing more lurid by the second. “Hmm?”

A warm hand on her shoulder completed the break, and she found herself looking up into the concerned eyes of her partner.

“You ok?”

“Mm? Me? Juuuuust fine.”

Snorting softly, Dylan rolled her eyes, and gave Cat’s shoulder a fond squeeze before stepping away. “Keep an eye on her, will ya?” she asked Marcelle as

she moved to stand beside Marquis.

“And off of your beautiful bod? Not a chance!”

“Hey!” Cat snapped, grinning. “You just keep your eyes on that gorgeous god of a husband you’ve got there, missy. I’ll keep my eyes on Dylan, thank you

very much.”

The room broke up into relieved laughter, and with that, the session started.

“Jesus,” Cat murmured, looking down at the stark, black and white proof in her hand. The image of Dylan and Marquis, shining and covered with sweat,

melded face to face, chest to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh was quite possibly the most erotic thing she’d ever seen. “I think Nike’s gonna have a

banner year when this baby hits the newsstands.”

“Screw Nike,” Marcelle exclaimed, holding her own proof. “I’m gonna use this to wallpaper the bedroom! My folks’ve been pestering us for grandkids. This

baby just might do the trick!”

Cat laughed, but couldn’t disagree, given how her body felt this very moment just looking at the picture before her.

Just then, the door opened and Cory emerged, followed by the stars of the show, dressed in their street clothes. Dylan’s hair was still swept back off her

face, and Cat gave a little internal cheer. She had plans, big ones, and this image of her lover fit into them perfectly.