Chapter one
Through the lens of a camera, Sergio focuses on a tall, spindly, young brunette with legs for days. She’s dressed in a red Dior gown that hangs off her collarbones, cascades to the floor, and trails behind her. Beside her hovers a man dressed in a sharp black suit. He’s as tall as she is in her heels, but not nearly as willowy. He’s narrow, with an angular body and face. His eyes, distant and unbothered, contrast with the brightness and hope in hers. They’re new to the fashion world, and Sergio Durand, the man behind the camera, loves fresh meat.
He can’t wait to wrap up this shoot and get either of their legs, perhaps even both, wrapped around his torso later. In his mind, it’s one of the perks of being a sought-after photographer. There’s always a new and pretty face around, eager to hang off his arm wherever he goes. And being a New Yorker, he goes everywhere and is always in need of someone new to keep him company. His dates, like these Dior ensembles currently being photographed, lose their relevance after one night out on the town.
An audible exasperated sigh comes from behind Sergio, followed by the impatient tapping of a foot wearing Italian leather loafers. He doesn’t need to turn around to know that not only is his younger brother, Adrien, who functions as Sergio’s assistant, doing the tapping, but that he’s also compulsively checking his watch.
“Do I need to remind you how tight a schedule we’re on?”
Without looking at his brother, Sergio waves him off with his free hand, causing Adrien to let out a groan of annoyance. He pulls the camera away from his eye and looks at the two models.
“Ignore him,” he says, eyeing the models up and down. He lets his gaze linger on the young woman’s bare legs peeking out of the dress’s slits, then moves to check out the way the young man’s ass looks. High and tight. “I have all the time in the world for you two.”
“No, you don’t,” Adrien mutters loud enough for only Sergio to hear.
It’s December thirtieth, the last day of work for the year, and these photos, which will be used for Dior’s upcoming Valentine’s Day campaign, need to be forwarded on through the promotional chain for approval before the close of the business day—inconveniently cut shorter by the fact that the Durand brothers have a chartered flight to catch in two hours. Unbothered by the time deadline, Sergio flirts incorrigibly with the two models who are barely old enough to get a drink to ring in the New Year.
“Alright,” Sergio says, holding the camera out to his side for Adrien to take from him. He checks that his dark brown hair is still perfectly in place and then focuses his deep green eyes hungrily on his subjects. “I think we’ve got what we need. You all can take it from here.” By ‘you all,’ he means Adrien, who is in charge of everything from forwarding the pictures, handling the equipment, coordinating the staff on set, and making sure Sergiohas a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue available to him for a post-shoot celebratory toast with the model of his choosing.
Instead of choosing a model, Sergio grabs the aforementioned bottle of booze and opts for both as he wraps an arm around each of them and leads them giggling and blushing off the set.
“You’re so talented,” the woman says, batting her eyelashes and giggling. “I’ve seen all your shoots, and I have your book!”
“Stunning, isn’t it?” Sergio agrees while moving them right along to the wardrobe closet. He brushes off the wardrobe mistress without even bothering to assure her that the red dress and the black suit will make it onto their hangers to avoid wrinkling.
The moment the door closes, he yanks on the young man’s tie, pulling him in for a kiss. His other hand lingers at the shoulder strap of the woman’s dress, as both models fumble to loosen his belt. They act in haste, as if this delicious moment of designer-clad debauchery could be interrupted at any moment.
And interrupted it is, the moment the male model drops to his knees before Sergio and the female presses her lips to Sergio’s mouth while his hand finds its way up the hem of her dress.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Sergio!” Adrien exclaims, bursting into the room. “We have a plane to catch! You can get your rocks off in Lake Placid.”
Four hours later, Sergio is woken by Adrien kicking his seat as he walks by with his luggage in hand. “Wake up, asshole. We’re here.”
Sergio blinks at him, confused, trying to piece together where he is. The last he remembers, he was having a post-photoshoot celebratory scotch with his brother once they got settled intotheir seats pre-takeoff. He vaguely remembers brushing off his brother’s attempt to talk business before falling asleep, exhausted from a hard day’s work. Forget the fact he didn’t arrive on set until noon and was off set with his hand up a model’s skirt and his cock in another model’s mouth by two.
It’s far more likely his exhaustion is from being up until dawn with the Instagram influencer whose name he’s already forgotten. Was she a travel blogger? No, definitely one of those yoga girls who posts near-naked pictures of herself doing handstands in exotic places.
“What’s got your briefs in a bunch?” Sergio quips at Adrien as he rises from his seat. “You’re not the one who got rudely interrupted mid-blowjob.”
Adrien rolls his eyes. “As if you’re not going to find a way to rectify that before night’s end.”
“Here? In Lake Flaccid? I don’t think so.”
“It’s Lake Placid, and you’ve never had a problem getting laid any other year we’ve come up here for New Year’s.”
“Do I detect a little jealousy in your voice? Is that what your problem’s been lately?”
“Jealous?” Adrien stops in his tracks at the plane’s exit and looks over his shoulder at Sergio. “Of you? Hardly.”
Sergio shrugs as he throws his Louis Vuitton duffle over his shoulder. “Well, you’re certainly acting like you are.”
Adrien rolls his eyes again, this time bringing his head into the roll, and steps off the plane, yelling as he does, “Trust me, I’m not!”
But Sergio isn’t even listening. He catches the eye of a handsome steward cleaning up their used glasses at the plane’s minibar. The young man blushes under Sergio’s gaze.
“Here,” Sergio says, pulling one of his business cards out of his pocket. He hands it over to the steward—his name tag reads Charlie—and gives him a wink that makes the other man visiblyswallow. Sergio watches the rise and fall of his Adam's apple. “Call me if you’re staying in Lake Placid for the night.”
Adrien glares at him when he steps off the warm plane out into the chilly mountain air. Sergio flips his hands up at his brother. “What?”
