Read Anything for Money: A Sex-For-Hire College Romance for Free Online Page A

know I don’t look hot every minute of the day. Yet, the photographs only show me looking good. More than good. Those photographs made me into some kind of preying, voracious succubus, trying to devour an innocent college boy.
    RJ spoke up. “Joseph is covering too much of you. Break apart so we can get more of your body.”
    I peeled off of him, but he followed. He wanted to keep his pelvis against mine. The fabric of his fly rubbed against my stomach—my plunge-neck left most of my front uncovered. The outline of his cock, delineated and hard, surged against my womb like it wanted to get in.
    Soon, I had backed to the wall and couldn’t break free. Joseph still pressed against me. Okay, it was more like grinding.
    “Open some space, Rebecca,” RJ said again.
    A model has to improvise, and make things work. Everything for the product.
    With a flash of inspiration, I pressed my hips against his, and arched my back against the wall. Cold tile rested on my sweaty, damp back, but I didn’t complain. I was in complete model mode.
    My move put new pressure on Joseph’s cock, which was what he needed. Rather than wrap himself over me again, he held my hips and looked down at me. If you turn the pictures sideways, it looks like we’re lying on a tiled floor.
    *Click* *Click*
    Since I had a break from kissing, I took the moment to check my light sources and angles.
    The hall wasn’t empty.
    I’d forgotten about the rest of the world, being so focused on getting good pictures, and compensating for Joseph’s lack of experience. Students and staff walked by, most of them slowing down and staring. Some of my new friends from the party were clustered at the door to the common room, sipping from their cups and trying to seem innocent as they watched. Several other guys in the hall had even gone full stop, little knots that impeded the foot traffic past Joseph and me.
    People don’t usually stop and stare, at least in such great numbers, for regular sessions of public affection. RJ’s constant camera flashes revealed our embrace for what it was. We were working, and they were watching a real modeling session.
    I tried not to think about it, but my mind kept returning to our audience. How they were seeing me spread out in front of a random guy, his hips against mine, my 6-inch heels braced on the floor below spread legs. My lipstick smeared. My breath coming in gasps. My breasts pointed at the ceiling.
    My breasts!
    Obviously, the club dress wasn’t designed for every kind of modeling pose. The plunge-neck fabric had slipped aside, leaving my chest bare to Joseph’s eyes, and the eyes of every onlooker. I had sort of expected this. After all, I was the designer. I was the one who’d draped the fabric to flare open, to give it some zing. Everything else, like lost modesty, was the cost of doing business. Still, I couldn’t wait to wear it again: Consider everything this tiny club dress had brought me just today alone.
    I fought down my self-consciousness. Real models, working models, sometimes even have to change their clothes on location. It’s true! The first thing a real model has to sacrifice is her modesty. That would simply have to be true for me, too.
    *Click* *Click* *Click*
    The photographs captured my breasts, and they looked fabulous and perky. Nipples hard, pointed skyward. They were the focal point of several pictures, which blurred the people in the background.
    Let them look, my mind sang. It’s part of the job.
    This was a good scene. RJ’s intensity, and his insane grin, told me we were getting great shots, better by the minute. I wasn’t about to derail everything with nonprofessional, non-sexual behavior. I wasn’t about to cover up. I was the real deal.
    I doubled down and pushed my groin against Joseph’s pelvis. Joseph escalated right back, and grabbed my breasts.
    I didn’t object. He was an amateur, he didn’t know about asking permission. I simply arched into his palms. I kept my mouth an open