Red Carpet Ruse

Kate’s makeup and hair team had worked miracles. Emily’s big brown eyes were now framed in dramatic cat-eye liner, dark shadow making them smolder, glossy red lips begging to be kissed. Iris’s cheekbones looked sharper than ever, a delicate necklace drawing every eye to the graceful curve of her neck and shoulders. Kate herself glowed; light blue shadow making her eyes sparkle like the ocean, a diamond-encrusted clip pinning back her hair to show off her flawless bone structure. Even I got the treatment: hot towel facial, a shave, fresh slick haircut, and sterling silver cufflinks that caught the light just right.

All three women wore Kate’s perfume. The scent wrapped around them like a second skin; sweet flowers, ripe fruit, tequila, and the unmistakably warm, intimate musk of Kate herself. I remembered the prototype she’d shown me: the redesigned bottle, deliciously pink, molded from soft silicone to perfectly replicate her sex. Every fold, every curve captured with erotic precision. In the domain, those folds had wrapped around my cock like velvet, gripping tight, milking me as I thrust deep, firing spurt after spurt of thick cum into her greedy cunt until it overflowed.

I shook the memory away as the limo pulled up to Night Francescana, Carlo Cracco’s newest Italian bistro. Photographers and paparazzi already lined the red carpet, flashes popping like gunfire. The velvet rope felt surreal; I’d been on the other side once, early in my career, yelling celebrity names for a glimpse. I’d hated it so much I’d almost quit photography for art school or culinary training. Then Iris came along at that convention, reigniting the spark, reminding me why I loved this.

“Ready to meet the public?” Kate teased, eyes glittering.

Emily smiled up at me, squeezing my hand. “You should go out there with Kate,” she said softly. “People will wonder who you are, think you’re her new lover. It’ll get them talking; maybe land you more clients.”

Lover. The word hung in the air. Emily wasn’t joking. She was suggesting; encouraging; me to let the world think Kate Upton was my lover, right in front of her. My pulse kicked up.

I glanced at Iris. She’d been mostly quiet during the ride, staring out the window with a small smile. Now she nodded. “She’s right. It’ll be good press.”

I looked at Kate. “I’m game,” she said with a wicked grin.

All three of them; my girlfriend, our closest friend, and Kate herself; telling me to play the part of Kate’s lover. I could already see the headlines: Kate Upton and Suspected New Flame, Photographer Joe Delgado, at Night Francescana Opening. It wasn’t far from the scenario I’d created in my domain: Kate riding me hard, moaning my name, claiming me as her king while she begged to be my slut.

I met Emily’s eyes again. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

She nodded, smile soft but certain. “Go make them jealous, tiger.”

The limo rolled to a stop. Cameras turned toward the doors, flashes waiting for the next celebrity sighting.

I took Kate’s hand. She laced her fingers through mine, gave me a conspiratorial wink, and we stepped out together into the blinding light.