The apartment was warm and dimly lit when Scott stepped through the door that evening, the chill of December air clinging to his coat. He kicked off his shoes in the foyer, loosening his tie, heart still racing from the conversation in Derek’s office.

“Stiles?” he called softly, voice laced with excitement he couldn’t hide.

“In here, baby,” her voice floated from the living room, low and sultry like always.

He turned the corner and stopped dead.

Stiles was lounging on the plush white sofa, one leg tucked beneath her, the other stretched out, heel dangling from her toes. She wore a tiny black satin slip dress—if you could even call it a dress. The hem barely skimmed the tops of her thick thighs, riding up dangerously high as she shifted. Thin straps clung to her shoulders, the neckline plunging so deep between her massive breasts that the soft inner curves spilled out, nipples already hard and poking against the thin fabric. No bra, of course. Never a bra. Her white skin glowed under the golden lamp light, pink lips curved in a teasing smile as she sipped red wine.

Her long dark hair fell in waves over one shoulder, and when she looked up at him with those huge doe eyes, Scott felt his cock twitch in his slacks.

“Welcome home, hubby,” she purred, setting the glass down and uncrossing her legs slowly—slowly enough that he caught the tiniest flash of bare, fat pink pussy lips before she pressed her thighs together again. No panties. Naturally.

He swallowed hard. “Fuck, Stiles… you look…”

“Slutty?” she finished for him, biting her lower lip. “Good. That’s what you like, isn’t it?”

He crossed the room in three strides, dropping to his knees in front of her, hands sliding up her smooth calves to her thighs. “You have no idea.”

She laughed softly, spreading her legs just enough for him to see how slick she already was, that perfect hairless cunt glistening. “Tell me about your day first,” she whispered, fingers threading through his hair. “Then you can taste me.”

He groaned but pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Baby… I have news. Big news.”

Her brows lifted. “Oh?”

“Mr. Hale—the CEO—he’s looking for the face of the annual calendar. The big one. And I… I showed him your old photos.”

Stiles’s pink lips parted. Surprise flickered across her face, then something warmer. Flattered. “My old stuff? Really?”

“He lost his mind,” Scott said, voice eager. “Said you’re perfect. Exactly what he’s been searching for. He wants you in for a shoot. End of the week.”

Her breath caught. She sat up a little straighter, tits bouncing softly with the movement. “Me? After all this time?”

Scott nodded, hands squeezing her thighs. “Stiles, this could be huge. And he remembered you—said you were unforgettable back then. Please say yes. I’ve never seen him react like that to anyone.”

She hesitated, chewing her lip. “I don’t know, Scott… I quit for a reason. I love our life. Being yours.”

“You are mine,” he said fiercely, leaning in to kiss the inside of her knee. “Always. But imagine it—being in front of the camera again. Feeling that rush. And knowing I get to take you home after and fuck you senseless because every man in the country is jerking off to you.”

Her cheeks flushed pink, but her thighs parted wider at his words, slickness visible now. She was excited. Nervous, but excited.

Seeing the glow in his eyes—the pride, the arousal—she melted.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

Scott grinned like he’d won the lottery, surging up to kiss her hard, hands sliding under the slip to cup her heavy breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples until she moaned into his mouth.

That night he fucked her twice—once bent over the sofa, dress pushed up to her waist, her fat ass rippling with every thrust; once in bed with her riding him slow, tits in his face, whispering how wet the idea of modeling again made her.

The next morning, Scott practically skipped into Derek’s office.

“She said yes, sir,” he announced, beaming. “She’s in.”

Derek looked up from his desk, expression cool, controlled. Inside, his blood roared.

“Excellent,” he said smoothly. “Tell her we’ll book the studio for Friday. Full test shoot.”

Scott nodded eagerly and left.

Derek leaned back, a dark smile curling his lips. He opened a private folder on his laptop—old files from six years ago. Stiles on set. Stiles laughing between takes. Stiles in nothing but body paint and a thong.

Soon.

Thursday evening—the day before the shoot—Derek texted Scott personally.

Bring your wife in tomorrow morning. Contract signing. Standard formality. Studio tour after if she wants.

Scott showed Stiles the message over breakfast, her in nothing but one of his oversized shirts, buttons undone so her cleavage spilled out, nipples peeking.

“He wants to meet me before?” she asked, a little nervous flutter in her voice.

“Just paperwork, baby. And he’s excited. Come on—it’ll be fun.”

—

Friday morning, they arrived at Hale Model Agency together.

Stiles had dressed to kill, of course.

A skin-tight red mini dress, stretchy fabric clinging to every curve like it was painted on. The hem stopped mid-thigh, barely covering the underside of her juicy ass. Neckline a deep V that plunged almost to her navel, her massive tits pushed together and up, sideboob spilling out with every breath. No bra again—her nipples stiff and obvious against the thin material. Sky-high black heels made her legs look endless, and beneath the dress? Nothing but that perfect bare pink pussy, already damp from the way men stared in the elevator.

Scott held her hand proudly as they stepped into the executive floor.

Derek was waiting outside his office, leaning against the doorframe in a charcoal suit that hugged his broad, muscled frame. His dark eyes locked on Stiles the second she appeared.

And he froze.

She was even more devastating in person. Skin like cream, lips plush and glossy pink, body built for sin. Those tits—fuck, they were bigger than he remembered, straining against red fabric, begging to be freed. That ass swaying as she walked. And the way she moved—innocent and filthy all at once.

His cock thickened instantly in his slacks.

Stiles felt his stare like a physical touch. Heat flooded her cheeks, her thighs. He wasn’t even trying to hide the hunger in his eyes—dark, possessive, stripping her bare right there in the hallway.

Her nipples hardened further. She squeezed Scott’s hand tighter.

“Stiles,” Derek said, voice low and rough, extending a hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you properly.”

She slipped her smaller hand into his—his grip firm, warm, thumb brushing over her knuckles just a fraction too long.

“T-Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Hale,” she murmured, voice breathy.

“Call me Derek,” he said, eyes dropping openly to her cleavage before dragging back up. “And the pleasure is all mine.”

Scott beamed beside her, completely oblivious to the tension crackling in the air.

They moved into the office. Derek gestured to the leather chairs in front of his desk. Stiles sat carefully, the dress riding up her thighs until the curve of her ass was nearly exposed. Derek’s gaze followed the movement.

He slid the contract across the desk—thick, official, dozens of pages.

“Standard talent agreement,” he said casually. “Covers the calendar shoot, potential extensions, usage rights. My legal team drafted it. You can have your lawyer review, of course, but we’re on a tight schedule.”

Scott flipped through it absently. Stiles barely glanced.

They trusted him. Why wouldn’t they?

Buried in the fine print were the clauses Derek had personally added late last night:

Full nudity permitted and encouraged for artistic purposes.

Intimate duo shoots with approved male models at director’s discretion.

Physical direction by photographer/CEO—including positioning, touching, and adjustments for “authentic chemistry.”

Exclusive rights to all images, including private outtakes.

Talent agrees to maintain availability for “follow-up sessions” as requested by CEO.

Scott signed with a flourish. Passed the pen to Stiles.

She hesitated one second—felt Derek’s eyes burning into her—then signed her name in looping cursive.

“Perfect,” Derek murmured, taking the contract back. His fingers brushed hers again. Deliberately this time.

He stood. “Why don’t I give you a quick tour of the studio downstairs? Get you comfortable for tomorrow.”

Scott nodded eagerly. “That’d be great.”

As they walked, Derek stayed half a step behind Stiles, eyes glued to the sway of her ass, the way the dress clung to every jiggle.

Stiles felt it. Felt wanted in a way she hadn’t in years. Dangerous. Thrilling.

Scott chattered happily about lighting and sets, oblivious as ever.

Derek smiled to himself.

Tomorrow, the real shoot began.

And Stiles was already his.

She just didn’t know it yet.