Silas was perfect for this—rightup until he wasn’t.
The moment I dropped the robe he was professional, talking to me through the lens of his camera instead of directly.The nervous flutters dissipated the longer we went on, reminding me that while he’s the photographer I’ve hired for my boudoir shoot, he’s also a friend.A funny one, who, for as long as I’ve known him, has made me laugh.
Now, though, with Silas on his knees beside me, shirtless and touching my ass, it morphs into something else.Something I shouldn’t be doing.
Somethingweshouldn’t be doing.
Because never in a million years would I have expected this to lead to Silas stroking the skin just below the line of my lacy panties.
His gaze is on the loose thread, and he’s pinching it, holding it up so he can cut it.The heel of his hand rests on my butt cheek, and I watch as he carefully maneuvers the scissors out of my view.
Snip.
There’s a slide, his finger gently smoothing the cut end, the whisper of his touch against skin that’s never been touched by him before, and I break out in goose bumps.My breath catches.
Then he glances up at me.
Behind his glasses I see wide eyes.Eyes that aren’t professional or friendly, but filled with heat.
I hear Silas swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and his lips part.“Got it.”The words are barely a whisper.
“Okay,” I whisper back.My brain is screaming at me to say something sarcastic, to break this tension before it breaks me, but for once in my life, I have nothing.We’re suspended in this moment until the camera, which Silas had placed on the bed, whirs, going into sleep mode.Silas blinks and drops his hand.
“Right—” He clears his throat and then glances out the window.“The lighting is getting pretty good.Let’s wrap this up and do the outside shoots.”
Silas swaps the scissors for his camera and puts some space between us.The part of me that’s always crushed on Silas heaves a sigh of frustration and sulks back into the deep dark corner of me.
We continue the shoot.This pose is one taking advantage of the standing mirror I brought, and I perch on the corner of the bed, Silas taking pictures of me from behind, while still catching my reflection in the mirror, showing the powder-blue thong and my breasts barely covered by the lace.
In the mirror, I can see him too.The way his jaw tightens.The way he shifts his weight.
I’m not the only one affected here, and there’s something satisfying about that.
He tells me to put my hand on my chest, and as I let my palm glide over the top of one breast, my fingernails drag up my sternum, and I tilt my head back as I cup my own throat.
I got mani-pedis yesterday in preparation, so my nails feel strong and the white french tips feel like an indulgence.The Brazilian wax was a few days ago to ensure the itchiness and irritation would go away before the big day.
I felt like a bride being polished and buffed to perfection.
Then Silas tells me to look at him through the mirror.
I stare at him.He works quickly, snapping away.“That’s—that’s perfect,” he finally says.
Then we’re down to the last shot—the outdoor one.I change again into a black lace teddy and a sheer robe, but layer Silas’s pink banana bathrobe over it.
When I come out, Silas is sitting on the bed, his arms crossed while he looks out the sliding glass door.
“Ready?”he asks.“I want to be fast once we get out there.”
“My toes appreciate that.”Silas also swept off all the snow from his porch and the railing.It’s got a beautiful dark stain on the wood, and I’m thankful he doesn’t have a metal railing.My nervous sweat might make me stick to the railing if it was, like that kid who licked the flagpole in the Christmas movie.
I’m nervous because, technically, there are other houses around.The backyard isn’t fenced in, and I can’t see anyone, but hypothetically someone could come walking around the corner of the house.
Silas and I had debated about what to wear.My idea board had pictures of winter outdoor sessions, most of them with a cozy vibe, using faux-fur blankets, cheeky flannel onesies, or red velvet bodysuits.But we’d agreed that since this was the money shot, I should wear whatever made me most comfortable, and I really like the sheer robe.
Butterflies swirl in my stomach as I linger by the window.“Are you ready?”I ask.
“Yes, whenever you are.”
