Swatting his ass, I watch him laugh as he heads to the grill, but I sit in the chair and watch him. I play with the settings on my camera before lifting it and snapping some pictures of him, his face locked in concentration as he cooks.
Eventually, he brings me a glass of wine, and I tug him down onto my lap. He wiggles, trying to get away. “The food will burn,” he whines.
I rest my chin on his neck. “Just give me one minute.”
He relaxes back into me, and I hold him tightly before I hear sizzling and have to let him go, knowing he would be upset if his hard work burned. He hurries away, and by the time he’s dished everything up, my camera is full of pictures of him.
My favorite muse.
The sun starts to set as we lay it all out on the blanket, and I tug him into my arms and hand feed him as he watches me happily. “It’s really good. I like the broccoli dish the best.”
“Really?” He perks up. “I’ll make it whenever you want.”
“Promise?” I murmur as I wipe some potato from the corner of his lips and suck it clean from my thumb. He gulps as he watches me do it, and I can’t stop my satisfied smirk. He always looks at me like that, shy and needy, even after how much we’ve been together.
“Promise,” he whispers as he glances away. “I better clean up.”
Darting up, he starts to put stuff away, so I lean back and observe him. His cheeks are red, and he’s ducking his head, knowing I’m watching, but he puts on a show for me, bending repeatedly until my eyes narrow.
“Baby boy,” I warn.
“Yes, Conan?” he replies innocently.
“Do it again and you’ll be face down in that blanket,” I warn. He bites his lip, indicating that’s exactly what he wants, but I want to just watch him, so I hide my smile at his disappointment.
By the time he cleans up, it’s dark, and he turns the lights on, throwing everything into a warm, romantic glow before he climbs into the tent, so I follow, sprawling across the bed at his side as I take his hand and stroke his fingers.
“I want you to have the best life,” he murmurs, and I turn my head, confused. “I don’t want you to miss out on anything because of me. I want you to be happy and free, so if there’s ever anything you want or need to do, just tell me. I’ll do it with you. I want to spend our lives together.”
He looks so serious. I hate it.
I’m happy, and he’s happy. That’s all that matters. Everything else is just superficial.
“There is something I’ve always wanted to do,” I admit as I play with his fingers.
“What’s that?” he asks hopefully.
Lifting my hand, I meet his gaze. “Take pictures like she did, just us with your beautiful skin on display . . . something just for me.”
“You mean naked?” His brows rise as he turns until he’s on his front, his head propped on his hand as he watches me. “Conan, you dirty old dog.”
I lean in, watching his eyes widen. “But you want that, right? Want me to take your picture with nothing between us? I noticed the look in your eye when you saw the ones Amanda took. You liked it.”
His eyes dart between mine, so I cup his chin and drag him closer as he falls into me. “You belong to me, Mackie, every inch of you. Let me show you.”
“Yes,” he murmurs, closing his eyes as he surrenders.
Grinning, I brush my lips over his. “Good boy. Stand up.”
Turning away, I sit up and grab my camera. He blinks owlishly before sliding from the bed and standing at the end. “Now strip for me.”
He’s unsure at first, but when he grabs the bottom of his shirt and starts to lift it, I raise my camera.
“Slowly,” I instruct.
Breathing deeply, he moves deliberately. I snap, and I don’t stop as he pulls it over his head and lets it drop before reaching for his pants. He unzips them slowly then pushes them down, bending forward. I never stop taking pictures, capturing that obsessive, needy gleam in his eyes as he kicks off his boxers and stands. He lowers to his knees and crawls toward me, and desire hammers through me so hard, my hands shake on my camera.
His palms land on my thighs and slide up as he gets as close as he can to the lens. “Like this? Is this how you want me?”
