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“The golden hour,” she whispered, as the light bathed her face, and a challenge rose in her eyes.
“Your skin really is flawless.” I picked up the camera and looked through the viewfinder, clicking my first picture.
“You’re not going to ask me to smile?” she teased, the corners of her mouth lifting.
“I want you to do whatever you want.” Another click. “You are so fucking beautiful, and you don’t even realize it.”
“I know I’m pretty,” she countered, crossing her arms and gripping the base of her sweater, then dragging it up her frame, revealing a form-fitting tank top. The rise of her breasts almost made me swallow my tongue. “But there’s a difference,” she continued, dropping the sweater to the floor, “between confidence, which I have, and arrogance, which…” She gestured at me.
“Which I have,” I agreed with a shrug. “Genetics are just symmetry and pleasing features. And yet, when you’re the one here,” I tapped the side of the camera. “I feel like you’re capturing more than my face.”
“You’re more than just a face,” she whispered, lifting her hands to the bun on top of her head.
“To you.” I zoomed in on her eyes and clicked. “I want a print of your eyes so I can blow it up and frame it.” Well, shit, I guess my brain was no longer in control of my mouth.
“My eyes?” She tugged, and her hair fell in a cascade of blonde curls.
“You have the sexiest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Another picture. I scanned down her body, clicking the whole way. “Sexiest…everything.”
She sighed, and a slow smile spread across her face. “You make me believe that.”
“Good.”
“I’m not sure it is.” Her fingers toyed with the hem of her tank top and then that was off, too, landing somewhere near the sweater. “It might be very, very bad.”
“Holy fuck.” Good thing the camera was strapped around my neck, because I dropped it. Her bra was emerald green, almost the same shade as her eyes, and lace detailed the cups that held the perfect swells of her breasts up like an offering.
My mouth watered.
“I thought you were taking pictures,” she said with a coy smile, moving closer to the window.
She was a goddess with dips and hollows that I wanted to worship, a deity that deserved every sacrifice at her altar.
“The project is on movement,” she whispered, spinning slowly as the sunlight caressed her smooth skin and played in the strands of her curls like a halo. “So tell me, Maxim.” She came closer, rising on her toes so her lips brushed my ear, and her breasts pressed against the bare skin of my chest. “How do you want me to move?”
Under me. That was the first image that came to mind. Her, naked, underneath me, writhing, straining for her orgasm, her lips parted and her eyes glazed.
She toed off her socks, revealing bright pink toenails. Even her feet were pretty.
“Out of ideas already?” She flicked the first button on her jeans. “Admit it, it’s harder to be behind the lens than you thought.”
“It’s hard, alright.” More like throbbing. What the hell had I gotten us into? If she kept removing clothes, the tenuous grip I had on my control was going to snap.
“Come on, you can do better.” She tugged down her zipper. “Should I sway, so you can capture the way my hips move?” Her hips swung left, then right as she slid her jeans over the sumptuous curves.
My cock ached.
“Or should I bend here, maybe bend at the knee so you get this line?” She did just that, popping a knee and bending over as she peeled her jeans from her legs, working the pose better than any model could have. “You’re not taking pictures, Maxim.”
I clicked randomly, the camera near my chest. I wasn’t about to watch this through a fucking lens. I wanted this moment branded in my memory.
“That’s better,” she praised, and her jeans were…somewhere.
“Damn, Evangeline,” I hissed through my teeth. Of course her underwear matched, cutting across her hips in a swath of green, contrasting with her sun-kissed skin.
“Should I arch?” She leaned back against the wall, right up against the farthest window, the gridwork casting shadows across her body as if it needed to be divided into segments so I’d know where to start. Then she bent her body, arching like she’d suggested, her breasts testing the boundaries of her bra as she reached above her head and tilted her chin up as though she was surrendering to the caress of the sun.
“Arching is good.” My heart thundered and my breathing was more than a little erratic as I clicked another picture. Fuck goddess, she was a living, breathing siren.
“Another angle maybe?” She turned, bracing her hands on the wall and stretching back like a cat.
Speechless. The sight of that green lace cutting across the globes of her ass, revealing the bare, lower curves had me fucking speechless. I was going to eat her alive.
