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I nod, feeling the back of my throat prickle with emotion.
“What do you need from me?”
Not what’s wrong? What do I need? Because truthfully, there’s nothing wrong.
“I’m going to go crazy if you don’t speak to me, pretty girl. Do I need to kill someone? Help you bury a body?”
I burst out laughing but only because there’s no humor in his tone. He’s ready to go to war because I’m nervous.
“No body. Not tonight anyway.” I swallow the fear-soaked lump. “I need your hands.”
He cocks a brow, the ghost of a satisfied smirk curling on his mouth. I yelp when he grabs my ass and presses me flush against his chest. “They’re all yours.”
“Horn ball,” I tease, slapping his chest and stepping out of his hold. I don’t want to, but if I remain in his arms, I’ll never get this done.
“I want to take some photos.” I fiddle with the supplies on the table, heat rushing up my neck before straightening his jacket. Anything but look at him. “Don’t worry, our faces won’t be in it. I just want to try something. I don’t even know how it will turn out, and you can say no, it was just an idea.”
With a firm grip on my waist, he spins me around, making me swallow the rest of my ramblings. “I’m all yours.”
No questions.
That’s it.
I need him.
He’s mine.
“Thank you.”
He dips his chin before I take his hand and guide him in front of the camera, positioning him so he’s center.
Lighting looks good.
But I’m sure even in the worst lighting Logan looks good.
He watches me intently as I make some minor adjustments with the angle, toning down the lights a fraction.
“I need you to take off your T-shirt.” Another arch of his brow before he fists the material at the nape of his neck and pulls it off in one swoop, discarding it out of view. Behind the lights, where he probably can’t see me, I take a moment to ogle him. This is how he should always be. The man was made to be put in front of a camera, even if he’d scowl at me if I told him that.
Inhaling a steadying breath, I set the timer and join him on the other side. This side of the camera isn’t my comfort zone, but with him, I can do it.
Heated eyes warm me as I remove my sweater. I hear him groan when I slip my jeans down my legs and throw them to the other side, leaving me in nothing but a black bra and panties.
Not daring to look at him because I don’t want to see what he thinks, I press my hands on his shoulders, turning him so his back is to the camera.
The camera flashes.
With a cleansing breath, I close my eyes and I remember. I let myself go back in time, feel fresh bruises and warm blood on my skin, and another piece of my heart shatter. I need to bleed one more time so I can stitch up the wounds.
In my head, I scan the pictures stored away inside, long before I began putting them in a journal.
The first bruise was on my shoulder.
It takes a long minute before I bring a trembling hand to his, interlocking our fingers. He squeezes, sending me strength without ever having to speak.
What must be think?
The camera keeps flashing.
