Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
She tugs on my loosened tie. “Do you still like pictures, Miles?” It’s a tease of a question.
“If you’re in them,” I tell her, running the backs of my knuckles down her cheek.
“Do you still like pictures of both of us?”
Heat roars through me, a scorching fire raging in seconds. “I do.”
“Do you still get off to them?”
I’m a five-alarm blaze now. This woman has my number. “You know I fucking do, sweetheart.”
She nibbles on the corner of her pretty, glossy pink lips. “Then let’s take some pictures of you and me.”
You and me.
The three words I said earlier. It’s like she’s reinventing them. She’s turning them into something wholly new. Something unbearably sexy. Something that’s just for us. And as she unbuttons my shirt, she affirms that, saying, “Just for us.”
“You’re the photographer. We’re the subject,” I tell her, giving her all the permission she needs.
She grabs her little trigger remote from the nightstand, the one she used more than a year ago in her studio. Moving behind the camera, she fiddles with some settings. When she comes around the front once more, she says, “Kiss me the way you want to.”
I take that filthy invitation and I RSVP. I crush my lips to hers, giving her a hot, deep kiss that goes to my brain. All my synapses are firing, right along with the camera. She must be pressing the trigger, since the Nikon is clicking. My mind is frying and I’m alive and electric with the desire for her. And…with this pulsing need to see what we look like. I don’t know when she’ll snap the next ones but I don’t want to waste a second.
After I give her one more deep possessive kiss that has her melting in my arms, I make quick work of her clothes. Tugging off her shirt, kissing her neck, fiddling with the hooks on her bra. For a second, I consider the implications. She’ll be shirtless on camera. But one look at how fearless she is and I know this is what she wants. I know, too, that she’s in control—that remote in her hand, and the camera she owns are the proof.
I unhook the bra, dropping it onto the bed, because you should be nice to lingerie. Cupping her tits, I bury my face between them, kissing between the valley. Drawing the right nipple into my mouth and sucking, biting, grazing my teeth along it until she’s panting in my arms, all while taking pictures of us. Talk about a multi-tasker. I give the other one the same treatment since fair’s fair when it comes to nipple play.
She clicks, then gasps an “aah.” Grabbing my head with one hand, she breathes out hard and yanks my mouth to hers. She kisses me for a few dizzying seconds all while grappling at my shirt again, hastily shoving it off me while still snapping pictures.
For fuck’s sake, she’s incredible. The way she takes pictures while undressing me is the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced.
Now, I’m shirtless. That’s nothing new. Nothing that hasn’t been seen on social media a thousand times over. But this is different. Because these images are only for us. Knowing that, I break the kiss but pull her against me, wrap my arms around her then urge her, “Put your arms around me.”
She loops her bare arms around my neck, then presses the button again. I can hear the click of the camera capturing us skin to skin, holding each other in a moment of unchecked desire, but more so…of total trust.
The sound stops and I meet her gaze. There’s so much in her blue eyes—this passion that matches mine, and I hope…the emotions too. But for now, I focus on the physical, asking, “Limits. What are your limits on camera?”
“It’s my camera. As much as you want.”
She’s so fucking fearless. Me too, but I’m also torn. Half of me wants to keep sex itself ephemeral, a memory for our minds only. The other, greedy, dirty part of me wants it all on film. “I want everything till I fuck you. And maybe even that,” I say.
“I guess someone wants it all,” she teases, then holds up a finger and slips away to the bathroom, likely taking out her hearing aids. I’ve learned that’s how she prefers to fuck.
When she returns to me, she lifts her chin. “Take my clothes off.”
That’s all she needs to say.
I’m stripping her bare, peeling off her jeans, then standing in front of her where she’s wearing only a pair of pale pink panties. I drop to my knees as she pushes the button, capturing me worshipping her like she deserves. I look up at her and I’m keenly aware of the position, what it says, and more so what it means about us. She is a goddess. She is my goddess. One hand sifts through my hair, the other takes pictures as my hands circle her waist. I kiss her belly, then lower still and slowly, deliberately peel off those panties.