“If you could see what I see,” he says.Clickclickclickclick.“You’d turn the most bigoted man gay right now.”
I laugh. His camera doesn’t stop capturing pictures, even through my laughter.
He stops in front of me, a grin on his face that would melt my panties off if I were wearing any. “How do you feel about being truly restrained?”
“I thought you knew enough for pictures?”
“Oh, I do. I’d get my bondage learner’s permit taken away if someone came to inspect what I have in mind.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I want you to look wrecked for me,” he says. “As if I tied you up and fucked you.”
Despite my best efforts not to, I groan.
Chapter Five
DYLAN
I’ve been takingpeople’s pictures since I was twelve. I began boudoir photography when I was twenty. In more than a decade of photographing people, I’ve never been tempted to send one to my phone and keep it for myself.
There’s editing software, though primitive, on my phone. Arguably, while I could totally send one to myself and claim it’s work-related, I have better morals than that. Barely, but I do.
The entire shoot yesterday still runs through my head on repeat. Everything. Every moment. Every time I touched him to change his position. Every angle of his dick, his face, his sexy hole. Tying him up. Seeing him absolutely panting for me.
One photo in particular had him tied awkwardly, but I wanted it for a single image idea, where he’s almost rolled into a ball, but bent backward. I have the rope over him, though it’s a trick of the angle to make it look actually tied and secure. He has amazing strength to keep himself in that position as long as he did, but I didn’t want to hurt him.
I got the picture, though. His body is sleek and curled backward with his hard dick sticking up like a flag on a mountain. There’s a bead of precum at the very tip in one shot. In another, that same bead is beginning to drip down his cock.
“What’s wrong with me?” I mutter. Ican’tbe lusting after someone else’s man! That’s not something I do.
Frustrated with myself, I grab my phone and head into my den to call my mom. She’ll talk me down. I know she will. That’s what moms do.
I do a quick calculation in my head to determine what time it is there. Yep, still early enough. She answers almost right away.
“Dylan.”
“Hi, Mama.”
“Hey, baby. How are you?”
“I’m good. When are you coming to visit?”
Mom hums. “I was thinking this spring. You can show me around the islands.”
I grin. “Yes, please.” She hasn’t been here since I moved here. I usually go visit her. On my last visit, I decided it was time for her to visit me on Kala.
“I’ll start looking at airfare.”
“You can stay with me.”
“Sounds good, baby. How’s the studio? Still thriving?”
“Definitely. Everyone loves to see themselves beautiful.”
“It’s today’s version of Glamour Shots,” she muses, not for the first time.
“Mom…”
