Page 180 of My Real Love Affair

“You heard me.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I showed you mine.”

“Not all of it.” I unbuttoned my jeans slowly, watching her watch me. Her breath quickened as I pushed them down and kicked them aside, leaving me in just my boxer briefs.

“Better?” I asked.

“You’re getting there.” She bit her lip, camera forgotten in her hands. “You’re really hot, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” I crooked my finger at her. “Come here.”

She set the camera down and walked into my arms. I kissed her deeply, my hands roaming over the lace. She pressed against me, all that lace scratching against my bare chest. Things got hot and heavy, and the next thing I knew, we were naked on the floor in her studio.

Later—much later—I found myself on her couch in nothing but my boxers, scrolling through the photos on her camera while she puttered around in the kitchen making lunch. The shots were incredible. Not just the professional ones from earlier, but the candid ones. The real ones.

There was one of her laughing, completely free and unguarded, that took my breath away. She was photogenic. Some people looked weird or fake in photographs. Not her. She was stunning.

“What are you looking at?” Melody asked, coming around the couch with two plates.

“These photos. You’re beautiful.”

She set the plates down and leaned over my shoulder. She smelled like sex and happiness. “Austin, you’re a natural photographer.”

“You’re a natural model. The camera loves you.”

She studied the screen as I scrolled, then suddenly stilled. “Wait, go back.”

I went back to a shot I’d taken of her in the lingerie, mid-laugh, completely natural.

“I love that one,” she said softly. “That’s how I want to feel all the time.”

“Free?”

“Happy,” she corrected. “Just purely happy.”

I set the camera aside and pulled her around the couch into my lap. “You make me happy too. You know that, right?”

“I’m trying,” she murmured.

“And succeeding. Maybe we can send some shots to Cleo’s damned Instagram account.”

She nearly choked on her food, laughing. “What?”

“That account with all my worst photos. It’s singlehandedly convincing part of the population that I’m not attractive, and that’s a crime in my books.”

“Austin Bancroft, are you vain?”

“I prefer ‘appropriately confident in my appearance.’”

She was full on laughing now, and I loved it. “That account has like 800,000 followers. I don’t think your modeling shots are going to change any minds.”

“I could try. Give them something good to look at for once.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

She smiled, soft and genuine. “Yeah, I really do.”

We finished eating, making plans between bites. Weekend plans. Normal couple things.