I dead-ended into the photo booth and dumped my empty paper cone in a nearby trash can. Immediately, I began to pat down my pockets as I searched for cash. This booth was an oldie, all right. It’d probably take forever for my photos to be printed out, but it’d be worth it. It’d be so worth it.
And then I’d go home and figure out how to harness these holiday vibes into the screenplay that I should totally start writing.
“Noooo,” I whined. “All I have is my debit card.”
Isaac, who’d just caught up to me, reached into his back pocket and took a few bills from his wallet, then held open the photo booth curtain for me to join him.
“I almost always carry singles,” I told him earnestly. “You never know when you’ll stumble across a strip club.”
He sat on the tiny little stool inside the booth and patted his thigh for me to sit down. “Words to live by.”
My mouth went suddenly dry as I wedged myself into the narrow space and sat down on his lap.
“Is this okay?” I asked softly. I wasn’t a tiny girl, but I also didn’t do that thing where you hover over someone when they invite you to lean on them or sit on them so they don’t feel the full weight of your body. I’ve always believed that if you want me, you get all of me. This was just a silly moment in a photo booth, but still.
“Great,” he said, the word deep and velvety, as he reached around my waist and put three dollar bills into the machine.
“Wait, wait, wait!” I said as the booth began to count down from ten. “We don’t know how we’re posing!”
“Is that a thing we need to figure out?” he asked with a laugh, his cerulean eyes bright as he teased me.
The camera flashed, and I squawked at the surprise.
He laughed again and slid a hand under my jacket and up my rib cage to tickle me.
“Stop!” I yelled as the bulb shot off again.
“Make me,” he dared.
So I did. I kissed him. Just once on the lips, but it was enough to force his hands to drop.
Another flash.
I pulled back just long enough to see him coming for me as he drove his fingers into my hair. With a strong grip, he pulled me into his lips as his other arm wrapped around my waist. He bit down on my bottom lip, and I let out a moan as his tongue darted over mine.
Flash.
“Don’t stop,” I begged into his warm mouth.
“You mean it?” he asked, his breath hot against my neck as his teeth dragged across my skin.
His fingers sank into my waist, and with his other hand, he reached under my corduroy miniskirt, which had already begun to slide up my hips.
“We’re not supposed to do this again,” I reminded him, only so I could tell myself later on that I had tried to talk some sense into one of us.
“I know your safe word,” he said. “All you have to do is use it.”
My fingers traced down his arm until my hand was on his as he ground his palm into my already-wet cunt.
“Oh God,” I gasped as I rocked forward and used my other hand to brace myself against the wall in front of me. “These fucking tights.” They were in the way, and there was no way I could gracefully wiggle out of them in this tiny space.
“I can feel how hungry you are for it,” he whispered. “You’re such a filthy girl, Sunny.” The hand on my hip roamed up my waist and over my breast, his grip squeezing and then swatting at my aching nipple through the thin knit of my sweater. He pressed down against my core with his palm again and then hooked his other arm under mine so that he could pull me back against him, his hardness digging into my ass as I whimpered.
“Please, please,” I begged as market-goers passed by just on the other side of the curtain. The photo booth whirred a little as it printed our photos just outside and the thought of how quickly those four snapshots went from innocent to obscene pushed every worry about us getting caught here in this moment out of my head.
With a growl, he gathered the crotch of my tights in his fist and tore.
Cold air hit the flesh of my inner thigh as a ragged run formed down the front of my tights.
