If the last two weeks were our first test, having him here again feels like passing with flying colors. It wasn’t easy. Some nights, alone in my bed, I missed him desperately. But now that he’s here, there’s no awkwardness finding our way back to each other.
We just…fit.
“You watching me sleep?” I tease, poking the relaxed muscle in his chest and turning on my side.
“Maybe.” Wes smooths his palm over my shoulder and down my bare arm. “The light in here is great in the morning.”
“Leave it to you to be thinking about photography while naked in bed.”
His laughter is a low, seductive rumble. “I’ve been thinking about you in that dress on the other side of my lens for the last hour.”
Heat pools low in my belly, sleepiness fading. “You were serious about that?”
“Mmmhmm.” He drags his fingertip along the sheet where it just barely covers my breasts and tugs, his eyes rapt on my skin. “Only if you’re up for it.”
I’ve always preferred being behind the camera to being in front of it. I’ve never really thought about what it might be like to beunderit.
Twenty minutes later, Wes has me on my back in the middle of the bed while he stands over me, barefoot and wearing only a pair of unbuttoned jeans. He’s hard, cock straining against his zipper. My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I stare and press my thighs together.
I’ve done boudoir sessions for brides in the past, and there’s usually not much about it that I find sexy. My mind is too wrapped up in angles and lighting and the various requests the bride made before the shoot started.
Taking these kinds of photos with Wes in the privacy of my bedroom is something else entirely. The only thing that stops me from pouncing on him is that I want my turn behind the camera.
He groans and drops his arm to the side with his camera dangling from his fingers before sinking to his knees. He’s still hovering over me, thighs spread over mine, the pressure on his zipper dragging it down an inch. “Bite your lip again. And let me just…”
Wes reaches out and gently tugs on the dress’s neckline and straps until the fabric barely covers my nipples. The silk is already hopelessly wrinkled—consequences of me dropping the dress to the floor not that long ago so that he could take a few shots of me from behind, standing in the puddle of silk—but it’s nothing a good steam won’t fix.
A small furrow of concentration forms between his brows, and then Wes sets the camera down before he leans over me to take hold of my wrists. Dragging my arms over my head, hecrosses one wrist over the other in an illusion of restraint and then rocks back onto his heels, hands on his thighs as he studies the scene he’s created.
“Keep your arms like that,” he rasps before picking up the camera again. His breath catches as he stares through the viewfinder, takes a handful of shots, and then lowers it again. “I’m going to spend far too much time looking at these when we’re apart.”
I arch my back a little more and give him a sultry smile. “Glad I can keep you company in all those lonely hotel rooms.”
Wes shakes his head slowly and reaches out to brush a loose strand of hair off my face. “Oh, I’ll be thinking of you when I get in bed every night,” he says, low and rough. “But if you think that’s the only time I’ll be missing you, you’re very, very wrong, Sloane.”
I forget how to breathe. His stare is unwavering, and as intense as the moment is, there’s new vulnerability in his eyes. Overwhelmed by the sheerwantand maybe some other four-letter word, I curve my hand around the back of his neck and pull him down.
I’ve learned that Wes communicates his feelings with touch. There have been a lot of kisses between us since that first one, but there’s never been one quite like this. This kiss sinks beneath my skin, wraps me up in the intimacy of the morning, and refuses to let go.
It’s the kind of kiss that can brand a person on your soul.
Gently pushing him away, I take a shaky breath and try to recapture the teasing, light mood of the morning. “If you think you can make me forget I haven’t had my turn,youare very, very wrong.”
Chuckling under his breath, Wes lifts the camera again with a murmured “Don’t you dare move yet.” It’s only after he’s taken a few more shots that he swings his leg over my thighs and slides off the bed to set his gear back in his bag. “Fair is fair.” His gaze devours me while he holds out my camera. “Where do you want me?”
I point to the bed. “Let me just change real quick. I don’t want to damage the dress.”
“Need help?”
“Oh no you don’t.” I dart out of his reach, grinning at his playful huff. “No touching. Yet.”
His stare rests heavy and hot on my back while I strip off the dress and hang it in my closet. Naked, I saunter over to where Wes tossed his T-shirt earlier and yank it over my head, inhaling deeply and ignoring the throb of arousal between my thighs that only intensifies under his hungry attention.
I’m not sure if I can call it payback when we both enjoy it so much.
Wes is a collection of beautiful lines on the other end of my lens. Hard lines that form his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, the slant of his brows, but softer ones too. The curve of his lips stretched into his familiar wicked grin, the dip of his waist, and the hills and valleys of soft skin draped over taut muscle.
But what’s really doing it for me is the look in his eyes and the coiled tension of holding himself back from what he really wants—what we both want.
