“Hold this for a second.” I hand him the camera and kneel between his spread thighs where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. I carefully drag his zipper down the rest of the way, pullthe denim apart, and push on his knees to widen his legs. The strain on his underwear is borderline obscene.
Wes sucks in a sharp breath and stares at me with volcanic intensity. “Sloane…” He breathes out my name with a hint of warning.
“You had your turn,” I remind him with a wink before I pop up, tell him to lean back on his elbows, and snap a few shots while he smolders at me like he’s about to burn the bedroom down. Between his heavy-lidded stare, dark tousled hair, neatly trimmed beard, and the ink splashed across his body, he’s every woman’s bad-boy fantasy come to life.
But he’s all mine.
“No one is ever going to see these photos but us.” We talked about it briefly before Wes took the first shot, but I want the reminder fresh before I make my next request.
He nods. “Just me and you, darlin’. I don’t want to share you.”
“I don’t want to share you either.” I intend it to come out flirty. Instead my words are thick, the mood shifting between us from hot and heavy back to intimate. Especially when I let out a long breath and say softly, “Touch yourself, Wes. Slowly.”
His eyebrows fly up, but his hand obediently slides down his stomach to palm his cock under his boxer briefs with a strangled groan. He tips his head back to expose the column of his throat, his eyes going heavy-lidded with pleasure. The muscles in his abdomen bunch and flex as he strokes himself, chest heaving with each breath.
Wes watches me through slitted eyes when I make an adjustment to his position. “You have no idea how much I want to throw you onto this bed right now.”
Laughing softly, I hold my camera off to the side and leanin for a kiss. I still have every intention of taking more shots, but Wes has other ideas. His arms come around me before he carefully takes the camera and sets it out of the way.
“I’m a selfish bastard, I know.” His hands travel to my hips, caressing bare skin under the hem of his stolen T-shirt before pulling me flush against him. “I need you, Sloane.”
I pull the shirt over my head before wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my bare chest to his. “Then have me,” I whisper, dragging my nails lightly over his shoulder. “And don’t be gentle.”
The three dayswe spend together are far too short. I’m distracted, juggling client emails and calls and texts with edits during the day. I offer Wes so many apologetic smiles that I begin to wonder if my mom was right and my facewillfreeze that way. The nights at least are still entirely ours, and whether we’re on the couch editing our personal photos or bingeing some ridiculous TV show, we’re together.
Wes brings up the contest our last night. There won’t be any lingering in the morning—I have a long drive to Telluride for the first of several weddings this weekend—so we’re up later than we should be, stealing every last second together.
“Have you decided what you’re going to submit?” He trails his fingertip down my arm and then flips my hand over to draw idle patterns on my palm.
“I think so. Maybe.” I hum my contentment, enjoying the light touch he’s tracing over my skin, and snuggle closer. “The unicorn is such a hard shot to get, and I didn’t see anyone elseposting a version with lightning like I got on social media. I think it’s probably my best bet.” I sigh. “But I love the dress photo too. It’s different. Maybe too different.”
“Or maybe just the right amount of different. You really think it would hurt to throw it in as a contender? It’s telling a great story.”
I shrug. The photo with the dressdoeshave more to say. Itispowerful. Itisunique—but I don’t think the contest is interested in those things when they come wrapped in a pretty pink dress. “Maybe, but it could also affect the scoring if anyone recognizes me. We both posted that shot of us together with me in the same dress. Given their history, it’s not a chance I want to take.”
I toy with the hem of his shirt, twisting the soft cotton through my fingers. “It’s risky, Wes. I wish it wasn’t, but this is too important.” I push myself fully upright, leaning into the couch cushions and ignoring the movie we’ve been half watching. “If I win, it would give me the seed money to try out the adventure wedding thing, plus the extra bump in exposure and publicity would really help sell me to prospective clients. I can’t afford it otherwise.”
“If it’s about the money, I can always loan you—”
“No,” I say firmly. “I don’t want your money. That’s not why I’m with you.”
Wes pulls out his phone and quickly scrolls to the image he transferred off my camera before tapping the screen. “Thisis creative talent, Sloane. I’m not saying your shot with the tornado and lightning and rainbow isn’t good. It’s fantastic. But that shot is half luck. Nature is doing a lot of the work for you. The dress composition you came up with isn’t a matter of justexecuting when conditions are right. It’s got something to say. Something powerful and unique to you.”
He’s not entirely wrong. There are plenty of photographers who could have gotten the trifecta shot, if they were in the right place at the right time. I still made my own choices about how to frame it, how to edit it, but it’s an image where nature is the whole story.
But that doesn’t change that I only have one shot at this.
Struggling to keep my frustration in check, I blow out a breath. “This isn’t up to you.”
“You could always submit both.”
“You know I can’t do that!” I snap with growing irritation. Even if he’s found some loophole for multiple submissions, I’m not interested. I want to win honestly. “Wes, I love that you want to support me, but I said no.”
The wordlovehangs in the air between us. His eyes drop to my mouth, and when his lips part, for a second I think he’s going to say it. It’s right there in the way he’s looking at me, need and desire and pride and maybe just a tiny bit of frustration too.
“Okay, darlin’,” Wes says instead, drawing me into his arms. “No more shop talk tonight. Just you and me. Sound good?”
I breathe out a sigh of relief, not quite managing to shove aside the thought of how long the days are going to become again once he leaves in the morning. I may already have a ticket to Houston in a couple of weeks, but I’m dreading the separation again.
