"I'll need a few minutes to set up," Caine says, his eyes meeting mine. "There's a changing room through there with a robe."
Reeves’s hand finds the small of my back, possessive and tense. "I'll be right here the whole time," he says, loud enough for Caine to hear.
I nod, unable to form words as the reality of what I'm about to do crashes over me. I'm going to be naked in front of Caine's lens, with my husband watching.
The thought makes me dizzy with nerves and something else I can’t quite name.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I slip into the washroom adjacent to the studio, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The air feels thick, suffocating. I clutch the silk robe I've brought with me—a soft shade of pink, the color of dawn, of innocence.
It's funny, really, how something so simple as a change of clothes can feel like a shedding of skin, a transition from one reality to another.
As I slide out of my jeans and t-shirt, my everyday armor, I catch my reflection in the mirror. My eyes, usually bright and inviting, are now clouded with uncertainty, the pupils dilated with a cocktail of fear and anticipation.
The robe feels soft, the silk cool and whisper-lightagainst my skin, caressing every curve and imperfection I've spent years criticizing in private moments.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs, then exhaling slowly through slightly parted lips, steadying myself against the bathroom counter. My fingers grip the cool porcelain edge as I mentally recite what's become my mantra, reminding myself of the stakes involved, of why I'm standing here on the precipice of something that feels both terrifying and enticing.
This isn't about me or my comfort – this is for my family, for Liam's therapy, for keeping our little yellow house, for salvaging the pool hall that's been Reeves’s heritage for over three decades. I give people the benefit of the doubt, always have, and now I need to extend that same courtesy to myself.
Stepping into the studio, I'm immediately drawn to the red velvet chaise lounge positioned prominently in the center of the room. It's a striking piece, deep crimson, with curves that seem to invite the gaze.
I can't help but wonder how many women have stretched out on it, their bodies artfully arranged for Caine's lens. A twinge of jealousy flares within me, irrational and unexpected. I push it aside, focusing on the task at hand.
Caine's eyes meet mine, and there's an intensity in his gaze that sends a shiver down my spine.
Reeves stands in the background, his arms crossedover his chest, his expression dark. I can feel the weight of his scowl, the disapproval radiating off him in waves. But it's more than that—there's a possessiveness there, a silent claim staked in the ground between us.
"Whenever you're ready, Jenna," Caine says, his voice a soothing balm against the crackling tension.
Inhaling a shaky breath, I untie the sash of my robe, letting it fall open. My fingers tremble as I slide the fabric off my shoulders, letting it pool at my feet.
I'm naked now, save for my most intimate thoughts and fears, which I clutch around me like a shield. The vulnerability is overwhelming, my skin prickling with goosebumps despite the warmth of the studio.
I can't quite meet Caine's eyes, my gaze flitting away, catching on the soft glow of the studio lights, the elegant drape of the backdrop, anything to anchor myself in this surreal moment. The silence feels heavy, pressing against my bare skin like a tangible thing.
I focus on my breathing—in and out, slow and steady—trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart that seems to echo in the quiet room. My toes curl against the cool hardwood floor as I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest, to hide the parts of me I've always been most self-conscious about—the ten pounds I've been meaning to lose suddenly feel like a hundred.
I wonder what Caine sees through his professional lens—flaws or beauty, imperfection or art?
This is about art, I remind myself sternly. Not sex. Not desire. Just shapes and shadows, light and form.
Caine is momentarily speechless and motionless. He stares at me with awe, his emerald eyes widening slightly as they travel the length of my body. His gaze is like a physical caress, warming my skin wherever his attention lingers.
I didn’t expect it to feel like this… so sensual.
The corner of his full lips quirks up ever so slightly in appreciation, and I can see his chest rise with a deep, controlled breath. There's something reverent in the way he holds himself absolutely still, as if afraid any sudden movement might shatter this delicate moment between us.
Time seems to stretch and slow, matching his perpetually unhurried rhythm, while the air between us grows thick with an unspoken itch.
He moves around me with a quiet, focused energy. His camera clicks softly, capturing the lines and contours of my body.
"Let your hair down," he instructs gently, and I reach up obediently, pulling the elastic band from my ponytail. My hair cascades around my shoulders, a curtain of fire against my skin.
I close my eyes for a brief second, just to imagine him touching me, pressing his soft lips against my neck. Reeves disappears, and Caine seduces me. He owns me,and I'm lost to him. For a brief few seconds, he fucks me so hard.
I blink the fantasy away, fully aware of Reeves’s dark eyes still on me.
