I slipped my boots off and dropped my stuff as Rosalind approached.
“Guess you don’t need a shower now,” she said, running her hands through my hair.
I leaned into her touch like a cat. “I guess not. How was your day?” I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and tugged it over my head.
“I had the best day.” She ran her hands over my bare torso. “And it keeps getting better.”
“Me getting hit by a sprinkler was a highlight for you, was it?” I popped the button on my jeans and lowered the zipper.
She watched me slip my jeans off. She gave her head a bit of a shake. “I want to show you what I’ve been up to before I get distracted with all this,” she waved her hand in the general direction of my dick. If I weren’t cold, I’m sure it would be waving back.
She grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the spare room. The desk was still against the wall closest to the door, but thatwas the only thing I recognized in the space. The plain white blinds had been replaced by layers of sheer curtains in various shades of white, black, and gray. There was a chaise lounge with one armrest and a sloping back under the window. Pillows and soft-looking blankets in a variety of colours were stacked in one corner, and she had her camera set up on a tripod.
“So you’re planning to make porn?”
She smacked me on the arm.
“Ow, I was kidding.” I rubbed my arm for effect. “Honestly, wifey, this looks incredible.”
She put her hands on her hips and looked around. “Charlotte helped me put it together. Then I took a few spicy shots of her as a wedding gift for Nick.”
I put my hands over my ears and closed my eyes. “I did not just hear that. I don’t need to know about my sister’s sex life. This conversation never happened. I don’t even have a sister now that I think about it.”
She tried to pry my hands from my ears. “Oh my God, she’s a grown woman, Derek, if she—”
“La la la, I can’t hear you, la la la.” I heard the click of the camera shutter and opened my eyes to find the lens aimed at me. “What are you doing?”
A slow smile came to her lips. “Well, I need some practice to hone my photography skills, and I just happen to have my mostly naked husband in my studio.”
I scratched my chin. “I don’t know about being a test subject for this. Maybe I’m bashful.”
She snorted as she played with the settings on her camera. “You’re telling me if I asked you to show me your cock right now, you’d say no?”
Well, when she put it that way.
I moved closer to her, putting my finger under her chin to lift her gaze from the camera to me. “Maybe if you were naked too, I would feel better about the whole thing.”
Her eyes heated. “Alright, fair is fair.” She took the camera strap from her neck and placed it around mine. It was heavier than it looked. The cold plastic hitting the middle of my chest, making me shiver.
She took a few steps backward before grabbing a white, fuzzy blanket and throwing it over the chaise. She picked a few pillows out of the pile and put them there, too. She sat down on one end of the chaise, pulled her hair from the braid it was in, then started taking off her socks.
I swallowed hard. Feeling strangely nervous. My hands were clammy where they rested on the camera’s shutter button.
“Don’t look at the overall scene. Focus on one detail and make it the star of the show.” She swung her legs up onto the chaise and prettily crossed one foot over the other. The cherry red polish on her toes had chipped since we’d left Vegas. I put the camera to my eye, zoomed in on that detail, and took a picture.
She moved her hands to the hem of her t-shirt, and I clicked the shutter button again, capturing the moment before she pulled it up and over her head. My dick started to chub up against my leg as more skin was revealed.
When Rosalind had explained this style of photography to me, I had a hard time understanding how this was supposed to be art, but Playboy wasn’t.
Now I understood.
I zoomed in on the delicate strap of her bra where it lay against her collarbone and captured the image. Fuck, every inch of her was perfect. I took pictures of her hip bones, her belly button, and the freckle on her wrist. Her hands were on the waistof her jeans now, and I captured every moment of the denim sliding down her legs.
I wanted more.
I put the zoom back to normal, moving closer to her to get the shots I wanted. The fake tan she’d had in Vegas had started to wear off, and I took pictures of the curve of her calf and the gentle bend of her knee. The image she had to project to the world was slowly falling away, revealing the woman beneath. The woman I was falling so hard and so fast for it was dizzying.
I knelt on the floor next to the chaise, kissing her shoulder. I took her hand in mine and snapped a close-up of the wedding rings on our fingers. The reminder that I was hers and she was mine, for however long that lasted, pushed me over the edge.
