Free Best Erotic Romance 2014 by Kristina Wright Page B

think—time in the studio will tell. I click, click, click—I can’t get enough of the lights, of his body, his face. For long moments I get so lost in the work, I almost forget the aching tingly feeling between my legs but it always comes back, harder and more demanding than before.
    Finally, I hand him back his camera, and he raises his brows questioningly as he sets the chandelier back onto the floor and shakes out his arm, tired from holding it up too long.
    â€œVulnerable photographer in dark corners,” I tell him with a smile and bring a tripod, light and soft-box from the table.
    â€œStill trying to be deep,” he teases, and I want to blush, but I think I manage not to.
    â€œTrying to be?” I ask instead, jokingly menacing where I don’t feel like either. Not deep down. But he just looks at me fora moment too long and then starts to take pictures. He keeps the camera just far enough from his face to let me capture his expression, his natural body language. He is beautiful and I find myself envying his freedom. I catch him squatting by the chandelier, checking his setting, staring almost meditatively at the view-screen.
    â€œAren’t you cold?” I finally ask. I never know how long I’m snapping away, but I finally caught a close-up of his shoulder and arm and I saw the gooseflesh rising there.
    â€œNot very,” he answers, but I think he’s lying. I let my camera sink and take a deep breath. George is still watching me.
    â€œWhat?” I finally ask.
    He cocks up his chin, just once.
    â€œYour turn.”
    For the second time, my jaw drops. This time I am more prepared for it. Raising any opposition isn’t easy, and I take a deep breath.
    â€œI’m not…” I start, but George interrupts me, before I can denigrate my looks, the state of my hair, or any of the million other imperfections I could name.
    â€œYou are,” he says with a strange emphasis. “You really are.” His eyes travel down my shoulder and along the side of my breast and he finally smiles. And there is something in his smile that has power and magic, especially in a place like this and without clothes to detract from his magnetism. I finally shrug as though I, too, think nothing of it. As though I do this all the time. I hand him my camera and try not to linger too long with my hands clinging to the hem of my long sweater.
    â€œThere’ll be pressure marks all over,” I warn ahead, then open my mouth again to say something else, something about my thighs or my stomach but then I don’t.
    â€œThey’ll plush out soon enough,” he assures me, and I turnaround to pull the sweater over my face. I suck a sharp breath through my teeth at the cold against my skin. With my shoes, I clear a patch of ground and kick them off. Then I peel down my tights, my panties and finally reach back to open my bra. Unlike me, George grants me that moment of privacy. He is fumbling with the light and his settings. When he concentrates like this, a strand of hair falls into his face. His frown and the stance of his naked body suddenly take away from his jock appeal—he seems buffer in clothes but more handsome without them; he looks thoughtful and somehow more , deeper. I feel my chest flutter.
    â€œReady?” he asks, looking up at me. He comes around and picks my clothes up, then moves them out of frame. Out of reach. Wearing his sneakers but still nothing else, I notice that his cock is not quite as disinterested in the proceedings anymore, perking up as though in greeting. I feel more naked immediately and tear my eyes away, but also less nervous.
    â€œReady.”
    â€œGood, move against the window.” His voice changes when he takes pictures. I have noticed that before. He is serious and intense. “Like that, look outside; place your hands on the window, careful where it’s broken.”
    I try to take deep breaths; he tells me to relax and