Behind His Lens(10)

The cold studio air sends a shiver through my body and my nipples tighten into little buds. I swear I hear Jude whisper, “Fucking beautiful”, but his expression still remains detached so I decide I’m probably imagining it.

The top of the creamy fabric drapes around my legs, juxtaposed against my naked torso. My breasts are completely exposed to the world, but my body is still angled toward the back of the studio, so neither Jude nor Mrs. Hart can see them. Still, I reach my arms around, trying to conceal them with alluring grace. I bite my lip hard, never breaking eye contact with Jude, or rather his camera lens.

A pool of lust settles within me, awakening every part of my body. I try to use the intimate emotions to my advantage as I focus on this dangerously sexy man pulling me out of my comfort zone with hardly any effort.

“Pull your arms down around the front of your body,” he instructs hoarsely. My first instinct is to protest, but there’s no denying the whims of this man. My hands tremble as I wrap my arms around my body so that they hold my quivering stomach. But he doesn’t start clicking away like normal. He shakes his head “no”, places the camera down on the media table, and then turns back toward me with sharp focus.

A sinking realization hits my gut. Oh god, he’s going to come adjust my pose.

My stomach twists into a ball of anxiety as his footsteps echo against the studio floor. My eyes grow wide and I wonder if he plans on adjusting me from the front. Oh god, oh god. Relax.

This is my job. Plenty of photographers and stylists have seen my naked body before. The photos never end up exposing anything, and I’ve never posed for anything too risqué, but I don’t know what will happen if Jude comes closer. I want him to touch me so badly, but I don’t think I’ll be able to hold up my facade if he does. I can practically feel myself wilting toward him and he hasn’t even touched me yet.

I lick my lips instinctively and watch him step closer until he’s right behind me. His scent immediately invades my senses. It’s a hint of deodorant mixed with his natural aroma. The combination is fresh and intoxicating. I immediately crave more. More of his scent overwhelming my psyche as his body presses against mine.

His breath touches the back of my neck and I jump slightly, realizing that even in my heels he’s got a few inches on me. If he craned his neck a hair to the left he could see past my shoulders to my bare chest. But I think he’s letting me keep my privacy on purpose. Why?

My eyes fall to the floor as I try to gather resolve, waiting for his touch. I focus on my slow exhale, trying to ignore his warm breath against my naked back.

But his touch never comes. I flick open my eyelids and look up to see him standing inches behind me with his hands clenched to his side.

His blue eyes bore into mine. “Unwrap your arms from around your waist, Charley.”

My grip loosens immediately as if his vocal cords are connected to my body’s synapses, and I let my arms fall. I hadn’t even realized I was clutching the dress so tightly.

“Interlace your fingers gently in front of your hips instead,” he instructs.

I don’t break his eye contact even though his blue eyes seem to jar every nerve ending in my body. It feels like a challenge having him this close to me. Just as I move to lace my fingers together, my thumb trails across the sensitive flesh between my legs. Even though my skin is cloaked beneath my underwear and gown, a rush of pleasure forces my eyes closed as my body shutters. What the hell is he doing to me? I’m on set.

His almost inaudible sigh tells me he’s aware of how turned on I am from this little game. He’s doing it on purpose. He wants a good photo and he knows what he has to do to get it.

Just as I think he’s going to turn back for his camera, he leans in gently and whispers in my ear, sending chills across my flesh.


“Bend your elbows a bit, the arc of your torso is alluring and I don’t want you to hide it.” He bites out the instructions as if angry with me for concealing it in the first place.

I didn’t think he was going to touch me. I thought he’d walk away, which is why I couldn’t have prevented the soft moan from escaping my lips when his hands wrapped around the side of my torso. His warm palms ignite my skin, just under my shoulder blades. The tips of his long fingers hit the very sides of my breasts. His touch sets my skin on fire, and I close my eyes, wanting to block out every other sense. I’m not at a photo shoot. I’m not in a Dior gown posing for my photographer. I’m hardly sentient. His touch turns me into a pile of tingling sensations, throbbing need laced with adrenaline and lust. His touch is the only thing that matters. I love the difference in texture. My skin is soft and smooth against his strong, calloused hands. Hands that practically wrap around my entire body.