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Gia
I close the distance between us and kiss him before I start crying. I pour all of my passion into one searing kiss that burns my lips and scalds my throat as I push down the emotion bubbling up inside of me unexpectedly with what should be a moment of pure joy.
I know he takes what I’m doing with his social media accounts seriously, but I don’t think he truly understands the impact this is going to have on his career. This is major. If I can keep up this kind of momentum for him, it could be a game-changer.
I’ve always wanted to see history in the making. I want to live it. I want to capture it behind the lens of my camera and preserve it for a lifetime. Did I imagine that would involve professional hockey? Never. Am I now fully committed to my cause? Absolutely.
I want the world to see him. Without even realizing it he is giving me my dream. He supports everything I do wholeheartedly. The least I can do is offer the same level of support to him.
I pull back long enough to grab my bonnet off of my head and toss it to the floor. No woman in the history of ever wants to wear a bonnet while doing the dirty, I can assure you of that. Even if my hair does look a hot mess beneath it. My tank top follows quickly behind it.
I smirk to myself with satisfaction as I shimmy out of my shorts. I didn’t go out and buy new shorts. Sylvia was getting rid of some things when she was packing for their move, and she offered me what she couldn’t take with her. So, why not? Her loss is my gain. The shorts are sexy. I couldn’t wait to wear them for Damien and see what kind of reaction he had to them.
It’s safe to say, they did not disappoint. Thank you, second-hand silky shorts.
Sylvia’s halfway across the country and she’s still helping to get me laid. I really should have given her a going-away gift or something. She deserves it. Maybe I’ll mail her something.
“I want to take your picture. Can I?” Damien speaks, and I pause, realizing just now that when he stood from the bed, he didn’t strip off his athletic shorts and get naked like I thought. Instead, he walked over to my nightstand and grabbed my camera. His question slaps me momentarily stunned. I stare at him like he’s grown a second head.
“Um, now? Why would you want to do that?” I look down at myself somewhat horrified.
I’m not typically self-conscious. I’m proud of the assets I have. They don’t look the same as they did pre-baby, but I’ve got an ass for days and boobs that won’t wait. Even if they do have stretch marks on them now, and my nipples tend to point toward hell more than they speak to Jesus.
I’m wearing no clothes to speak of, kneeling on the bed. The lamp beside us casts a faint glow over the room. The lighting in here is going to be terrible for this, honestly.
Damien takes the cover off of the lens I left attached to my camera when I was shooting earlier today. Without looking up he says, “Stop thinking about the lighting.”
Butterflies swarm my stomach. How does he know that I’m thinking about the lighting? Slowly my nerves begin to turn into something else entirely. Excitement maybe?
“I was not thinking about the lighting, thank you very much.” I lie.
He chuckles to himself as he lifts the camera up, and quickly snaps a shot, pulling it back to look at the screen as soon as it flashes. “Beautiful,” he smiles down at his handiwork. Now he’s the one that’s lying. I wasn’t even ready yet.
I do have to admit, he looks pretty cute standing next to the bed playing photographer. My camera looks like a toy in his large hands. It’s only giving me a tiny eye twitch that he’s touching my prize possession. All of which is easily forgotten the moment he brings the camera back up to his eye and the cords on his arm muscles pop and flex with the movement. He snaps another photo before I can react.
Click.
“Stop it! I’m not ready.” I try to run my fingers through my nest of wild hair, but it’s no use, they only get tangled up in the mess. I give up and drop them to my side a little unsure of what to do with them.
“I needed a picture of your eyes, looking at me like that.” He shrugs, and the small smile that tilts his lips melts me into a puddle right on the bed.
“Like what?” I ask and my voice is breathy already.
From a small smile to a wolfish grin, the look on Damien’s face heats me up from the inside out. “Like you’re about to eat me for dessert.”
“Was not.” I worry my lip with my teeth and he snaps another photo of me.
Click.
“Oh, you definitely were. Now, turn around.” He motions in a circle with his hand. “Put your hands up on the headboard and your knees on the bed. I want you to look at me over your shoulder but don’t smile. Just act natural.”
“Whoa. When did you become a professional?” I follow his instructions. I move to the head of the bed and spread my knees, popping my ass out a little and arching my back in a way that I know will translate well on film. If we’re going to do this, we may as well do it up right.
I’ve taken some boudoir images in the past for different clients. Mostly wives and girlfriends of some of the other hockey players to earn some extra money.
I try to think back to how I’ve positioned their bodies in the past and attempt to mimic that in my own positioning. It’s so much easier when you’re not the one being photographed.
“I am a man of many talents, Click.”
