“Gorgeous,” I said, murmuring my approval. “Now, Evangeline, I want you to look at Marco like you’re going to rip off all his clothes.”

She laughed, shooting me a playful glance. “But I’ve already stripped him down to his boxers.”

I smiled knowingly from behind the camera. “Then you’re not done. Look at him like you’re going to tug those boxers off and have a field day with him.”

“Field day,” he whispered to her in a voice tinged with lust. “That’s what we’ll have when we’re done.”

Just as I predicted.

Then the pair of them laughed, and I caught that too, because that’s what they’d asked for when they ordered this photoshoot—to record their love, their passion, and their trust in each other. They wanted it all for posterity—when they longed for each other and when they laughed with each other too. They seemed to share their vulnerability and tenderness so easily in a stranger’s bedroom. How did they do that? How did they let go?

“Just behave while you’re in here,” I teased. “But, Marco, I need one thing from you.”

“Name it,” the man said.

“Run your hands through her hair,” I told him.

A groan rumbled up his chest so loud I could hear it. His fingers roped through her honey-brown strands, and I snapped that shot, capturing provocative moment after provocative moment, even as my mind ran away again.

I wanted that. Wanted it for me, and wanted it for my damn job. If only so I could get these images out of my head while I worked.

Surely my overactive, overheated imagination helped my job of capturing sensuality. But I didn’t need dirty images bearing down in the studio. And the images showed no signs of abating as I pictured his hands tightening around her glossy locks later, tugging, pulling, yanking.

Did he make her scream?


Or simply melt?

All of the above, I decided as they cast hot stares at each other. The longing in her eyes was visceral, a palpable force in the room. In his irises, I saw intense devotion and filthy desire. This was when I stopped directing them, letting their natural instincts take over. She pressed her body closer to her man, sealing herself to him like she was riding him.

“I want something that captures us in the throes of passion,” she said, her voice smoky, like she could barely hold back as she looked at me. “Nina, do I look like a woman about to be devoured?”

I answered her with complete honesty. “Yes.”

A small smile seemed to tease at her lips. “Best feeling ever, isn’t it?” She winked, like we were soul sisters on this front.

I answered her with a total lie. “Of course.”

Inside, I replied truthfully, privately, saying, I wouldn’t know.

I’ve never had what she’s having.

Tags: Lauren Blakely The Gift Erotic
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