Page 4 of B is for Beg

Calvin

While I wait for Blake to get changed, I look at the pictures I’ve taken on the camera’s tiny screen. I’ve got some good shots; Blake is very photogenic, and the lingerie is nice too. I’ve come across lots of models like him—self-assured and flirty. Sometimes, they don’t even know they’re doing it; it’s just who they are. If we’d met in a club rather than in my studio, I’d have happily bought him a drink and danced the night away with him before inviting him home. But we didn’t, and we both have to be professional. Right now, his flirtiness is low-key. A few comments here and there, the odd hip wiggle. If he steps over the line, I’ll put him in his place. From the way he takes instructions—quickly and obediently—I’m sure he’ll listen. He’d make a good sub. Not that I should be having those sorts of thoughts while we’re working.

“He fancies you,” Ivy says in a knowing tone.

I lean against the wall beside her desk. “The flirting doesn’t mean anything.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Plus, he was looking at you as much as me. Surely you noticed?”

“Maybe,” Ivy says indignantly. “But I’m taken, and even if I wasn’t,Iwouldn’t encourage flirting.”

“You disapprove?”

“Would you care if I do?”

“Of course.”

“But will you pay any attention?”

I laugh. “Maybe a little.”

She snorts and shakes her head.

“Don’t worry. I have a strict policy of not fooling around during a job,” I say.

She raises her eyebrows. “What aboutafter?”

I reply with a smile and shrug.

“Do you like him?” Ivy asks.

I crack a smile. “I can appreciate his beauty objectively.”

“Objectively, my arse.”

We stop talking when Blake comes back into the room. I can’t ignore the slightly provocative sway of his hips or the way the lace waistband of the knickers he’s wearing skims over his stomach. He’s not tall, but his willowy body is well proportioned. There’s very little muscle definition beneath his waxed skin, so I doubt he goes to the gym four times a week like I do. I gaze at his body for longer than I should. He’s white, but his skin has a sun-kissed hue to it. It’s too early in the year for sunbathing, so I assume he uses fake tan or tanning beds. I hope it’s the former. I hate to think of his skin getting damaged by the UV rays tanning beds throw out. His jaw is square yet soft, like whichever god sculpted him took all the hard edges away, leaving delicate, masculine beauty behind. A few strands of his light brown hair flop over his forehead, falling so they graze the outer edge of his right eye. He’s wearing just enough make-up to make his hazel irises really pop. Does he ever wear more?

I allow my gaze to travel back down his body again. The hot pink of the knickers would look fabulous against the royal purple chaise lounge.

“Where do you want me?” he asks as though he’s reading my mind.

I chuckle to myself. Beside me, Ivy nods knowingly before getting on with her work. She’s doing some minor touch-ups to a boudoir shoot I did this morning. Then she’ll put the photos into a slideshow, set to music, for the viewing in a few days’ time. We only do minor post-processing work on the photos the client wants to buy. My job is to celebrate the beauty that’s already there, not create false illusions via airbrushing.

“Over there.” I point to the chaise lounge.

It would be easy to tell Blake exactly where I want him, but I’m curious to see what he does on his own. His poses during the first set of photos were effortless. Either he’s been modelling for a while, or he’s a natural. I’d like to know which. There are already a dozen questions I’d love answers to, but they’d all be crossing a line.

As I hook the camera up to the flashguns, Blake lounges on the purple furniture, propping himself on one elbow so he can look directly at me. He raises one knee and rests his other leg over it so his beautifully pointed foot is angled towards the camera. He splays his other hand over his chest. I was right—the hot pink and royal purple really zing together. I take a few shots and then pause so he can move.

He pivots on his arse so his head is at the open end of the chaise lounge. He lies with his knees hooked over the armrest and arranges his hands so they’re resting on either side of his head. His eyes are sultry, and his mouth is soft as he stares at the camera. Damn, he’s gorgeous.

He sits next, arms resting over the back of the chaise lounge, knees spread wide to show off the underwear. It’s impossible not to notice the bulge of his cock beneath the patterned fabric.

“Let’s try a few standing.” I motion to the white area.

Ivy jumps up and moves the stool while I hook the camera up to the last set of flashguns. Blake tries a few different poses. Several give off a sweet and innocent vibe, others inner confidence, and the final few are far more provocative. He finishes by turning his back on me, bending over and clasping his ankles. I arch an eyebrow at the pattern on the back of the knickers. The paisley design forms a diamond right over his arsehole. It’s clearly intentional, as there’s no seam. It’s a nice touch, one I definitely approve of.