Page 5 of B is for Beg

“That was great,” I say.

He stands and faces me, smiling, his chin dipped ever so slightly. “Shall I change into something else?”

I nod, and he slips away.

“Are you going to pick up the pace?” Ivy asks. “If not, this is going to take all night. I’ll expect overtime, you know.”

I check my watch. Shit. Blake’s been here for an hour already, and I’ve only photographed him in two pieces of lingerie. Ivy’s right. I need to get a move on.

Blake comes back out in an ice-blue satin and lace garter with matching knickers and white stockings topped with a thick band of lace. My breath catches in my throat, and my heart stutters. I thought he looked sublime in the other two outfits, but this one knocks those out of the park. Fuck hurrying. I could spend a lifetime taking photos of Blake wearing nothing but that.

“On the bed,” I say. “Lying down.”

Blake obliges. I use a stepladder to take photos from above the bed. Between each click of the button, Blake moves ever so slightly, each adjustment making his pose sexier. I could put these shots together into a stop-frame ode to his beauty. He’s not the most visually stunning model I’ve ever photographed, but there’s something about him. He’s captivating in a way few people are.

I direct him back to the chaise lounge for a few more shots. The ice blue doesn’t work as well with the royal purple, so I know I won’t be sending any of those pictures to UnMentionable, but I take them anyway. Then I send him away to change again, my gut fluttering as I anticipate what he’ll come out in next.

“You’ve got it bad,” Ivy says.

“No, I don’t.”

She chuckles but doesn’t say anything else. The trouble is, she’s right. I’ve taken millions of photos of thousands of people over the years. I’d be lying if I said that no one had caught my eye before, but this is different in a way I can’t explain.

The phone starts to ring as Blake reappears. He’s wearing a long-sleeved fishnet bodysuit in black, which clings to him like a second skin.

“Hello, Sexy Self Photography,” Ivy says in an overly perky tone. There’s a short pause. “I’ll see if he’s free. Hold on.” Ivy holds the phone out to me, her palm covering the receiver. “It’s Gabe.”

“Do you mind if I take this?” I ask Blake.

He shakes his head.

“Make yourself comfortable.” I smile as he moves to the bed. “Hi, Gabe. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you and your studio are free one night this week?” Gabe asks.

I can hear traffic in the background, so he’s probably on his way home from his day job.

“I’ve found a beautiful model,” he adds.

I’ve been photographing Gabe’s artwork for a couple of years. He practices shibari—Japanese rope bondage. He creates sexy, living sculptures out of models and rope.

“I’m always free for you,” I reply.

Blake tilts his head. I swear I see a look of disappointment flit through his eyes, and I realise he must think that Gabe and I are involved. Nothing could be further from the truth. Gabe is one of my closest friends, but there’s never been anything romantic between us.

“Great. Does Thursday work for you?” Gabe asks.

“Thursday’s great. I’ll see you then.” I hand the phone back to Ivy. “Block out the studio on Thursday from three p.m., please.” I’ll need the time to clear my usual sets, so Gabe has all the space he needs.

“Will do,” Ivy says, putting the phone back into its cradle.

“Where were we?” I ask Blake.

He grins. “You were going to give me some directions.”

“You’ve been doing fine without.”

He shrugs. “I’m all out of ideas.”