Page 13 of Finding Haven (Haven #2)

Quinn

“So, has that guy messaged you since the session?” Becca asks from over my shoulder, eyeing my latest series of photos for my account.

Working through poses can be challenging without a second set of eyes telling me how my body looks for the camera.

But I’ve been shooting boudoir long enough now to know each pose like the back of my hand.

If I can walk a client through it, surely I can nail it on my own as well.

It takes a little trial and error of course, but I’ve gotten pretty good at it.

I’m working on adjusting the lighting and shadows on a few of my favorite images to enhance my curves.

I have a few new pieces of lingerie that I’m dying to wear, but I opted for the black mesh bodysuit for this photoshoot.

The top is cut low to draw attention to my breasts, and in some of the photos, I pulled the straps off my shoulders and wrapped my arms across my midsection, pressing my breasts together.

My favorite image of the series is the one where I’m leaning back over the edge of the mattress with my hips dipped low, knees bent with one leg underneath me to give me leverage, the other just barely touching the floor with the tip of my toes.

In the photo, my head is tipped back, my chest facing the ceiling with my arms overhead clenching the soft blankets in my hands, a subtle moan appearing as though it’ll escape my lips at any moment.

This one creates a perfect S curve with my body.

It’s always a favorite pose for my clients, and now I understand why.

“Nope, and I don’t think he’s going to. He wanted a sexy private session, and my glucose monitor ruined the whole thing by warning of a low blood sugar right in the middle of the damn session.

I had to rush off camera to down some juice if I wanted any chance of making it through the rest of our time together.

” I’m desperately trying not to let the irritation linger.

I know I can’t do anything about the way my body responds to what I eat or that it sometimes decides to throw a fit for no apparent reason.

It would just be nice to feel like I can enjoy a conversation without my diabetes trying to steal the spotlight.

“I thought you said he was really cool about the whole thing?” She moves to sit on the edge of my bed while I work.

“He was. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to be looking for a repeat session.

” I didn’t think that I would enjoy going LIVE on camera as much as I did, but it’s actually sort of an adrenaline rush.

I was nervous at first, but then the feeling quickly shifted into excitement as my subscribers started to join in and watch.

There was a decent mix of vulgar and kind comments, but even the vulgar ones made me feel powerful.

Knowing that dozens of people were interested in seeing more of my body gave me a high unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.

“I wouldn’t write it off as a disaster if he stayed and finished the session.

Most guys probably would’ve left while you were off camera.

” Becca has a point. I don’t know many men who would wait patiently like that.

He literally had his cock out, and my body decided “ Nope, we’re gonna do this instead. ”

“I guess, but it’s not like I’m going to reach out to him through the app.

If he wants more, he can message me.” As much as I love forming new connections and don’t mind putting myself out there when it comes to someone I’m interested in, this situation feels a little different.

I have no idea who Z really is or what kind of man he could be.

Work at the bakery has been fairly steady today, but I'm dying to get out of here. As much as I enjoy helping out where I can and talking to customers, my mind constantly feels like a kaleidoscope of thoughts with various shapes and colors bouncing around, never actually forming a cohesive image.

I have a series of images for a boudoir client that I need to upload to her online gallery, and my own images that I need to organize and schedule for posts.

Honestly, there are a dozen other things I’d love to be doing right now, but I have to focus on the tasks that will actually pay for my bills and medical supplies.

Which means working at Buttersweet, posting on Frisk, and taking boudoir clients whenever possible.

I've been itching to livestream for my subscribers again, to model my new lingerie for them. I will admit some of the desire also stems from curiosity. Will NoMerZ show up and pay for another private session?

My phone vibrates in my back pocket with an alert.

NoMerZ commented on your post

My heart stutters in my chest when I see the comment he left on my most recent photo.

Your body is incredible, Sugar. Warmth spreads through my body as I read his comment a few times, an emotion I can’t quite name settling deep inside of me.

His words hit deeper than I’m sure he intended.

He didn’t say I was beautiful, or pretty, or cute, or hot. He said my body is incredible.

Tears threaten to rise to the surface as the door above the bakery door chimes and pulls me from my thoughts.

I slip my phone into my back pocket, swipe away the brimming tears, and spin around to greet the customer.

“Hi! Welcome to Buttersweet, what can—” The words die in my throat when I find Zack Mercer standing at the counter.

“Hey, Quinn, right?” he asks, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His words catch me off guard, but the deep gravel of his voice sends a delicious chill coursing through my body.

“How—” I start to ask him how he knows my name, because I certainly don’t remember telling him, but then I remember he was just here installing the new system.

Chelsea said that he was standing right in front of me when I rushed in the other day, and I just didn’t see him.

I was too wrapped up in my own head, as usual. “How’s your day going?”

“It’s better now,” he says, the whiskey tones of his brown irises brightening as he slips one hand into the pocket of his black dress pants.

His clothes fit him like armor. A dark gray Oxford shirt is stretched across his chest, hinting at the muscles beneath the fabric.

The pants he’s wearing accentuate every inch of his muscular legs as though they were custom tailored for his body.

The cherry on top is the leather belt around his waist. I’m dying for him to turn around so that I can get a proper look at him.

Just like the night at the Elysian bar, his words leave me wondering if their meaning is two-fold.

Is his day better now because he’s come to the bakery to get something sweet, or is it because he’s talking to me?

I don’t have it in me to ask. Besides, what are the odds that he thinks talking to me improves his day?

“What’s good here?” He shifts towards the front of the display case as his eyes roam over all of the different treats available.

“I guess that depends on what you’re in the mood for,” I reply, following him from behind the counter as he walks leisurely in front of the case, matching his pace.

He stops and slowly lifts his gaze to mine. “Nothing overly sweet. I don’t want the sugar to be the only thing I’m tasting.”

Hearing him say the word sugar shouldn’t do anything to me.

It shouldn’t feel like a match striking against my skin, flames igniting and spreading throughout my body.

It’s a simple word, one that’s not out of place in a bakery, yet it’s not baked goods I’m thinking of.

My mind drifts to the man who calls me “Sugar.” A man whose face I’ve never even seen, but somehow, I find myself imagining he's similar to the man standing in front of me.

Maybe that’s just because I clearly have a type. Tall with dark hair and an athletic build, preferably with tattoos. And apparently, I really like the quiet ones.

I hum softly in contemplation, my gaze wandering over the assortment of baked goods for a moment before moving to the variety of scones.

“Do you prefer fruit or chocolate when it comes to dessert?” I’m a firm believer that there’s a time and a place for each, but I usually tend to lean away from chocolate, opting instead for fruity desserts.

His eyes are watching me intently with an air of curiosity when I lift my gaze.

“Why don’t you give me your two favorites?

” The deep rasp of his voice, like gravel against a smooth surface, shouldn’t affect me the way it does.

I spin around as heat rises to my cheeks, slipping on a pair of food-safe gloves before gathering up one of the smaller blue bakery boxes and a pair of tongs.

When I’m craving something sweet but don’t necessarily want a dessert, Buttersweet’s scones are my go-to.

My two favorite flavors are White Chocolate Raspberry and Lemon Blueberry.

Thankfully, we have both in stock today.

I place one of each in the box and then set the tongs down before moving to the cash register to ring him up.

“If you don’t like either of these, it’s not my fault. You didn’t give me much to go on,” I tease, refusing to be blamed if he hates what I picked out for him.

He doesn’t comment on the flavors I chose for him.

“I’m sure whatever you chose is perfect,” he says, as he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a black leather double-fold wallet, and slips out his credit card.

He glances up at me for a moment, a playful smirk on his lips as he glances back down at the pin pad and presses a few numbers.

As soon as it beeps to signal that the transaction has been approved, he slides his card out and takes the bakery box into his hands. “Thanks, Sugar.”

My breath catches in my throat, heart stuttering in my chest. What did he just call me?

“What did you just say?” I ask, my tone more accusing than I mean it to be.

He stares at me for a moment, and the heat of his gaze has me shifting my weight from one foot to the other. His teeth run over his bottom lip before he clears his throat and says, “I said, thanks for the sugar.”

My brows furrow as he turns his back to me and strolls out of the bakery, completely unaware of the way my heart is pounding in my chest.