Page 38 of Finding Haven (Haven #2)

Quinn

The past couple of weeks with Zack have been amazing.

I’ve still been posting photo and video content to Frisk, minus the option for private live sessions.

As much as I love the boost of confidence I get from all the comments and messages, doing a private session for someone else feels wrong with the way our relationship is going.

He’s made it clear he would never ask me to shut down my account, but he can’t hide the jealousy that burns in his eyes or the way his jaw clenches any time I mention it.

He’s given me a ride to work at the bakery almost every morning since I refused to let him buy me a new car.

I finally managed to get the funds needed to have my car fixed, and I’m looking forward to not having to rely on other people to get around.

Zack offered multiple times to pay for the repairs, but I told him how important it was for me to be able to handle it myself.

Today, we’re both headed to the hotel for work, and even though I was adamant about being able to drive myself, he insisted that his car had plenty of room for everything I needed to bring.

I’ve got several boudoir clients scheduled back to back, and with his help, I was able to secure a suite at the Elysian to use as my studio for the day.

Before today, sessions have been primarily in each client’s home .

Being able to use a hotel suite and offer additional services provided by the Elysian is going to be a real game changer.

It’ll take my boudoir photography to an entirely new level until I’m able to open an actual studio someday.

I can build the hotel’s spa services into a premiere boudoir package and sell it as a luxury experience beyond just the photoshoot itself.

“I don’t know why I’m nervous,” I say, reaching for the camera bag at my feet for the third time.

I’ve already double-checked that I have my go-to lens, backup batteries, and extra memory cards just in case.

I don’t need to check again. But what if I was imagining things and I don’t have as many memory cards in my bag as I originally counted?

What if the battery in my camera suddenly dies, I only have one backup, and I forgot the charger?

Zack reaches across the center console and rests his hand on my upper thigh. “You’ve got this, baby. You’re an amazing photographer.”

“I know I’m good at this, but having their sessions in the hotel just feels so… professional. Like I’ve been an amateur until now.”

“These women booked with you because they trust you and they love your work. And they did so assuming they’d be getting the standard in-home session,” he says, giving my thigh a gentle squeeze.

He’s right. The clients I’m working with today all found me through my photography’s social media account.

Airbnb wasn’t an option when they booked, but they were all fine with doing their sessions in their homes.

They each said they trusted my ability to make the location work.

Calling them to offer up a suite at the Elysian as a new location was completely nerve wracking, but the offer was met with nothing but excitement.

The only caveat was that each session needed to be held on the same day.

“I know it’s silly, but I’m always worried that I’m gonna forget a pose or a playlist isn’t going to load and there’s just going to be awkward silence as I direct them through the poses.

” My boudoir playlist is filled with a mixture of upbeat, confidence-boosting songs and slow, sensual songs perfect for bringing the right vibe to each session.

Of course, I always make sure my clients know they’re more than welcome to play their own music during their photoshoot if they’d prefer.

In addition to the playlist, I also have a “Boudoir Prep” guide I send out at the time of booking that goes over everything they might need to know beforehand.

“How much time do you have between each one?” he asks, his fingers trailing over my thigh.

“About an hour. I wanted to make sure I left enough time to reset the room. I already spoke to Hailey, and she said she’d make sure the fridge is stocked with a few drink options and someone from housekeeping will be by after each session to put fresh sheets on the bed and wipe down the surfaces.

” It’s important that each person I photograph today gets the same quality experience.

“Plenty of time to come visit me,” he says, taking my hand in his and bringing it to his lips. His breath feathers against the back of my hand until he reaches my wrist. “I can think of a few ways to distract you and relieve some stress.”

His words send a pulsing heat straight to my core, and my thighs clench to ease the ache.

Hot, delicious visions of pleasing him flood my mind, sending a shiver down my spine.

Would he let me take him in my mouth while he works?

Would he bend me over his desk and take what he needs until my throat is raw from screaming his name?

The corner of his mouth twitches, his lips curling with a smirk as though he can sense the direction his comment took my mind. “Tell me where your mind just went, Sugar,” he commands. The things this man’s voice does to me should be illegal.

“I was thinking about…” The words rattle around in my head as I nibble at the inside of my cheek. You’d think, after all the hours I’ve spent voicing and playing into the desires of others, that speaking my own would be easy. This feels more intimate.

“Words, baby. Tell me what it is you want.”

“I was thinking how hot it would be to climb under your desk and suck your cock while you work. Or for you to bend me over your desk and fuck me.” I say the words quickly, my cheeks heating at my use of the curse word.

I’m not sure he caught what I said until a deep groan rumbles from his chest. His head falls back against the headrest, his hand tightening on the steering wheel.

Would it be wrong to actually seek him out between sessions? An hour, heck even forty-five minutes, would be more than enough time to relieve a little stress with the help of an orgasm or two. Afterwards, though, when I’m done with clients for the day…

“I’m going to have a hard time thinking about anything else, Sugar.”

My first client of the day is a woman who booked with me at the recommendation of her friend, someone I photographed earlier this year.

She’s in her mid-thirties and told me she’s struggled with her body image after having children.

The photos are a gift to herself just as much as they’re a gift for her husband.

We spend the first twenty minutes or so going over lingerie options, whether or not she wants to be nude for any of the shots, and what her comfort level is for posing.

I need to make sure she doesn’t have any range of motion issues or trouble with her lower back for certain poses.

There are a couple of poses I end up needing to demonstrate, but she nails them on the second try.

“You’re doing amazing! These are going to look so good,” I tell her after snapping another shot.

The suite has been a game changer. The wall of windows and sheer white curtains provide the perfect natural rays of light, which saves me from having to constantly move around an alternative light source.

Having a bed as well as a small couch to work with has given us a wide range of poses, not including the ones we captured of her positioned against the wall or standing in front of the windows.

By the time her session is over, I feel like I’m saying goodbye to a new friend.

Knowing I have an hour to kill before my next client arrives, I decide to pull out my laptop and get her photos uploaded to my external hard drive.

Having them already backed up will ease my paranoia about something happening to them between now and the end of the day before I get home.

I promised Becca a girls’ night in and invited Chelsea and Hailey to join us, and I know that uploading everything will likely slip my mind until tomorrow.

I could definitely get used to renting a suite at the Elysian for the sake of boudoir photoshoots.

It wouldn’t be often, but maybe I could offer it every few months or so and run it as a special package.

I’d plan days around Valentine’s Day and Christmas for sure and maybe even include specials for couples.

I’ve photographed a few couples since I ventured into boudoir.

The photoshoots are always filled with so much love and tension.

I used to think it would feel intrusive to witness another couple in such a vulnerable state, but while the photos are always suggestive, they’re just that. Suggestive.

Maybe I could convince Zack to take some photos with me if I set up a tripod.

I’ve had a few subscribers ask if I’ll ever collaborate with fellow creators.

It’s not an idea I’ve ever entertained, considering I only started my Frisk as a way to make ends meet.

It’s not something I intend to pursue forever.

Now that my car is taken care of and I’ve got a decent stock of pump supplies and sensors, I could start setting aside funds to expand my business.

After wrapping up with the second client, my phone buzzes with a notification. Excitement swirls in my stomach as I find a text from Zack. Putting aside thoughts of him while I work has felt nearly impossible with the way my mind’s been running wild with visions of what we could do in his office.

I’m stuck dealing with a few things, but I wanted to ensure you’re taking care of yourself. I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for, so I’m sending you options. Let me know what you choose.

My brows furrow in confusion. What is he talking about?

Options for what? I wish we could have lunch together, but I understand that work comes first. A lot of people rely on Zack to keep things running smoothly, whether it’s for the hotel or the organization.

A knock at the suite door startles me, my shoulders jumping as I slip my phone into the pocket of my black leggings.

If I’ve learned one thing since becoming a photographer, it’s to always dress comfortably.

Jeans are far too constricting to properly move around in when demonstrating poses.

Opening the door, I find a room service attendant with a cart holding two plates of food, each with a metal plate cover.

“Mr. Mercer would like you to let him know which one you choose, and he says he will see you in his office when you’re finished with work,” the attendant says with a smile as he pushes the cart into the room.

“When you’re finished, you can call for room service, and I’ll be back to remove the cart so it’s not in your way. ”

“I will. Thank you so much for this. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble. Hang on, let me grab my wallet.”

He puts out a hand to stop me, shaking his head.

“That’s not necessary, miss. Enjoy your lunch.

” He’s closing the door behind him before I can protest. Turning my attention back to the cart, I find a small white folded card in front of each plate.

Grabbing one of the cards, I flip it open to find the words: Roasted Turkey Club Sandwich with Bacon on Sourdough.

Beneath that, written in scratchy, all capital handwriting I immediately recognize as Zack’s, is a list of nutritional information including protein, fiber, and carbohydrate amounts.

My eyes begin to burn as tears rise to the surface, pooling along my lower eyelids.

I grab the other card and flip it open to find the information for a cheeseburger exactly how I like it, with an order of fries.

Using the tips of my fingers to wipe the tears away, I pull my phone back out and snap a picture of the sandwich before opening the text thread with Zack.

Thanks for thinking of me, babe. This looks so delicious! I almost feel bad that I can’t eat both. ??

I’m sorry you’re stuck working. I can’t wait to see you later xx

I don’t know what I did to deserve a man like Zack Mercer. He’s dealt with more pain and darkness than a person should ever have to endure, and yet he so easily brings light into my life.