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Come so hard, my voice cracks with the roar I make.

Holy hell, I didn’t even get to the best part of my fantasy and my body’s response is to explode. Fuck. Me. What a head rush. Staring at the cum all over my stomach, I swipe my hand across it, smearing it all over my heated skin.

I hope Pricurious lives up to my fantasies.

But more importantly, I hope I live up to hers.

Chapter 4

Mak

I show up at the boudoir studio a little early and have second guessed every outfit I’ve brought with me since the moment I left my damn apartment. My goal is to make the most of out of this session, so not only have I packed a couple of sexy, lacy lingerie outfits, but I also brought props. Except now I feel stupid for bringing any of it because what the actual fuck am I doing?

With a death grip on the straps of my overstuffed bookbag, I take the elevator up to the fourth floor. My heart is pounding. My palms are all sweaty and gross. This is nutty. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.

Oh, who am I kidding? Yes, I do. I’m scared I’ll be judged for what I’ve brought. And that I’ll look dumb in my outfits. This could easily turn out to be a huge waste of money and time, which will suck donkey balls since I don’t have much of either, and wasting any of it on this session makes me feel woozy.

Ding!

The elevator stops and the doors slide open. Okay. I made it. I’m here.

I refuse to turn back now.

A huge, whitewashed brick wall directly across from me is graffitied all over with the words Cruz Photography spray painted in a vibrant yellow. There’s only one way to go from here, and that’s through those double glass doors beckoning me on the right.

Rolling my shoulders back, I suck in a deep breath and blow it all out.

Confidence is key.

Goddess-level awesomeness, here I come.

Pushing the glass doors open, the scent of this space hits me first, which throws me off. I don’t know what I was expecting, but lavender’s not it. Gorgeous, framed photos and canvas prints line the walls around the reception area that’s lined with black leather chairs. Holy shit, these photos are S-E-X-Y. All body types, clothing styles, and poses—and not a single one looks awful.

This gives me hope.

When I made this appointment a while back, I’d barely looked through the website. Cruz Photography came highly recommended and was local, which was good enough for me. I didn’t really think much about it other than I knew my boyfriend would be psyched to get steamy pics of me as a present.

Now I’m here for myself and my entire plan has shifted.

Along the back of the reception desk is a line of photography awards. Jeez, this guy really must be good to have all that. It would explain the price of this session.

A perky, blue-haired woman about four inches taller than me waves from behind the desk. “Hi, I’m Chloe. Are you Makayla?”

At five-foot one inch, I grab her hand and shake it like I’m really a six-foot-seven linebacker. “Just Mak.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mak. Carson’s setting up right now, so you can come with me, and I’ll get your makeup and hair going.”

I follow her into a salon style room that has a ton of hair products and makeup stacked all over the place. It looks like a cosmetic warehouse exploded in here. The back of the room is lined with a ton of outfits on racks, along with shoes, crowns, and robes. There’s a box of panty liners, and even boob tape.

My gaze lands on a set of huge black wings hanging on a mount. “Whoa.”

Chloe stands next to me and admires them too. “Gorgeous, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Took me over seventy hours to make them. It was a labor of love and sheer stubbornness.”

I gawk at her. “You made them? That’s incredible.”

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