Page 23 of Troubles

Each frame is better than the next. His artistic eye is seriously well developed. The light created a halo effect as it streamed through the arbor. Illuminating the subject’s hair and the sheet that’s wrapped and draped around her form. He’s clearly decided which ones he wants to print. I want to see them all—it doesn’t register that it’s me in the pictures. It never even crosses my mind.

I move back a bit, just watching and listening. I could do this for hours, it’s beautiful. I know I asked for the magic of making the prints, but I kind of get lost myself. It’s dark and quiet. And as gorgeous as the shots are that we’ve looked at, Aidan in the flesh is a site worth appreciating. Maybe he would let me take some pictures of him.

I watch him fall into a kind of artistic abyss. He’s lost in the poetry of his movements, and the lilting melody of his voice washes over me as he explains what he’s doing. I’m absolutely captivated by him. I’m lost in him, lost to him.

15

Aidan

She’s not paying attention to what I’m doing anymore. I can feel her gaze on me. I’m ready to dazzle her. Christ. Who thinks shite like that? It’s like I was fluffing my feathers trying to impress her.

I don’t know what the fuck made me so jittery earlier. I loved holding her hand, touching her when she first got here. When I pressed my body up against hers and her arse pressed back into me—her arse in that little skirt she’s wearing—Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I swear, I heard the fucking angels sing. Yeah. That’s what did it. I can’t be thinking of that here. Not the place for it. And space—I need to remember to give her some space.

I print the three photos we picked. No filters, no flair. Just the simplest process. She looks like I just presented her with the most amazing prize. Yeah—just fucking wait until she sees what I can do. I start the process over with the first photo. This one is my absolute favorite. I focus her image, fade, and blur around her. Highlight and exaggerate the beams of light streaming through the arbor. They point to her like a beacon, drawing your eye to her.

She’s moving closer, intrigued. The magic—the fucking magic is working. I put the print through the final wash, giving her just a hint of what will be a beautiful piece hanging in my loft. I’ll be spending a lot of time staring at this one. I hang it to dry, turned so she can’t see the finished product. I want that moment to be one I can savor and I need to print a few others.

I take a deep breath as she approaches me, breathing in her sweet scent.

“Can you show me what you did with that? How…how did you blur the outside? How did you get it all focused like that?”

I feel her body pressed against me again. Christ. Is she moving fucking closer to me? I start the process for the next photo.

She’s close.

Getting closer.

Asking me questions. I’ve got her attention again. And of course, I want to fucking take advantage of it.

The processing, I can do in my sleep. I go to autopilot and just get the prints done, murmuring the explanation as I go. She’s excited, captivated, watching this happen. I hang this print next to the first to dry, turning, and she’s right there. Right fucking there. “I’ll be needin’ to wash my hands. The chemicals, they’re bad.” I brush against her as I pass and wash up quickly. She’s looking at the first print—staring at it. The wonder in her eyes stirs something deep inside me.

She makes this breathy sound as she moves from one photo to the next. Fuck’s sake, I can feel that sigh. I feel it deep within me tightening every single muscle. It’s like I’ve lost control over my hands. They’re in her hair before it registers what I’m doing. Her gaze lifts up to meet mine.

The light is low and she is stunning.

Time stands still as I move a hair’s breadth closer to her. She blinks in slow motion, like we’re muddling through the mire.

I feel her breath on my lips. Feel it feather across me. I lean in that last little bit until our lips brush and that spark is too much to resist. I don’t want to stop.

I grasp the hair at the nape of her neck and drag her closer to me. My tongue sweeps out along her soft lips, back and forth until she opens for me, and I taste her.

God, she tastes sweeter than she did yesterday. Sweeter than I have words for.

Stepping in, I guide her, direct her, move her against the wall. This is a bad idea. So bad. This is not the time or place. Shifting to step away, I feel her move with me. She’s almost dancing with me, giving in to me. I press her back into the wall, fingers twined through her hair as I run my other hand down her cheek, caressing her neck, stopping on the swell of her breast. Holding her there. Pressed between my body and the wall.

My head is telling me to stop.

My heart? My heart wants to hear nothing of it.

She slides her hands down my arms, and behind my back, grazing the waistband of my trousers—my skin tingling from the heat of her touch. Dragging my nose along her jawline, I plant small open mouth kisses from that spot by her ear—that spot—down her neck to where it meets her shoulder. I could get lost in the line of her collarbone. That delicate bone has to be one of the sexiest spots on a woman.

I run my hand around her waist skimming up under the bottom edge of her t-shirt. She gasps a sweet breath when I brush my fingers up the soft skin at her side. Spreading out my hand, my fingers wrap around her back and my thumb caresses the underside of her tit. I’m trying—but when she runs her hands up under my shirt and digs her fingers into my back, I lose what little grasp I have on my control. I make short work of her bra clasp and palm her left breast while I tug at her shirt to get that shite out of my way. Something clatters as it lands behind me—I couldn’t care less what I just fucking spilled. I wrap my lips around her nipple and pull it between my teeth.

Her gasps and moans are music to my fucking ears. I need her lips, I need to taste her, I need to own every one of those sounds. Grabbing her arse, I lift her up, her legs wrapping around my hips. She grips me tightly as I carry her over to the work surface—clearing the solution trays to the floor, not giving a shit what’s there. I don’t think my cock can get any harder as she rakes her fingers through my hair, pulling on it as I grind into her. I lean in setting her down, a hand to her chest I push her to lie back. The low light casts shadows across her, accentuating her curves—her peaks and valleys. As much as I appreciate the art of the moment, I need to touch every inch of her.

“Aidan…” It comes out as a breathy moan. She tugs at my shirt as I reach behind me and drag it off—adding it to the pile of cast-off clothing behind me. She has me fucking captivated. The feel of her nails scraping across my shoulders and down my back has me shaking. “Please…”

I’ll do anything for her. “Please what, love? What do you need?”

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