Page 1 of Pose for Me

Prologue

Unknown

Myattentionisdrawnto her, an almost magnetic pull. She isn’t exactly what I’d call stunning by society standards, but there’s a beauty to her—a quiet, unassuming kind that doesn’t command a room but leaves a lasting impression. It’s the sort of allure that doesn’t shout but lingers, whispering for a second look.

I know I shouldn’t be staring, especially not here, in the middle of a grocery store. Yet here I am, unable to look away as she meanders down the aisle. Her hair, black as a raven’s feathers, is swept up in a loose bun atop her head, with a few stray pieces escaping, framing her face in a way that seems both deliberate and carefree. It’s clear she didn’t spend much time on it, a testament to her confidence or perhaps her disregard for others' eyes.

She’s wearing a loose, formless dress, something that hangs on her rather than clings. It suggests a lack of self-consciousness, as though she’s indifferent to how others might perceive her. And yet, as she moves, I catch hints of curves beneath the fabric—gentle and elusive, drawing my gaze in a way that makes it hard to look away.

She steps out of the aisle, and a strange, unexpected urge to follow her grips me. There’s something undeniably compelling about her, something in the ease of her movements and the way she seems oblivious to anyone else. I force myself to walk at a normal pace, fighting the instinct to rush after her as I reach the end of the aisle and peer subtly down the next one.

She’s kneeling now, inspecting something on a lower shelf, and the graceful line of her neck is exposed as she bends forward. Strands of her hair brush against her skin, drawing my attention to the softness there. Her profile is delicate, her cheek gently rounded, her nose a soft, subtle slope. There’s an understated elegance to her features that draws me in, a quiet allure that’s easy to overlook but impossible to ignore. The way she tucks a loose strand behind her ear, how her lashes flutter as she blinks, completely unaware of my gaze—it’s entrancing.

Amid the fluorescent lights and shelves stocked with mundane goods, she radiates a calm, quiet confidence that sets her apart. Maybe it’s in the unhurried way she moves, the sense that she’s unbothered by the noise around her. Or perhaps it’s the focus in her eyes, a glint of determination as she continues her task, seemingly miles away from the bustling store.

When she turns down another aisle, disappearing from view, I find myself curious to the point of obsession. Skipping the aisle she left, I move to the next, hoping to continue observing her in this subtle game of hide-and-seek. But to my surprise, I don’t see her right away. I frown, glancing down each row until I catch sight of her, heading toward me, focused on the shelves.

She stops just a few steps away, examining the options in front of her with a slight frown, worrying her lip as she ponders different laundry detergents. My pulse quickens, my heart thudding as I take in the details—the way her dress shifts and hugs her frame as she reaches up, accentuating the body she’s hidden. The faintest stir of attraction pulls at me as I watch her stretch to reach a box just above her line of sight. My gaze lingers on the way her dress clings for a moment to her skin, emphasizing the soft swell of her chest and the contour of her waist, and an undeniable, primal desire ignites within me.

As she huffs softly in frustration, giving up on whatever she was reaching for, I step forward, closing the gap between us. I glance around to ensure the aisle is empty before reaching up to grab the item for her, I inhale a faint whiff of her scent—a blend of fresh linen and something soft, almost like lavender. When I hand it to her, she murmurs a quick thanks, her gaze fixed on the shelf as she turns to leave, completely unaware of the effect she has on me.

I don’t need laundry detergent, but I reach up and take one for myself. The scent lingers in the air, a reminder of her. As I watch her disappear around the corner, I know I’ll spend the rest of the evening thinking about her—this woman in the loose dress, in this ordinary setting, yet unforgettable.

And after only a moment’s hesitation, I continue to follow her.

Chapter 1

Rayne

Myphotographystudiositsin near-total darkness, every light off except for the one casting a soft glow over my computer screen. The dim, quiet atmosphere allows me to immerse myself in the images from my latest shoot. A grin tugs at my lips as I scroll through them; it was a rare session—one I’m sure will stay with me.

The couple reached out to me, wanting a shoot with a special twist: to bid farewell to her breasts. Due to the BRCA genes that ran in her family, she had chosen to undergo a double mastectomy, and the shoot was a playful way to say ta ta to her "tah tahs." She wanted a celebration, not a solemn farewell, and that playful approach made it one of the most joyful, endearing sessions I’d ever done.

As a boudoir and erotic photographer, I’ve become pretty desensitized to most things, but this couple’s infectious laughter pulled me into their happiness. She’d told me they were this way at their wedding, too, sharing private jokes that had them laughing at completely inappropriate times during the ceremony. I felt honored to give them another cherished memory in light of what she’d be going through soon.

As I review the shots, the rich, vibrant colors in the images perfectly capture the mood of the session, from the glint in her eye to the playful flashes of purple lace in her lingerie. With the initial edits done, I begin assembling their proofing gallery, satisfied at being part of such a meaningful moment.

The late-summer heat seems to seep through the walls, and even with a fan running, the room feels thick with warmth. I hesitate to open the window, knowing it would only invite the sticky humidity inside, so I settle for twisting my long black hair into a loose bun, feeling the relief as the air cools the back of my neck.

As I start the upload, my phone rings, startling me. It’s not late, but certainly past typical work hours. For a second, I consider letting it go to voicemail, but curiosity wins, especially since unknown numbers are a regular part of running my business.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hello, is this Midnight Rose Boudoir?" The voice on the other end is deep, with a hint of roughness that sends a flutter through me, catching me off guard.

"Yes, that's correct. How can I assist you?" I reply, shaking off the unexpected reaction.

"I apologize for calling so late, but I stumbled upon your website and am interested in booking a couples photoshoot for myself and my partner."

His request is straightforward, something I’ve handled countless times. "Of course! Do you have a specific time frame in mind?" I ask, reaching for my calendar.

"We were hoping to schedule something within the next week."

"That sounds doable," I reply, scrolling through the schedule, though I see that it’s packed. "How about Friday? I have other obligations during the day but could do an evening session around 5 p.m. I won’t be able to organize any hair and makeup on such short notice, so you’d need to arrange that yourselves."

A brief pause follows before he says, "No problem. Friday at 5 p.m. sounds perfect."

"Great, I'll pencil you in," I confirm, jotting down the details. "And could I get your name for the booking?"

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