Page 27 of Pose for Me

As we wrap up the shoot, Breanna's eyes are full of happiness. "I can't believe how much fun that was," she gushes, wrapping herself in a silky robe. "Thank you so much, Rayne. This whole experience has been incredible."

I smile warmly at her as I begin packing up my equipment. "I'm so glad you enjoyed it. You did amazingly well, Breanna. I can't wait for you to see the final results."

After Breanna leaves, promising to book another session soon, I find myself alone in the studio once more. The silence feels heavy after the energy of the shoot, broken only by the soft whir of my computer as I begin uploading the images to my drives.

Curiosity gets the better of me and I open a few of the images as they transfer, I can't help but feel a surge of pride. Breanna's transformation is evident in every frame—from hesitant and shy to confident and sensual. This is why I love what I do. Helping people see their own beauty, their own power, is incredibly rewarding.

As the images continue transferring, I lean back in my chair, stretching my arms above my head. The soft glow of the computer screen illuminates the dimming studio, casting long shadows across the floor. Outside, the sky has turned a deep indigo, streaked with ribbons of pink and orange as the sun dips below the horizon.

My cursor hovers over the folder labeled "Knox & River," its innocuous text belying the intensity of what lies within. My heart rate picks up, a mix of anticipation and trepidation coursing through me. Those images... they're more than just photos. They're a vivid reminder of the most intense, passionate encounter I've ever experienced.

I can almost feel their hands on me again, hear their voices whispering filthy promises in my ear. The memory alone is enough to send a shiver down my spine, heat pooling low in my belly. My finger twitches on the mouse, so close to clicking, to diving back into that intoxicating world we created together.

But I hesitate.

Opening that folder feels dangerous somehow, like stepping off a cliff into unknown waters. Once I look, I know I won't be able to stop. I'll get lost in the images, reliving every touch, every kiss, every moan. And then what? I’ll need to remind myself they're not mine to keep, not really. It was just one night, one incredible, mind-blowing night.

The rational part of my brain knows I should leave it alone, preserve the memory without obsessing over the details. But another part of me, a darker, needier part, wants to devour every pixel, commit each frame to memory until I can see them perfectly with my eyes closed.

My finger hovers, trembling slightly as I wage an internal battle. Just as I'm about to give in to temptation, a notification pops up on my screen. The file transfer is complete. I blink, snapping out of my trance-like state.

Glancing at the time display in the corner of the monitor, I'm shocked to realize it's already early evening. The grocery store will be closing soon, and my fridge is woefully bare. With a resigned sigh, I move the cursor away from the tempting folder and begin the shutdown process.

As the computer powers down, I can't help but cast one last longing look at the screen. Those images will have to wait for tomorrow. But even as I gather my things and head for the door, I know they'll be haunting my dreams tonight.

Chapter 19

Rayne

Thesoftglowofstreetlights illuminates the sidewalk as I make my way home, plastic grocery bags swinging gently from my hands. The night air is cool against my skin, a welcome relief after the stuffy warmth of the crowded store. I'd managed to grab the essentials–milk, eggs, bread, and a few frozen dinners for those nights when cooking feels like too much effort.

My footsteps echo softly in the quiet evening, most of the shops already closed for the night. A few cars pass by, their headlights briefly illuminating the storefronts before fading away. The scent of jasmine drifts on the breeze from someone's garden, sweet and intoxicating.

I'm only a few blocks from my apartment now, my thoughts already drifting to a hot shower and comfortable pajamas. The day's work has left me pleasantly tired, muscles aching in that satisfying way that comes from doing something you love. Images from Breanna's shoot flicker through my mind and small smile tugs at my lips.

Lost in my musings, I barely register the dark alleyway I'm passing until hands suddenly grab me, yanking me roughly off the sidewalk. My heart leaps into my throat as I'm dragged deeper into the shadows, my mind struggling to catch up with what's happening. A man's voice, low and threatening, growls in my ear.

"Don't scream or I'll shoot you."

Fear floods my system, icy tendrils wrapping around my chest and making it hard to breathe. My body goes rigid, muscles locking up as panic takes hold. For several long moments, I can't even process what's happening. My fingers remain stubbornly curled around the handles of my grocery bags, as if clinging to that last shred of normalcy.

It takes what feels like an eternity, but is likely only seconds, for my brain to catch up. The plastic handles finally slip from my grasp, bags hitting the ground with a soft thud. Eggs crack, milk spills, but none of that matters now. All I can focus on is the iron grip on my arms and the paralyzing terror coursing through my veins.

My heart hammers as he shoves me roughly against the brick wall, waving a gun unsteadily toward my face. The cold metal of the barrel glints in the dim light filtering into the alley. His eyes are wild, pupils dilated, darting around erratically.

"Give me all your money." he snarls, his words slurring together. The stench of alcohol on his breath makes my stomach churn.

My breath catches as the gun tilts closer to my face before swaying slightly away. His hand trembles, the weapon weaving an unsteady path through the air. He doesn't seem steady, or sane. The manic gleam in his bloodshot eyes sends chills down my spine. This isn't just a desperate man looking for quick cash–there's something unhinged in his demeanor.

Time seems to slow to a crawl as I watch his finger tighten on the trigger. In the moments it takes my brain to catch up, I brace for the deafening bang of the gunshot.

But it never comes.

Instead, I watch in slow motion as a knife is suddenly thrust into the side of my attackers neck. The hand holding it twists the blade, using it to pull the attacker backward away from me. The metallic scent of copper fills my nostrils as I gasp in shock and blood starts pouring from the wound in the man's neck.

I stop breathing, paralyzed as I watch the crimson gush rapidly down his body. The man's eyes go wide with surprise and pain. When the hand pulls the knife back out, the gun clatters to the ground as my attackers hands fly to his neck, trying in vain to stem the tide of red.

He is still too close to me and I feel a few warm flecks of blood hit me.

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