Page 5 of Pose for Me

The other person catches me off guard. I could say I wasn't prepared for a same sex couple but I'm always prepared for pretty much anything with what I do. His striking blue eyes—like staring deep into the Caribbean sea, with darker, ocean-blue rings around the edges—meet mine, stopping me in my tracks. His dirty blond hair is styled just so, slightly tousled, longer than Knox’s with strands that shimmer like spun gold in the dim light. There’s a shadow of golden stubble on his jaw, highlighting an easy smile that feels as if it could disarm even the most guarded person. A scar that intersects his left eyebrow is the only thing that mars his perfect features.

“I’m River,” he says, extending his hand toward me. The voice is smoother than Knox’s, with a husky edge and an undercurrent of amusement, and I find myself a little breathless as I return the handshake. He is dressed similarly to Knox, but in black on black, and vaguely, I wonder if either of them are feeling as hot under their collars as I am.

“Nice to meet you,” I manage to say, hoping my voice sounds steadier than I feel.

As River steps further inside, I close and lock the door, taking a moment to collect myself. Turning back, I find the two of them surveying the studio, taking in the dark atmosphere and the equipment I’ve prepared. The aura they bring with them—powerful, confident, and utterly captivating—threatens to unravel my carefully constructed professionalism.

I focus on running through my checklist once more to mentally ground myself. The buffet of hotness in front of me is really going to test my ability not to call a ten minute toy break and disappear upstairs. It will push my focus to the limits, but if I can hold it together, the results are bound to be unforgettable.

I take another steadying breath as Knox and River make themselves comfortable. Knox’s sharp gaze lingers on the various pieces of equipment—his mind likely ticking off each detail with military precision. River, on the other hand, seems more relaxed, casually surveying the room with a quiet confidence that matches his presence.

I can feel their eyes on me, the weight of their attention a constant pull on my focus. I push back the sensation, forcing myself to concentrate on the task at hand. "Feel free to make yourselves at home," I say with a smile, my voice sounding far more composed than I feel. "I’ll just do a quick final check before we start."

I motion toward the velvet sofa, trying to give them a moment to settle in, but I can’t help but notice how they stand close to each other—close enough to blur the line between a shared space and the subtle tension that radiates from them. They seem at ease together, and it’s hard not to imagine how that ease will translate in front of my cameras.

As I walk back to my equipment, I can't stop myself from sneaking glances at them—Knox, with his chiseled features and intimidating presence, and River, who exudes an effortless charm that makes me want to pull him into the frame immediately. His smile is so disarming, I almost wonder if he’s aware of the effect it has. Knox seems more reserved, but there’s something about his silence that speaks volumes. It’s clear they complement each other in a way that’s almost magnetic.

I start adjusting the lighting again, despite already ensuring everything was perfect earlier, needing the distraction to push past the growing heat in my chest. The setup needs to be flawless; this shoot demands it, especially with the tension I can already feel simmering between them. It’s the kind of dynamic I live for—the kind that creates electricity in every frame.

I feel my pulse quicken as I slide my camera into position, making sure everything is in place for when I’m ready to begin. They’re close now, Knox giving me an almost imperceptible nod as River drops onto the velvet couch, his posture relaxed but with an air of anticipation. The air between us crackles with expectation, and I wonder just how far this shoot will push me.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay professional, and dive into the usual pre-shoot spiel I give to all my clients. My voice sounds surprisingly steady, despite my pulse racing at a dangerously fast tempo. “Alright, before we get started, there are just a few things I like to go over. I want you both to feel at ease, so if there are any injuries or sensitivities I should be aware of, let me know. And as best you can, try to forget I’m even here—just go with the moment.”

River’s soft murmur, smooth and almost amused, throws me off and has my words stumbling to a stop. “I think that’ll be… impossible,” he says, his tone filled with unspoken implications.

Knox, meanwhile, has drifted through the room, his sharp eyes taking in the setup with a focus that borders on inspection. Every glance he throws around the studio seems to catalog each detail as though evaluating the space, the lights, the positioning of the furniture, until he finally circles back to the couch. As he passes me, I catch a subtle whiff of his cologne, something woodsy and dark, almost grounding. I barely suppress a shiver as the brush of his presence feels close enough to make the fine hairs on my arm stand up.

"So," I continue after a moment, doing my best to keep the tremor out of my voice. "Is there anything I should be aware of that you absolutely won’t do?" I hold my breath, knowing this question often draws out boundaries that help me navigate the tone of the session.

Knox’s gaze meets mine with unblinking focus. "We have safe words if it comes to that," he replies, his voice low and edged with assurance. I nod, storing the information as he takes a step closer, stopping just shy of where I’m standing. He looks down at me, the weight of his stare cutting through the air between us. "But do you have one?" he asks, voice dropping almost to a murmur, eyes gleaming as he adds, "We can both be... intense, sometimes."

The suggestion makes my mind stutter as I blink up at him. "I don’t—" I begin, then shake my head, trying to regain my professionalism. "I mean, it doesn’t really matter since I’ll just be behind the camera."

Knox’s sharp gaze remains steady, his lips curving just slightly as though I’ve missed something crucial. "But it does," he murmurs. "We wouldn’t want to push you past your own comfort, would we?" There’s a dark amusement dancing in his eyes, and the hint of a smirk on his lips sends my heart racing faster than I care to admit.

The words hang in the air between us, heavy and full of unspoken meaning. I barely manage a nod, my brain spinning as he finally moves to sit down, settling into the corner of the couch. River leans into him, casual yet intimate, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. But there’s something about the way they’re both looking at me—steady, unwavering—that has my pulse racing, and a warmth building against my will.

I’m suddenly very thankful for the air conditioning I turned on earlier.

Chapter 5

River

Iwonderifsheknows that all her careful planning and schedules are about to be thrown out the fucking window.

Chapter 6

Rayne

“Asyouknow,thepackage you selected for today means that there are no limits to what you want to do so long as it isn’t illegal.”

My words seem to amuse them both, subtle smirks playing on their faces. Knox stands again, fishing something out of his pants pocket as he makes his way toward me with a casual confidence that somehow feels anything but. He stops directly in front of me, his presence dominating the space between us as he extends his hand.

It takes more effort than I’d care to admit to pull my gaze from his face to the item he’s offering. In his hand is a stack of cash, folded neatly and secured by a gleaming gold pin. My hand reaches out, instinctively, and he places it into my palm, but he doesn’t let go immediately. His hand lingers, large and warm against mine, holding it in place with a deliberate slowness that sends a surge of awareness through me.

I drag my eyes back up to his, meeting his sharp, unreadable gaze. His eyebrow raises just a fraction, and the intensity behind his look has my stomach dropping as if I’m teetering over the edge of a cliff.

"Thank you," I manage, my voice barely a whisper, fighting the inexplicable urge to add a “sir” to the end of it. The word dances on my tongue, caught somewhere between instinct and compulsion.

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