Page 55 of Pose for Me

Shaking off the lingering unease, I make my way to my desk. The familiar space welcomes me, my computer humming softly as it wakes from sleep mode. I settle into my chair, the leather creaking slightly as it molds to my body.

As I take a sip of my smoothie, the sweet-tart flavor bursting across my tongue, I try to focus on the day ahead. There's work to be done, clients to contact, images to edit. No time for paranoid thoughts or mysterious stalkers.

But even as I immerse myself in my tasks, a small part of my mind remains alert, watchful. Just in case.

As my computer screen flickers to life, I'm instantly reminded of exactly what I was doing the night before. The folder of Knox and River's session is still open, dominating my display. My breath catches as I'm confronted with a sea of thumbnails, each one a snapshot of raw passion and desire.

I shift in my chair, uncomfortably aware of the warmth pooling low in my belly. This is precisely why I shouldn't be looking at these images right now. How can I possibly maintain any semblance of professional objectivity when just looking at the thumbnails has me ready to combust?

For a wild moment, I consider giving Knox a refund and moving all the files to another drive–a personal one, for my own private use. The thought of having these images, this record of our passion, all to myself is tempting. I could revisit that night whenever I wanted, could lose myself in the memories without the pressure of delivering a final product.

But no. That wouldn't be right. As much as I might want to keep these images for myself, they don't belong to me alone. They belong to Knox and River too, and they trusted me to capture this intimate moment for them. I can't betray that trust, no matter how much I might want to.

With a deep breath, I force myself to navigate out of the folder. The thumbnails disappear, taking with them the temptation to lose myself in those heated memories. Instead, I open my administration console, determined to focus on more mundane tasks.

As I scan through my emails and messages, a small smile tugs at my lips. Breanna has already made her final image selections from her recent session. I open Breanna's selections, my smile widening as I see which images she's chosen. They're all stunning shots, capturing her journey from hesitant to empowered. I make a mental note to reach out to her later, to check in and see how she's feeling now that she's had time to really look at the photos.

I dive into editing Breanna's photos, grateful for the distraction from my more complicated thoughts and feelings. As I work, I lose myself in the familiar rhythm of adjusting colors, smoothing skin, enhancing the natural beauty of my client. It's meditative, allowing my mind to quiet and focus solely on the task at hand.

Hours slip by unnoticed as I work my way through Breanna's selections. The world outside my studio fades away as I focus intently on bringing out the best in each image.

A sudden knock at the door startles me from my focused state. I blink, realizing how stiff my body has become after hunching over my computer. Stretching languidly, I feel my muscles protest, joints popping as I extend my arms overhead. The early afternoon sun slants through the windows at a different angle now.

I stand, wincing slightly as blood flow returns to my legs. My bare feet pad silently across the cool floor as I make my way to the entrance. As I approach the door, a flicker of unease ripples through me. My hand hovers over the doorknob, fingers trembling slightly. For a wild moment, I wish I had a weapon. But of course, I don't. I'm in my own studio, a place that's always felt safe. Until recently.

Taking a deep breath, I steel myself and open the door. The first thing I see is a large travel coffee cup from my favorite local bakery. The familiar logo brings an involuntary smile to my face. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts towards me, making my mouth water. As my eyes travel up from the large travel cup, they meet a pair of striking Caribbean blue eyes, twinkling with mischief. River stands before me, his trademark wicked grin spreading across his face.

The sight of him sends a jolt through my system more potent than any caffeine could provide.

He's leaning casually against the doorframe, one hand holding out the coffee while the other is tucked into the pocket of his tailored slacks. His crisp white shirt is rolled up to the elbows, revealing the corded muscles of his forearms and swirls and lines of the tattoos that wind their way up his skin. A loosened tie hangs around his neck, the deep blue silk complementing his eyes perfectly.

As my gaze drifts past River, I notice Knox standing just behind him. My breath catches in my throat. Knox is dressed similarly to River, in a crisp white shirt and tailored slacks that hug his powerful thighs in all the right ways. His sleeves are also rolled up, revealing the intricate tattoos that wind their way up his forearms. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, offering a tantalizing glimpse of tanned skin and the edges of his intricate tattoos.

Knox's dark hair is slightly tousled, as if he's been running his hands through it all day. The hint of stubble along his strong jawline makes me ache to reach out and touch him, to feel the rough texture against my palm. His hazel eyes, flecked with gold and green, meet mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.

I find myself lost in the sight of them, drinking in every detail. The way River's golden hair catches the afternoon sunlight, creating a halo effect around his head. The subtle shift of muscles beneath Knox's shirt as he adjusts his stance. The contrast between River's easy, wicked grin and Knox's smoldering gaze. They're a study in opposites that somehow fit together perfectly–light and dark, mischief and intensity, playfulness and control.

A low chuckle breaks me from my reverie. I blink, realizing I've been staring openly at them for far too long.

River waves the coffee at me again, the rich aroma wafting towards me. "We come bearing sustenance," he says, his voice a sexy purr that sends shivers down my spine.

I blink, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. "Since when do either of you knock?" I manage to ask, my voice coming out huskier than I intended.

Knox's eyes darken at my tone, but it's River who answers. "Since someone else is stalking you and could be watching," he says, his cheerful tone at odds with the serious nature of his words.

The reminder of my stalker is like a bucket of ice water, dousing the warmth that had been building in my core. I feel my shoulders tense, my eyes darting past them to scan the street behind them.

"Step back and let us in," Knox orders, his voice low and commanding. There's an edge to his tone.

I comply without hesitation, retreating into the safety of my studio. River follows close behind, his presence warm at my back. As Knox enters, he turns to lock the door. The soft click of it sliding into place echoes in the sudden silence.

Chapter 33

Rayne

Riversetsthecoffeeand a small box I hadn't noticed before on the side table. The box is pristine white, a stark contrast to the dark wood beneath it. My brow furrows as I stare at it, a chill running down my spine. Was another "gift" left? But no, this box is different–white instead of the plain brown of yesterday's package.

I'm so distracted by the sight of the box that I don't notice Knox approaching until his hand is on the back of my neck, large and warm against my skin. His touch is firm, fingers tangling in the soft hairs at my nape. He draws me into a soft, slow kiss that makes my toes curl. His lips move against mine, coaxing a small sigh from me. I melt into him, my body molding to his as if we were made to fit together.

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