Page 18 of The Girlfriend Zone

My head is swimming with desire and surprise. I’venever met a man like him, one who’s actually interested in the artistic side of me. One who wants a picture of us. I have a feeling he’s going to want pictures of so much more, and I’ll probably give him what he wants because I want that too.

I want to see how we look coming together. But right now, I’m not sure I remember how to adjust a setting on the camera. I’m not sure I can hold a single thought in my head that doesn’t revolve around the heat curling through every cell in my body, the need pulsing through my veins.

Still, I’m determined to give him what he wants, and to give it to myself too.

“Yes,” I say, quickly crossing over to the camera on the tripod and grabbing the remote trigger. I’m so used to the remote that it’s no big deal to hold it while I do things—I learned how to shoot boudoir both with others and through self-portraits.

“Good, Shutterbug. Because I wantusto see it,” he says, and that word thrums through me—us.

A promise, once more, of another time.

When I spin around, he’s right there, eyes on me. And I’m nothing but raw need. “You’ve been driving me wild all day,” I tell him. “Do something about it.”

I’m almost shocked to hear my own words. It’s so strange to say exactly what I want. To know he wants to hear it.

To know he can handle it.

His smile is devilish. “I’ll do whatever you want, Leighton.”

But when he closes the distance to me, I tense for a few seconds, expecting him to forget what I told him earlier, since most guys just do. They get caught up. Theydon’t listen. They don’t care. I half expect him to drag his fingers through my hair and over my ears.

If he did, there’d be loud ringing in my ears.

But Miles has proven different all day.

He’s an incredible listener, so when he takes off his glasses, sets them down on a low table, then lifts a hand slowly, I choose to trust.

And he curls that hand around my throat, gentle yet entirely possessive. And setting my heart to flames.

He inches closer, licks his lips, and drops his lush mouth to mine.

There’s never been a kiss like this. It’s soulful and filthy at the same time. His hand stays firm on my throat, his fingers holding me tight, the locket resting against my chest. His lips are soft as they coast over mine, his stubble scraping my face deliciously. His tongue slips past my eager lips.

And I ache everywhere as I help the camera capture our first kiss with a push of the remote.

The sounds he makes are hungry, carnal, and I swear I not only hear every single thing but feel it too, everywhere, all at once.

The kiss feels like the type of photos I try to capture. Sensual, moody, and most of all, a prelude.

It’s not a first kiss at a picnic, or in a park, or under the sun. It’s a first kiss where the lights are low, night is calling, and the doors are locked.

I’m so glad that the woman I rent the studio from is out of town today because I’m pretty sure I’m one minute away from doing something risky.

As Miles kisses me slowly, seductively, making my head swim with longing, his thumb and forefinger circle a little tighter around my throat. His touch there is possessive,but full of restraint, like he won’t cross lines until he gets the go-ahead. I want to give him all the go-aheads. Sparks rush down my body, and I ache for so much more. I inch closer, pressing my body to his. He makes a noise low in his throat, a dirty rumble. His other hand ropes around my waist, traveling to my back. He slips it under my shirt, laying it flat against my skin.

I make some kind of incredibly uncivilized noise. I wish I could say it was a deep, throaty purr, but it’s more like a needy plea.

Miles breaks the kiss to look at me, a smirk on his lips, fire in his eyes. But coiled restraint too. This man is a portrait of caged lust. “Tell me what you want,” he says in a rasp, letting go of my throat and running the back of his fingers down my cheeks. “So I can give it to you.”

My chest flips.

Who is this man?

Is this what I’ve been missing? Is this what I never experienced when I dated guys my age in college? This kind of focused attention. These direct questions.

I honestly don’t know how to start answering him, but I give it my best shot because honesty has gotten me this far today. Into the arms of a man who’s not afraid to manhandle me—the way I want. And I want it…a little rough.

Here I am—doing something risky. Asking him to fuck me in the studio. “You,” I begin, taking that small step.

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