Page 14 of A Man To Remember
"Like that. Hold it. Try to concentrate."
But my skin tingles where he touched me, making concentration about as likely as winning the lottery. The camera captures shot after shot while I'm already plotting my next mistake.
The second he gives me another command, I execute.
It's like I no longer care if he notices.
We continue this dance—me playing dumb, him being forced to put his hands on me. Each touch more intimate than the last. His palms on my shoulders, my waist, the back of my thigh.
Every point of contact feels important somehow, like it was always meant to be there. It isn't lost on me that I'm still hard, even though at least an hour must have passed since my little show he never asked for, and the only thing keeping me from complete mortification is that this is technically part of the job.
I'm playing with fire.
Each click captures not just my nearly naked body, but the heat building within me. Heat I can't explain. Heat I miss every time he walks away.
Finally, Austin lowers his camera. "That's good. I think we're done."
But I don't move. Can't move.
We stare at each other for a charged moment, his camera hanging forgotten while I stand here, still hard, still wanting…something.
The professional pretense has worn thinner than tissue paper.
Austin starts packing with mechanical precision, but I'm not ready for this to end.
I watch him hunch over his laptop, his back rigid with enough tension to snap steel cables.
Fuck it. I already jumped off the cliff. Time to see if I can fly.
"Can I see?" I ask, moving behind him without waiting for permission.
Close enough that one shift forward would press my bare chest against his back.
"Sure." His voice sounds like he's reading from a script, but his fingers shake as he clicks through photos.
I'm not looking at the screen.
I'm cataloging this moment. How his breath catches when I shift closer. How his shirt whispers against my chest. The tremor in his hands that he's trying so hard to hide.
"These turned out well," he says, voice strained like he's lifting weights.
"Mm-hmm." I move closer, close enough to smell his cologne, close enough for our body heat to mingle.
I'm not even sure what I'm doing.
His breathing goes shallow. His clicking becomes erratic, like he's forgotten how mice work.
He spins around, probably meaning to create distance.
I don't back up.
We're face to face now, a breath apart, and his eyes are darker than a power outage at midnight. The moment stretches between us like a rubber band about to snap.
My heart hammers against my ribs hard enough to probably show through my chest.
And then, words fall out of me. Words I don't plan, don't form. Words that were never a thought, yet somehow materialize themselves as a vibration of sound. "You could kiss me now."
They're barely audible, but they might as well be shouted through a megaphone.
