Page 105 of Close Contact
The slip clung to my frame, the satin catching on every curve as I posed. My breath remained shallow, my brain fuzzy, floating somewhere between pleasure and performance. I wasn’t sure what to make of anything.
“All right, babe,” the photographer said out of the blue, lifting the camera away from his face and straightening. “Let’s drop the slip.”
The words hit like a slap to the face. All the air in my lungs rushed out.
“Let’s see that gorgeous set underneath,” someone added from off-camera. “You’re glowing tonight. We want to show all of it.”
I hesitated, fingers trembling slightly as I reached for the thin straps. I could do this. I’d done it before. Except I hadn’t doneit with myentire assfreshly spanked and marked up like I was Callum’s personal property. And judging by the ever-present sting of my flesh every time I moved, I knew it would be visible.
With a deep inhale, I slid the straps off my shoulders. The satin slipped down, pooling at my feet. I stepped out of the fabric and adjusted the angle of my hips, posing one knee to the side to avoid a full frontal, something sexy but tasteful. It exposed the wine red lingerie set—lace bra, matching panties, garter set. It was all unbearably hot.
A few flashes went off. I forced myself to hold still, to play the part.
“Now let’s get a few from the back!” someone called cheerfully.
I froze. No. No, no, no, no?—
I turned slightly, easing into a twist that offered my profile, then began to shift into the back-facing pose they wanted, ever so slowly and carefully, but the throbbing heat on my skin told me this would be a mistake.
Oh. My. God.
I glanced over my shoulder and nearly fainted. There, across the bare cheeks of my ass, were hisfucking handprints. Two on each side. Faint red, but unmistakably there. His fingers curved like brands into the soft flesh, one slightly higher than the other on both cheeks. I wanted to keel over from mortification.
Every single fucking person here would know what I was into sexually. Fuck, this was bad. This was so much worse than getting caught, because this could potentially go out to the whole world, showing them some of the kinky shit I liked. I may as well paint a giant red “A” on my chest.
The room was quiet for a beat too long.
“Oh, myGod,” someone finally said. “Are those?—?”
I gasped, immediately spinning back around, arms flailing for the slip. “I need a minute!”
“Wait, hold on, what wasthat?”
“Were thosehandprints?”
“Holy shit.”
“Did someonespankher?”
The studio buzzed in confusion and curiosity, assistants whispering behind their clipboards, someone snapping an unapproved photo before being smacked on the arm.
I snatched up the slip and practically dove behind the wardrobe divider, breathing hard, clutching the fabric to my chest like a life raft.
From the other side, Ivy’s voice rang out, way too casual. “If you’re smart, you’ll makethatthe campaign.”
I barely had time to catch my breath behind the divider before the curtain whipped open and Ivy slipped inside, calm as ever.
“Breathe,” she said, closing it behind her. “You’re fine.”
“I’mnotfine,” I hissed, clutching the slip to my chest as if that was doing anything at all to cover me. “I have Callum’shandprintson my ass, Ivy. That was not supposed to happen!”
She gave me a once-over, eyes sharp. “And yet… you look incredible.”
I blinked at her, stunned.
She leaned in, voice dropping low. “Lingerie isn’t just about feeling sexy, Aurélie. It’s about what itleads to. That’s the fantasy. The aftermath. Theevidenceof pleasure.”
My mouth opened. No words came out.
