One in the water.
One by the infinity pool in front.
One at the secluded pool around the corner.
And one mid-party. Or at least mid-toasting with my boyfriend.
Not that I can consider the implications at the moment. I have a job and limited time. I need to focus.
It takes half an hour to set up. Tripod, reflectors, props. Attire. Hair and makeup check.
There.
If I start really rolling in it, I’m hiring a hair and makeup team. Or maybe not. After a dozen years of honing my “dramatic look,” I’m pretty damn good at it.
I even know which products are truly waterproof.
Thankfully, this swimsuit company gets me. They understand I go by Princess Skye because I’m dark and loud.
A retro bikini in a deep shade of eggplant.
A modern one-piece in deep black.
A red bikini with a ton of cleavage.
An old school one-piece in hot pink, with black polka dots.
My black combat boots are sitting by the pool chair. The ones with chunky heels.
And sandals.
I bought actual sandals. Three pairs. Black. White. Red.
It’s ridiculous. I haven’t worn sandals since… forever. But they feel right.
The combat boots are going to be fierce with the black bikini.
But the red sandals are sexy in their own way. They’re something a California Beach Babe would wear.
It’s not me. But that doesn’t mean I can’t borrow the look.
This is a photo shoot. Not a reflection of my soul. It’s business. I can handle that.
“Hey.” A deep voice interrupts my thoughts. Forest. He’s in jeans and a white shirt (as I requested), holding two take-out cups. A milky cold brew. And an iced matcha latte.
“Hey.” I bite my lip. It’s weird, being here. Like there’s a Mackenzie aura weakening my resolve. It takes all my attention to stay on task. Photos. Awesomeness. Done. “You look good.”
“I brought a darker pair too.” He motions to his medium wash jeans.
“And the swimsuit?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Under this.”
“Oh.”
He nods. Moves around the pool—it’s a long, rectangular thing, surrounded by picture-perfect chairs. Cream and sand. Pale pink towels. Palm trees everywhere.
He sets our drinks on a glass table, next to a stack of props (mostly sunglasses). “Where do you need me?”
I reach for my matcha latte. Take a long sip. It’s a little cold, but it’s still delicious. Sweet, creamy, comforting.
“After this.” He closes the distance between us. Wraps his arms around me. Pulls me into a slow, deep kiss.
His lips close around my bottom lip. He sucks softly. Then harder. Then it’s the slow scrape of his teeth.
Again and again—
Until my body is buzzing.
He pulls back with a sigh. “Fuck, you taste like honey.”
“Oh.”
He smiles. “You always taste like honey.”
My cheeks flush.
“The other day, I ordered an iced matcha for myself.”
“Oh?”
“It tasted good. ‘Cause it tasted like you. Of course, the barista looked at me funny when I started groaning over it.”
“You what?”
He laughs. “I thought about kissing you. Then about—” His eyes travel down my body. “Princess, you look divine.”
“Thanks.”
“I need to taste you properly.”
“Right now?”
“After this.”
“I’ll taste like chlorine.”
His smile gets wicked. “You like the taste of chlorine.”
I clear my throat.
“You’ll want to taste it too.”
I swallow a sip of my matcha so I won’t overheat. It doesn’t help. At all. But it’s still good.
“Might let you this time.”
“You might let me?”
He nods. “If I’m feeling generous.”
“If you’re feeling generous you’ll let me suck you off—”
“Is there a question in there?”
Fuck, there’s something so hot about the commanding tone to his voice. Like he knows I want it that badly. Like I want him that badly. “Uh… no.”
“Good.” He grabs his coffee. Takes a long sip. “Where do you need me?”
“Let’s do the ones with you first. Before I get wet.”
“Before, huh?”
Oh. My blush deepens. Which is good for this set, actually. I’m in the black one-piece. The one least like Mackenzie.
But I’m not thinking about that.
Not at all.
I take another sip, set my drink on the counter, sit on one of the cream chairs.
Forest drops to his knees to help me into my sandals. His fingers linger on my ankles.
He looks up at me with a goofy smile.
Then he leans closer and he presses his lips to the inside of my knee. “Later.” He stands. Offers his hand. Helps me up.
Somehow, I maintain my composure.
I slip on my props. Arrange the camera. First the bench on the other side of the pool.
He sits.
I move the tripod. Get the angle just right. Slip the remote between my fingers.
Sit next to Forest.
I rest my head on his shoulder. Click, click.
He slides his arm around me. Click, click.
I stare at him like I’m madly in love. Click, click.
He stares back. Click, click.
Then he moves closer, closer, until his lips hit mine.
He presses his palm into my bare back, holding my body against his, as he slips his tongue into my mouth.
He kisses me like he’s claiming me.