The Photographer’s Private Shoot - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
You are reading The Photographer’s Private Shoot, Chapter 1: Chapter 1. Read more chapters of The Photographer’s Private Shoot.
I'm a model, and I had a lingerie shoot scheduled with a photographer. The second I walked into the studio, he handed me a bikini trimmer.
"Take care of this," he said casually. "It'll look better in the shots."
My stomach twisted, but I took it and slipped into the bathroom. Later, when he passed me a set of sheer lace lingerie through the door, he caught me mid… task.
The trimmer clattered to the floor. The photographer immediately turned away. "Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't realize you'd already started."
A tiny, uneven patch of hair sat conspicuously on the tiles.
I whirled around, my face on fire.
Thankfully, he just set the lingerie down and left without another word.
Once I was dressed, I stepped out.
His gaze locked onto me instantly—intense, hungry, like he was memorizing every inch.
Flustered, I dropped my eyes and instinctively crossed my arms over my chest.
Adrian Roscente frowned and closed the distance between us. "Sophia Laurent," he said, voice smooth. "I'm Adrian. This is a lingerie shoot. You need to relax, okay?"
Hesitantly, I let my arms fall.
He guided me under the studio lights, positioning me with quick, confident touches.
The camera flashed, capturing every curve in an instant.
Adrian checked the shots and sighed. "Sophia, you're stiff. Is this your first time?"
I nodded, biting my lip.
His expression softened. Setting the camera aside, he stepped toward me. "Here. Let me show you."
He moved behind me, his arms loosely circling my waist.
His warm breath brushed my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.
Adrian chuckled, low and amused. "Relax. You're stunning. This lingerie might as well have been made for you."
I exhaled, forcing my muscles to loosen.
Then—without warning—he took my hand, adjusted my pose, and gave my lower back a light tap.
Electricity shot through me. His touch lingered, rough and warm against my skin.
I glanced back at him.
Tall. Handsome. That faint, intoxicating cologne wrapping around me.
His eyes were fixed on the pose, assessing.
Then—his fingers just grazed the curve of my backside. My face burned hotter. A second later, he was back behind the camera like nothing happened.
After a few more shots, Adrian still wasn't satisfied. He returned, took my hands, and positioned them behind me, arching my back to emphasize every curve.
His chest brushed against me. A shiver ran through me, nearly pulling a gasp from my lips.
Before I could react, he murmured, "Let me adjust you again, Sophia."
His hands moved freely—my shoulders, my waist, my thighs.
His scent filled my senses, dizzying.
Adrian manipulated my body with effortless precision—tilting my hips, bending me forward, then—God—his palm cupped my backside in a squeeze that was definitely not accidental.
My pulse skyrocketed.
And worse—I could feel my body responding.
Just as I opened my mouth to protest, Adrian stepped back. "Let's switch locations. The sofa next."
I nodded, adjusting the clingy fabric. The lace pinched, and I winced.
On the sofa, I stood awkwardly.
Adrian gestured. "Sit. Legs apart."
I parted them—just slightly.
He lifted the camera, watching me through the lens.
"Take care of this," he said casually. "It'll look better in the shots."
My stomach twisted, but I took it and slipped into the bathroom. Later, when he passed me a set of sheer lace lingerie through the door, he caught me mid… task.
The trimmer clattered to the floor. The photographer immediately turned away. "Sorry," he muttered. "Didn't realize you'd already started."
A tiny, uneven patch of hair sat conspicuously on the tiles.
I whirled around, my face on fire.
Thankfully, he just set the lingerie down and left without another word.
Once I was dressed, I stepped out.
His gaze locked onto me instantly—intense, hungry, like he was memorizing every inch.
Flustered, I dropped my eyes and instinctively crossed my arms over my chest.
Adrian Roscente frowned and closed the distance between us. "Sophia Laurent," he said, voice smooth. "I'm Adrian. This is a lingerie shoot. You need to relax, okay?"
Hesitantly, I let my arms fall.
He guided me under the studio lights, positioning me with quick, confident touches.
The camera flashed, capturing every curve in an instant.
Adrian checked the shots and sighed. "Sophia, you're stiff. Is this your first time?"
I nodded, biting my lip.
His expression softened. Setting the camera aside, he stepped toward me. "Here. Let me show you."
He moved behind me, his arms loosely circling my waist.
His warm breath brushed my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.
Adrian chuckled, low and amused. "Relax. You're stunning. This lingerie might as well have been made for you."
I exhaled, forcing my muscles to loosen.
Then—without warning—he took my hand, adjusted my pose, and gave my lower back a light tap.
Electricity shot through me. His touch lingered, rough and warm against my skin.
I glanced back at him.
Tall. Handsome. That faint, intoxicating cologne wrapping around me.
His eyes were fixed on the pose, assessing.
Then—his fingers just grazed the curve of my backside. My face burned hotter. A second later, he was back behind the camera like nothing happened.
After a few more shots, Adrian still wasn't satisfied. He returned, took my hands, and positioned them behind me, arching my back to emphasize every curve.
His chest brushed against me. A shiver ran through me, nearly pulling a gasp from my lips.
Before I could react, he murmured, "Let me adjust you again, Sophia."
His hands moved freely—my shoulders, my waist, my thighs.
His scent filled my senses, dizzying.
Adrian manipulated my body with effortless precision—tilting my hips, bending me forward, then—God—his palm cupped my backside in a squeeze that was definitely not accidental.
My pulse skyrocketed.
And worse—I could feel my body responding.
Just as I opened my mouth to protest, Adrian stepped back. "Let's switch locations. The sofa next."
I nodded, adjusting the clingy fabric. The lace pinched, and I winced.
On the sofa, I stood awkwardly.
Adrian gestured. "Sit. Legs apart."
I parted them—just slightly.
He lifted the camera, watching me through the lens.
End of The Photographer’s Private Shoot Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to The Photographer’s Private Shoot book page.