The Photographer’s Private Shoot - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
You are reading The Photographer’s Private Shoot, Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Read more chapters of The Photographer’s Private Shoot.
My entire body trembled uncontrollably, every nerve ending alight with anticipation.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly before Adrian finally pulled away, his lips curling into that infuriatingly satisfied smirk. I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze, my cheeks burning as I looked anywhere but at him.
Then he was on me again, his mouth claiming mine with deliberate possession. His tongue moved with slow, teasing precision—circling, coaxing, demanding a response. And against my better judgment, I gave in, melting into the heat of his kiss until my body was no longer my own.
When he finally broke away, his voice was a low, rough murmur against my lips. "Sophia, your mouth is even redder now. Perfect for the shoot."
I could only manage a breathless nod.
He guided me onto the couch, positioning me just so—his hands firm at my waist, fingers tangling in my hair as he tilted my head back. His gaze darkened as it traveled down my body, lingering on my legs before his fingers followed, tracing slow, deliberate paths up my thighs.
"Sheer stockings would elevate this," he mused, the words more command than suggestion. "I have some here. Put them on."
From a nearby drawer, he produced several pairs—some white and delicate, others black and bold. My face flamed as I reached for the white ones, already turning toward the bathroom when his grip tightened.
"Here," he said, and the challenge in his tone sent a shiver down my spine.
I hesitated, then reasoned—what difference did it make now? I'd already changed in front of him. But as I sat to slide them on, Adrian dropped to his knees before me, his smirk widening as he plucked the stockings from my hands.
"Let me."
His fingers glided over my skin, slow and deliberate, pausing just below my thighs. His gaze dropped lower, darkening with something dangerous. Instinctively, I clenched my legs together—only for his palm to land a sharp, stinging smack against my backside.
"Open."
A whimper caught in my throat as I obeyed.
He resumed his task, his grip firm, his touch maddeningly precise—until one sharp tug sent the fabric brushing against a spot so sensitive my legs nearly buckled. My glare did nothing to wipe the smugness from his face.
Once the stockings were in place, he stepped back, admiring his handiwork before guiding me back into position. The camera shutter clicked rapidly, capturing every angle—until suddenly, he was beside me again.
His fingers traced the delicate fabric before—rip—a tear split the silk. Then another. And another. His gaze dropped lower, fingers hovering just shy of where I ached for him most.
When I nudged him impatiently, he crushed his mouth to mine in a kiss that stole my breath—hungry, relentless, his hands roaming greedily. Every touch burned, every graze of his fingers drawing helpless sounds from my lips.
"Sophia," he rasped against my ear, his voice rough with restraint. "You're breathtaking. May I?"
My teeth sank into his neck in answer.
That was all it took.
His touch turned urgent, rough—fingers slipping beneath torn silk, tearing it away completely before sliding in, drawing slick, sinful sounds from me until I was trembling, gasping, unraveling beneath him.
By the time we were done, there wasn't a scrap of clothing left between us.
Later, freshly showered and back in my cheongsam, I barely made it home before collapsing into bed—only for my phone to buzz with a video call. Adrian, damp from his own shower, his robe hanging open to reveal every sculpted inch of him.
"Tired?" he asked, his voice teasing.
"A little," I admitted, fighting the flush creeping up my neck.
His grin was pure satisfaction. "Wear the cheongsam again next time."
I nodded before I could stop myself.
The next day, I returned in another one—only to find another model leaving, her hand lingering on Adrian's shoulder, her smile knowing.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly before Adrian finally pulled away, his lips curling into that infuriatingly satisfied smirk. I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze, my cheeks burning as I looked anywhere but at him.
Then he was on me again, his mouth claiming mine with deliberate possession. His tongue moved with slow, teasing precision—circling, coaxing, demanding a response. And against my better judgment, I gave in, melting into the heat of his kiss until my body was no longer my own.
When he finally broke away, his voice was a low, rough murmur against my lips. "Sophia, your mouth is even redder now. Perfect for the shoot."
I could only manage a breathless nod.
He guided me onto the couch, positioning me just so—his hands firm at my waist, fingers tangling in my hair as he tilted my head back. His gaze darkened as it traveled down my body, lingering on my legs before his fingers followed, tracing slow, deliberate paths up my thighs.
"Sheer stockings would elevate this," he mused, the words more command than suggestion. "I have some here. Put them on."
From a nearby drawer, he produced several pairs—some white and delicate, others black and bold. My face flamed as I reached for the white ones, already turning toward the bathroom when his grip tightened.
"Here," he said, and the challenge in his tone sent a shiver down my spine.
I hesitated, then reasoned—what difference did it make now? I'd already changed in front of him. But as I sat to slide them on, Adrian dropped to his knees before me, his smirk widening as he plucked the stockings from my hands.
"Let me."
His fingers glided over my skin, slow and deliberate, pausing just below my thighs. His gaze dropped lower, darkening with something dangerous. Instinctively, I clenched my legs together—only for his palm to land a sharp, stinging smack against my backside.
"Open."
A whimper caught in my throat as I obeyed.
He resumed his task, his grip firm, his touch maddeningly precise—until one sharp tug sent the fabric brushing against a spot so sensitive my legs nearly buckled. My glare did nothing to wipe the smugness from his face.
Once the stockings were in place, he stepped back, admiring his handiwork before guiding me back into position. The camera shutter clicked rapidly, capturing every angle—until suddenly, he was beside me again.
His fingers traced the delicate fabric before—rip—a tear split the silk. Then another. And another. His gaze dropped lower, fingers hovering just shy of where I ached for him most.
When I nudged him impatiently, he crushed his mouth to mine in a kiss that stole my breath—hungry, relentless, his hands roaming greedily. Every touch burned, every graze of his fingers drawing helpless sounds from my lips.
"Sophia," he rasped against my ear, his voice rough with restraint. "You're breathtaking. May I?"
My teeth sank into his neck in answer.
That was all it took.
His touch turned urgent, rough—fingers slipping beneath torn silk, tearing it away completely before sliding in, drawing slick, sinful sounds from me until I was trembling, gasping, unraveling beneath him.
By the time we were done, there wasn't a scrap of clothing left between us.
Later, freshly showered and back in my cheongsam, I barely made it home before collapsing into bed—only for my phone to buzz with a video call. Adrian, damp from his own shower, his robe hanging open to reveal every sculpted inch of him.
"Tired?" he asked, his voice teasing.
"A little," I admitted, fighting the flush creeping up my neck.
His grin was pure satisfaction. "Wear the cheongsam again next time."
I nodded before I could stop myself.
The next day, I returned in another one—only to find another model leaving, her hand lingering on Adrian's shoulder, her smile knowing.
End of The Photographer’s Private Shoot Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to The Photographer’s Private Shoot book page.