Through the Lens (Click Duet #1) (Bay Area Duet Series) Persephone Autumn (black authors fiction TXT) 📖

“Okay…”

He is not picking up on this. Not one bit. And damnit, I am going to have to come right out and say it. Internally, my hand slaps my forehead. Just say it. We are both adults, for fuck’s sake.

“Gavin, parents won’t want their teenage kids looking at an ad where the model has an erection, which is one-hundred-percent visible through the wet material. Many of the older female population may enjoy it, maybe some men too, but that won’t be the only eyes on the ad.”

His laugh is throaty, his abs contracting in ways that coil my insides tight. I continue taking photo after photo, capturing more candid shots. When he finishes laughing, he walks the small distance to me. My camera still glued to my face as he approaches, snapping as many photos as possible. He slowly pushes the camera aside and tips my chin up so we are eye to eye.

“Do you know how hard it is to stand practically naked in front of you? Knowing your job is to look at me. To take photos of me. Your visual assessment has me hungrier for you with each press of the shutter release.”

I swallow hard, the sound from the action echoes loud in my head and I wonder if he hears it too. His pupils dilate more, his steely-gray irises darkening with each passing second. If he believes it is challenging to be in front of the camera, he has no idea how difficult it is to be on the other side. To view him through the lens and attempt to keep every thought I have as practiced as possible. To remind myself I am working and to be on my best behavior.

“It’s not so easy from where I’m standing either. Having to maintain complete photographer-client idiosyncrasies while I snap photos of the one person who incinerates my insides. When—right now—the only thing I want to do is trace my fingers over every line of your body.”

Neither of us looks away. His chest rises and falls faster with each breath he takes. The friction of his chest brushing against my nipples builds a delicious, insatiable heat between my legs. Right here, on the white sands of the small beachfront, I want him to kiss me. Want to feel the heat of his lips brush against mine. Against my skin, down my throat and…

A cough rings out behind me, and I snap out of my fantasy. Gavin peeks over my head, his smile faltering when he sees who stands there. Only one possible person could be there. Alyson. And from the scene she walked in on, I would not be shocked if she policed the rest of the shoot.

Gavin’s eyes come back to mine before he bends to press a soft kiss on my lips. “I’ll try to think about something else so we can wrap this up.”

I nod, blurting, “shitty diapers.”

He tips his head in question. “Shitty diapers…” he says, dragging out the words.

“Yeah. Think about that and it’ll solve the current setback.”

He walks backward, a hearty laugh bellowing from his chest. “You always know the right thing to say.”

We hike back to the cars, Alyson leading the way twenty feet ahead of us and griping over how bloodthirsty the insects are in Florida. Gavin falls in step beside me, his fingers wrapped around mine and clutching me as if I might slip away. Not a single word is spoken for ten minutes as we follow the trail.

When we reach the opening, I hear Alyson mutter thank God under her breath. Gavin laughs loud enough for only me to hear, shaking his head at her bitching. Obviously, the mosquito population isn’t as predominant in California. Seeing as summer exists the majority of the year in Florida, I would not be shocked if mosquitos were dubbed the state insect one day.

Once we are back in the lot, Alyson walks over to her rental, but not before sending a knowing look to Gavin. A look that says she understands, but also not to push her boundaries. What those boundaries are, I am not privy to.

I press the unlock button on my key fob, lifting the hatch and tucking my cameras into the bags under the cover. Gavin stands inches away as his gaze sears me. After everything is in its rightful place, I step back and close the hatch. When I turn to face Gavin, my eyes roam his body. Starting at the waistband of his board shorts—which barely hang on his hips—trailing up the grooves and curves of his abdomen, falling on his pecs—where my mouth waters at the sight of the barbells through his nipples—rising up his throat. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as my eyes scrape over his stubble and lips, and eventually land on eyes that want to devour me.

Fuck me.

His expression says everything his mouth is not. The way his tongue jets out and swipes along his bottom lip before he clamps it between his teeth. The slight smirk that follows. How his irises shift from steel to pewter. A slight rise and fall of his shoulders as his breath comes faster. How his pulse noticeably pumps harder in that spot just below his ear.

Not only does he want to kiss me. He wants to peel away my shorts and tank. But he also aches to run his fingers through my hair, ball them into fists and yank the strands taught against my scalp. To see my body bow and plead for his touch, his mouth, his tongue. Along every inch of my skin, rebranding and rememorizing all the places he has been once before.

Both of us stand stock-still. Not touching. Not speaking. Sharing a bond our bodies and hearts have never forgotten. The void between us grows less dark and vacant with each passing second.

He flings the shirt he’s been holding over his shoulder, sliding his sunglasses down and shielding his eyes from the sun. “Have dinner with