The studio smelled faintly of coffee and the soft tang of camera oil.

Sophie stepped through the doorway, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Her long, blonde curls bounced with each step, the tight pencil skirt hugging her hips, accentuating the hourglass shape that had caught Iain’s eye the moment she enquired about the shoot.

Iain looked up from adjusting the lights, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "You're early," he said with a half-smile, one eyebrow raised. His voice was low, warm, with a quiet confidence that seemed to wrap around her like velvet.

“I like to make a good impression,” Sophie replied, her lips curled into something halfway between polite and flirtatious.

“You already have.”

The words hung between them, heavy with suggestion.

He moved with unhurried control, adjusting the camera as he gestured for her to stand in front of the backdrop. “Let’s start with some basic headshots,” he said. “Relax. Shoulders down. Look straight into the lens like you’re telling me a secret with your eyes.”

Click.

“Good… now tilt your chin just a little. Perfect.”

Click. Click.

“Now… try something a little playful. Bite your lip. Don’t think—just feel it.”

She obeyed, hesitating only a moment. The atmosphere shifted. A subtle, electric charge.

Iain stepped closer, his voice a little softer now. “Sophie, you have this… tension. I want to see it. Not just the face—use your hands. Draw them up, slowly, over your thighs. Let them linger.”

She hesitated again.

“Trust me,” he said, taking a step into her personal space. “You came here to be seen, right? So let me see.”

Her hands slid upward, grazing the fabric of her skirt. Just a little. Just enough to let the imagination stir.

Click.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

The praise hit her lower than it should have, pooling heat between her thighs.

“Let’s try one with you facing the wall… then turn to glance over your shoulder at me. Lift your hem just a touch. Enough to make someone wish they were standing right where I am.”

Sophie swallowed hard, heart racing, unsure whether the flutter in her chest was nerves… or arousal.

She obeyed.

And Iain’s breath hitched, ever so slightly.

Click.

Then he stepped forward, brushing a stray curl from her cheek, fingertips barely grazing her skin. His touch lingered, a whisper across her jaw, a promise left unspoken.

"You’ve got something in your hair," he said, though they both knew there was nothing there.

His hand trailed behind her ear, fingers curling gently around the back of her neck, just enough pressure to stir something inside her. Sophie didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

And when their eyes locked again, the air between them vibrated.

"Let's take a break," Iain said, his voice low, dark, and deliberate.

"But don’t change. I want to try something… different next."

Sophie perched on the edge of the small leather stool, her thighs pressed close together, skirt riding slightly higher than it had been earlier. The studio had grown warmer—or maybe it was just her skin responding to the weight of Iain’s gaze, which now lingered longer than it had before.

He returned with a glass of water in one hand and his camera in the other. “You okay?” he asked, handing her the glass.

She nodded, sipping, her lips moist as they pulled away from the rim. Iain’s eyes followed the bead of water that slipped down her neck and disappeared beneath the collar of her blouse.

“I want to try something different now,” he said, his tone lower, more assured. “Less polished. More raw. Think… vulnerability with an edge.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like boudoir?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “Like… power and surrender. Letting go of the act. Just being seen.”

His hand moved again to her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear, fingertips trailing down the column of her neck. She didn’t pull away.

“Take off your jacket,” he said softly.

It wasn’t a question.

She hesitated for a breath, then slowly slipped it from her shoulders, revealing the soft white blouse beneath—thin enough to hint at the curves and tension hiding underneath.

Iain stepped back and raised the camera.

Click.

“Undo the top two buttons.”

Her fingers trembled just slightly as they worked them free, revealing the delicate slope of her cleavage, the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickened.

“Good… now cross your arms under your breasts. Push them up just a little. Look at me like you’ve been thinking about this moment all day.”

Click.

“You’ve got that look, Sophie,” he said, circling her like a wolf sizing up prey. “Like you’re starting to wonder how far you’ll let this go.”

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

He stepped forward again, close enough that she could smell him—warm spice and the faint scent of leather. His hand lifted, brushing the fabric of her blouse.

“May I?” he asked.

Sophie nodded.

He undid another button. Then another. Until the blouse hung open, revealing the soft, lacy cups of her bra and the swell of her breasts.

“Stand up,” he said.

She rose slowly, aware of every movement, every shift of fabric against her skin. His hands didn’t touch her—not yet—but they hovered, commanding without contact.

“Turn around for me.”

She did.

“Lift your hair up.”

She gathered it in her hands, revealing the line of her spine, the soft curve of her waist.

Click.

“Unzip the skirt. Let it fall.”

There was a pause. A beat. A decision.

Then the whisper of the zip filled the silence.

The skirt slid down her long legs and pooled around her heels, leaving her standing in nothing but black lace panties and her bra—tall, curvy, flushed, and utterly exposed under his watchful eye.

Iain circled her slowly, like an artist admiring his masterpiece.

“You look incredible,” he murmured. “But we’re only just getting started.”

He stepped in close again, his voice barely more than a breath against her ear.

“Next, I want to feel how much you’re enjoying this.”

Sophie stood still in the studio’s warm glow, her body a living sculpture of lace and curves and delicious tension. Iain didn’t speak for a moment—he just looked. Looked like he could devour her whole.

She tried to still her breathing, but it betrayed her—rising and falling in shallow waves that made her chest bounce ever so slightly inside the delicate frame of her bra.

He came closer.

No camera now.

Just him.

And her.

“I’m going to touch you,” he said, voice low, deliberate. “Just to fix a few things.”

Sophie nodded.

She wanted him to.

His fingertips found her shoulder, grazing the thin strap of her bra. He traced it slowly, down over the curve of her arm, then slid behind her to fix the way the bra band rested. A thumb pressed against the center of her spine, and her knees nearly buckled.

“You have no idea how sexy your back is,” he murmured.

Then his hands moved to her waist—slow, firm, possessive. He adjusted her stance, gently spreading her feet apart with his own.

"Better," he whispered. "Now hold still."

His hands roamed lower, skimming just above the curve of her ass without touching it directly, thumbs grazing skin just beneath the band of her panties.

“Just making sure everything’s… picture perfect.”

She whimpered under her breath.

“Sensitive already?”

“I don’t usually—” she started.

“I know,” he interrupted gently. “But you will for me.”

His hands slid around to her front now, slowly brushing up the soft skin of her stomach, teasing just beneath the bra line. The heat of his touch made her shiver.

Then—he hooked a finger under the center clasp.

With a single flick, her bra came undone.

It slid from her shoulders and dropped between them, leaving her breasts fully exposed to the cool air and his hungry eyes.

Iain let out a low breath. “Fuck, Sophie…”

She didn’t cover herself. She couldn’t. She wanted him to look.

And he did—eyes full of lust and intention.

He stepped forward until her nipples barely grazed the fabric of his shirt.

Then he raised a hand and ran a single finger across one nipple, making her gasp. It hardened instantly under his touch.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

His thumb and forefinger pinched lightly—just enough to make her body jolt.

“Still holding still?” he teased, voice dark and warm. “You’re doing so well.”

Then his other hand slid down her side… down her hip… and slipped around behind her, finally cupping one cheek of her ass through the lace.

A firm squeeze.

“Soft here. But I wonder how hard I could make you come with just my hands.”

Her breath hitched.

“Can I take your panties off now, Sophie?”

She nodded—too turned on to speak.

But he didn’t move.

“No. Say it.”

Her eyes flicked up to his. Her voice trembled.

“Take them off… please.”

His hands moved then—slow, deliberate, hooking beneath the waistband and dragging the lace down, inch by inch. She stepped out of them, bare now, fully exposed, trembling and aching.

He didn’t touch her pussy.

Not yet.

Instead, he stood upright and whispered, “Now we start the real shoot.”

Sophie stood stark naked beneath the low studio lights, her body flushed and glistening, nipples still peaked from the touch he’d left on her skin. She didn’t know exactly when she’d stopped thinking of this as a photoshoot and started thinking of it as something else entirely. Maybe it was the way his voice dripped control. Maybe it was the way his eyes never left her—hungry, claiming her before he'd even laid a proper hand.

Iain had picked the camera back up now. But this wasn’t the same professional photographer from earlier.

No.

This was a man indulging in his obsession. A man who owned the room.

And her.

“Get on your knees,” he said.

Sophie’s breath caught, but she sank slowly, her knees touching the cold hard floor. Her thighs parted slightly out of instinct. She knew how she must look—exposed, open, offered.

Click.

“Arms behind your back. Chin up. Good girl…”

She bit her lip at the praise, eyes fluttering closed for a second before fixing on him again.

“Now… lean back on your hands. Arch your back for me. Let those tits lift—yes, just like that.”

Click. Click.

“You’re art, Sophie. Filthy, perfect art.”

He lowered the camera and stepped forward. One hand reached down, brushing over her cheek, trailing down her neck… then lower, gliding over one breast, his thumb teasing the hard nipple until she gasped.

Then the other hand slid between her parted thighs.

Still no direct contact—just the heat of his palm hovering so close it made her hips twitch forward in desperate, involuntary need.

“I can feel the heat coming off this pussy,” he said darkly, smirking. “You’re soaked, aren’t you?”

She nodded, breathless.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m wet…”

“Show me,” he said, stepping back. “Spread those lips. Let me see what I’ve done to you.”

Sophie’s hands moved obediently, parting her soft folds, revealing the glistening, needy mess between her thighs.

His growl was low and deep.

“I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re this ready? Fuck, Sophie…”

He moved closer again, crouched in front of her now, face just inches from that aching wetness. His breath ghosted across her lips, making her shiver.

Then, at last—his fingers touched her.

One stroke. Barely a graze. But it made her cry out.

Then a slow, firm circle over her clit. Again. And again.

“You like being played with, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she moaned. “Please… don’t stop…”

“Greedy little thing.”

Then—he stopped.

And stood.

Her eyes trailed up his body, landing on the prominent bulge straining against his trousers.

He was huge. Not in length—but the girth was obscene, the thick outline pulsing with need.

Sophie couldn’t look away.

“Come here,” Iain said.

She crawled across the floor to him, still naked, still aching.

He placed one hand on the back of her head, fingers laced in her curls.

“Take it out.”

Sophie hesitated—just a second. Just long enough for Iain to say, more firmly, “Now.”

She reached up, fingers trembling, and undid his belt. Unzipped him.

And there it was.

Thick. Heavy. Already glistening at the tip with anticipation.

“Look at you,” he growled. “Naked, kneeling… about to taste the cock that’s going to ruin you.”

Her lips parted.

But he placed a hand gently over her mouth. Not yet.

“Not until I say.”