I stare at her, wondering if she’s about to do something she’s possibly never done before. If maybe this fresh, charmingly sexual woman wants to give me one of her firsts.
I’ll take it.
I dig into my wallet and hand her a few bills. When I move to step inside with her, she presses against my chest, keeping me out.
“Watch for your photos. There.” She nods at the slot on the outside panel.
I give her a wary look, but ultimately agree to this. Maybe she wants to give me photos of herself first before we take any together.
Too fucking right. I would love photos of Brooke.
I step back with a quick jerk of my chin. “All right.”
The curtain is drawn. It stops a short distance from the bottom of the booth, completely obstructing my view of Brooke. I move to the side and press my back against the panel, waiting. A soft shuffling sound comes from behind the curtain, followed by a click, the shutter of the lens. Three more follow between long seconds, and I imagine her changing her pose, going from something innocent and playful to something a bit silly. Brief flashes of white light streak across the tile floor at my feet. I cross my arms over my chest, only to push away from the panel when I hear something slide into the slot behind me.
I pick up the sheet of photos.
Good God. Holy . . .
“Fuck,” I groan, my cock quickly lengthening as I stare at the four shots of Brooke; topless, pinching her rose colored nipples, licking and sucking the skin of her tits. Her pretty little arse turned toward the camera in the bottom shots while she fucks her * with two fingers. Over her shoulder, her eyes are round with abandon. Feverish and frenzied. Her red lips parted with a sigh or a moan.
She’s giving me this. This gorgeous girl is giving me images of her body to not only admire, but to keep and stare at for later, stroke my cock to, do what I want with.
I wrench the curtain open and step inside, dropping the sheet of photos on the bench and grabbing her face after I conceal us.
She’s still topless. Her skirt is still gathered at her waist, and she’s panting, breathless from her own touch.
I slide my mouth against hers. “Jesus Christ, Brooke. You’re trying to kill me, yeah? You sweet fucking thing.” She answers with a moan as I kiss her jaw and suck on the skin beneath her ear. Sugar sticks to my tongue. Gripping her arse in my hands, I groan against her neck. “You taste so fucking good. Like one of those bloody cupcakes you make.”
“It’s my body lotion. Vanilla cake batter. It’s edible.”
“Fuck. Don’t tell me that.” My groin throbs against her belly. I pinch my eyes shut.
Stay focused, mate. You don’t want to rush with her.
Brooke giggles against my ear. “Why not? I’m wearing it for you. Lick away.”
I lean back and bring her hand to my mouth, drawing on the tips of her fingers.
“Mason,” she whispers, moving in to kiss me, sucking her taste off my tongue. Pressing, pressing, harder. Her lips are soft yet commanding, and she tastes like her wine from earlier; a warm, ripe fruit. I bite her lip and she gasps, tilting her head back and brushing her heavy breasts against my shirt. She does the same to me, a quick bite of pain, and I groan, slapping her ass and relishing in the quiet shudder that ripples through her body.
Fucking hell, she likes it.
Her warm hands travel under my shirt and across my stomach, nails dragging against skin, fingers squeezing my hips and pulling me closer while her mouth slowly devours me.
“Filthy fucking devil. Sit. I want to kiss you here.” I press my hand between her legs, my other palming her breast, roughly squeezing it.
She drops back onto the bench, meeting my eyes as I lower to my knees in front of her, as I spread her thighs open with my hands and settle my body between them.