Chapter 62 Vignette 58
The studio smelled faintly of paper backdrops and expensive cologne. Soft jazz pulsed low from the speaker in the corner, barely covering the sound of the shutter clicks.
Camilla stood beneath the lights, barefoot, wrapped in nothing but a silk robe that clung to the curves of her waist. The fabric slipped off one shoulder as she moved into her next pose, exposing the line of her collarbone like a quiet invitation.
"Good," his voice murmured from behind the camera, smooth and low. Like something uncoiling in the dark. "Hold that."
Her eyes fluttered shut for a second. Maybe it was the heat of the spotlight. Maybe it was him—Jasper Hale. The infamous photographer whose portraits were equal parts art and hunger. She hadn’t expected him when she accepted the last-minute shoot.
And she definitely hadn’t expected the way his gaze burned through the lens, like he could see more than the curve of her body—like he wanted to.
"Now," Jasper said, stepping out from behind the camera. He held it down by his side. His eyes scanned her, unapologetically slow. "Loosen the robe. Just a little. Let it slip like it’s not supposed to."
Camilla swallowed. Her hands moved before she gave herself permission. The silk slid down her other shoulder, baring the smooth lines of her neck and just enough cleavage to be suggestive.
His mouth parted slightly.
Click.
She didn’t breathe. His attention was too focused, too heavy. Every time the shutter clicked, it felt like it captured more than her image—it stole something warm and secret from beneath her skin.
"Beautiful," he said, voice almost reverent. "Now turn… and look at me. Not the camera. Me."
Their eyes met and everything shifted.
Something unspoken passed between them—thick and electric, like the moment before a thunderstorm.
Jasper exhaled slowly. “Hold that,” he said again, but his voice had changed. Rougher and tighter now. Like he was barely holding something back.
Then, after a beat: “Actually.. wait. No. Try shifting your weight to the left leg. Let the robe slip a little more off your shoulder. Chin down.”
She tried. She really did.
Camilla adjusted her stance, but the motion felt awkward and stiff. The silk bunched at her elbow instead of slipping like before, and her shoulder rose too high. She hesitated, biting her bottom lip.
He watched her for a moment. The corners of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile.
“I’ll show you,” Jasper said quietly. He slung the camera across his chest and stepped forward into the spotlight with her.
Camilla’s breath caught.
He was close. Taller than she’d realized. His body heat met hers before his hands ever did.
“Here,” he murmured, reaching for her wrist. His fingers were firm and warm as he lifted her arm slightly, guiding it behind her head. “Like this.”
Then the other hand slid over her waist. Not rushed but measured and intentional. He repositioned her hips, tilting them just enough to make the robe cling tighter over one thigh and part slightly across her chest.
His knuckles brushed her skin.
She flinched from the heat.
Jasper didn’t say anything. His hands stayed on her, slow and deliberate, as if adjusting a sculpture. But every graze of his palm felt like a brand. A silent claim.
Inside, she was unraveling. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. She wasn’t sure if she was breathing right. Every inch of her skin felt aware, raw and alert beneath his touch. Like her body knew something her brain hadn’t caught up to yet.
And him?
His expression had changed. His jaw had tightened, and his eyes had dropped to her mouth once. The tip of his tongue pressed briefly to the corner of his own, like he was fighting the urge to do something reckless.
He looked hungry. But still, his hands never rushed. They lingered. Moved again—this time brushing against the side of her neck, adjusting the way her head tilted. Her pulse jumped under his touch.
He felt it and their eyes met again. His breath hitched.
Neither of them moved.
Then, slowly, deliberately, Jasper said, “I need to get one last shot like this.”
He took the shot and finally, the shoot wrapped with a reluctant final click.
Jasper lowered the camera and glanced at her. “That’s a wrap.”
Camilla pulled the robe back up her shoulder, but her eyes never lost their glint. She thanked the makeup artist absently, smiled politely at the assistant packing up lighting gear—but her focus kept slipping back to him.
Every time he turned his head, he caught her looking. Not just looking but watching, a smirk tugging at her lips, eyes heavy-lidded and teasing. She let her gaze linger just long enough to make it a promise.
By the time she left with her entourage, she didn’t say goodbye. She just winked at him.
––––––––
It was almost 10 p.m. when Jasper finally turned off the main light in the studio.
The day had been long. His team had left hours ago, chattering about late dinners and tomorrow’s edits. The models had gone. Even Camilla’s ride had come and gone. He’d watched her disappear through the glass doors like she had no reason to come back.
He was locking the cabinet behind the front desk when he heard the soft click of the door. He turned and there she was.
Backlit by the hallway light, her silhouette was all curves and liquid confidence. She stepped inside with slow, deliberate grace, heels tapping gently against the polished floor. Her coat hung loosely from her shoulders, but she didn’t bother closing it. The neckline of her top dipped low. Her lips were glossed.
It was Camilla again.
“You forgot something?” he asked, his voice low. But he already knew better.
She didn’t answer at first. She let the silence stretch as she walked further in, one step at a time. Her fingers grazed along the edge of a nearby table, then drifted toward a backdrop stand, brushing lightly like she needed something to do with her hands.
“No,” she said eventually. “I remembered something.”
Jasper watched her as she walked like she owned the air between them, chin slightly lifted, hips rolling slow and unapologetic.
Her eyes never left his.
When she was close enough to reach him, she did.
Lightly, almost innocently. Her fingers curled around the hem of his shirt. Just a touch. Then they smoothed over the fabric, up toward his chest. Her eyes followed the movement.
“Long day?” she asked, voice soft but laced with mischief.
He didn’t answer.
She smiled—slow and wicked. Then her hand moved again, a little bolder this time, slipping over his shoulder, then back to his chest.
She stepped closer. So close that their heels touched. Her chest almost touched him.
Her eyes rolled down to his lips, then she pressed two—just two fingers—to his chest and he fell back on the couch behind him like he had no control over his own weight.
She smirked and leaned in.
Her lips brushed against his as she whispered, “don't worry, it's just the two of us. I'll make you happy tonight.”
His breath caught in his throat. He couldn't say a word even if he wanted to. He just watched her fingers trail from his chest down to his jeans.
She bit her lips and took his belt, loosening it.
Camilla looked up at him and he still wore the unreadable expression on his face—an unreadable expression with a heart thudding louder than carnival speakers.
She unzipped his jeans and rubbed her slender fingers on the large print formed by the ck behind his grey colored boxer briefs.
He licked his lips but she didn't see it.
Then she took out his ck like it belonged to her and held it in her hands, clearly dazed by the length.
She took it in her mouth from the tip and then pushed it down to hit her throat. She took it out again and it glistened with her saliva.
She licked on the body like a lollipop, then sucked it so deep that she gagged.
Jasper threw his head back on the chair’s headrest, letting out soft groans.
A while later, he couldn't feel her mouth on his dk anymore. Her hands were no longer on it too.
He looked down at her and she was already sliding her panties down her legs.
He didn't say a word or move an inch until she lifted her skirt, turned around and sat on his ck.
Only then did he groan—loudly.
She sat deep and upright on it, then tied her hair up into a messy bun before she began moving up and down.
For a moment, he stopped breathing. Or maybe he just couldn't notice his breathing. His entire attention was on the thought that her psy—tight, wet and warm was sitting on his dk, giving him steady sweet rides.
His hands lightly grazed her hips before he held it tight, supporting her up and down movement on him.
The studio, once quiet and still was now occupied with moans, as slapping against thighs. And the very slurpy sound of his dk gliding in and out of her slimy psy.
Then she stood up and straddled him again. This time, with her face to him.
He held her waist and shifted slightly down in the chair. Then started his own hip movement to go even deeper inside her.
She moaned. Screamed. But he went even faster. And deeper until he felt his nuts about to release.
He tried to pull out of her but she sat firm and he released inside her.
Afterwards, she fell on him, his dk was still fixed deeply in her psy. Her heavy breaths hit against his neck.
Then she shifted her face just enough for their eyes to meet. They stared silently at each other for moments.
Then she pulled the triangle trick on him.
Her eyes shifted between his both eyes then down at his lips. It lingered there as she leaned forward and kissed him.
Lightly at first. But it deepened as she started to twirl her hips, grinding his ck and making it hard all-over.
She did it slowly. But as seconds glided by, her thrusts increased.
They literally spent the entire night breathless, moaning, fking and filling each other with cm.