Shutter Release

The studio smelled of ozone and dust, like the air before a summer storm. I was there to shoot headshots for a real estate agent, but the moment Lena walked in, I forgot the name on my appointment book. She was my neighbor from two doors down, the one who waved at me from her driveway in yoga pants, the one whose husband traveled for work more than he was home.

“You’re the photographer?” she asked, pulling off her sunglasses. Her voice was low, a little amused.

“Mark,” I said, my throat dry.

She looked around at the softboxes and backdrops, then back at me. “I’ve seen you through your window,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You work late.”

I felt heat creep up my neck. “You too.”

She laughed, a soft, knowing sound. “I’m a light sleeper.”

I gestured to the stool in front of the seamless paper. “Have a seat.”

She sat, crossing her legs. The dress she wore was simple, navy blue, but it clung to her hips like it was painted on. I adjusted the key light, trying to focus on the dials instead of the way her collarbone caught the light.

“This is for your portfolio?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

“Something like that.” She tilted her chin up. “My husband thinks I’m at a client lunch.”

The words hung in the air between us. I lowered the camera. “Lena…”

“What?” Her eyes were bright, daring. “You’re going to tell me this is unprofessional?”

I didn’t answer. I just walked around the camera and stood in front of her, close enough to smell her perfume — something floral, with a hint of vanilla.

She reached out and hooked a finger through my belt loop, pulling me closer. “I’ve thought about this,” she whispered. “When I’m in bed at night, and I hear you moving around next door. I think about your hands.”

Her hand slid up my thigh, and I felt my cock stiffen instantly, straining against my jeans. She noticed. Of course she noticed.

“See?” she murmured, her fingers tracing the outline. “You’re not so professional either.”

I grabbed her wrist, not hard, just to stop her. “Your husband —”

“Is in Dallas,” she said flatly. “He’s been in Dallas for three months. And the last time he was here, he fell asleep before I even finished my wine.” She looked up at me, her eyes suddenly soft, vulnerable. “I just want to feel something, Mark. Please.”

Fuck. I couldn’t say no to that. I didn’t want to.

I pulled her off the stool and turned her around, pressing her against the backdrop stand. The paper rustled behind her. My hands were on her hips, then sliding up her sides, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin fabric.

“You want this?” I asked, my mouth at her ear.

She nodded, her breath coming faster. “I want you to fuck my mouth,” she said, and the dirty words from her lips made my cock throb painfully. “I want to feel you hit the back of my throat. I want to taste you.”

I unzipped my jeans, pulled my cock out. It was swollen, leaking, the head slick and dark red. Lena’s eyes widened, and she licked her lips.

“God,” she breathed. “You’re big.”

“You can take it,” I said, more of a question than a statement.

She knelt down on the studio floor, the hard concrete making her wince, but she didn’t care. She took me in her hand first, stroking slowly, her thumb spreading the bead of precum over the head. Then she opened her mouth and took me in.

Her lips were hot and wet, sliding down my shaft inch by inch. I watched her, the way her cheeks hollowed, the way her eyes watered but stayed locked on mine. She moaned around me, and the vibration traveled straight down my spine.

“That’s it,” I groaned, threading my fingers through her hair. “Just like that, Lena.”

She pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to my cock. “Harder,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Fuck my throat.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I gripped her hair and pushed her head down, burying myself deep. She gagged, her throat contracting around me, but she didn’t pull away. I held her there for a second, then pulled back, letting her breathe, then pushed in again.

The rhythm was rough, raw. My hips were moving now, fucking her face while she knelt, her hands gripping my thighs for balance. Her eyes were streaming tears, but she was moaning, loud and hungry, a sound that echoed off the studio walls.

“You like that?” I rasped. “You like having my cock down your throat?”

She nodded as much as she could, her nose buried in my pubic hair. I felt the pressure building, the heat coiling low in my belly.

“I’m gonna cum,” I warned.

She looked up at me, and I saw the challenge in her eyes. *Do it.*

I pulled out just in time, stroking myself over her face, coating her cheeks and lips with thick, hot ropes of cum. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, catching the last drops on her tongue. Then she looked at me, her lips red and swollen, her face a mess.

“Well,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s one way to get a client.”

I laughed, a shaky, surprised sound. “You’re something else, Lena.”

She stood up, wobbly, and I caught her by the arm. She leaned into me, her forehead against my chest.

“My husband’s back next Thursday,” she said quietly.

I tilted her chin up. “Then I guess we have a week.”

She smiled, a real smile this time, and for a second she looked almost shy. “I guess we do.”

I kissed her forehead, tasting the salt of her skin. The studio lights hummed around us, and the air smelled like sex and film and something new. I didn’t know what this was, but I knew I wanted more.