“I used to be okay at it,” he hedged. “Like I said, I don’t have much time to shoot.” He swallowed and leaned to the side to press into her again. “I’d like to take pictures of you, though.”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “Oh my god, no. I hate pictures. As soon as someone aims a camera at me, I just freeze up.”

Alejandro moved his right hand to Deja’s knee. He pushed the hem of her dress up so he could stroke her inner thigh with his fingertips. She took the most elegant intake of breath, and his composure slipped away. He slowly pushed his entire hand between his legs, waiting for her to stop him or open her legs and invite him inside. When the tips of his fingers touched the place where her thighs met, they both stilled and inhaled sharply.

Alejandro’s gaze was on her mouth, stained with the remnants of a wine-colored lipstick. He licked his lips and then met her eyes. He watched as she placed the wine glass onto his coffee table, and then leaned back, getting comfortable on his couch. And then she spread her legs for him.

He groaned and started moving his hand again, and his dick hardened in his pants. She moaned softly as he possessively cupped her mound with his hand. She was shaking. So was he.

“Would you really freeze if I took the pictures?” he whispered to her.

“Probably,” she said in a breathy moan. She squirmed, spreading her legs wider as her eyes drifted closed.

He couldn’t look away. He loved watching as the small wrinkles over her brow began to disappear as she relaxed under his touch.

Alejandro had spent a year memorizing the contours of Deja’s face in pieces, new little details he memorized about her as they passed one another around campus, but he wanted more than glimpses. Alejandro wanted Deja completely; he wanted to touch and taste her and know that it wasn’t a fleeting thing, but it was too soon to be thinking that let alone to ask her for it, so he moved his fingers into her underwear and started stroking her sex. He said with his hands what he couldn’t say with his mouth. Not yet, at least.

“I don’t think so,” he whispered in a hoarse voice as he reclined next to her and teased her opening with his index finger.

“What?” she groaned, and those wrinkles returned.

“I think you’d be okay if I took pictures of you,” he said, pressing his middle finger inside of her. “I think I could relax you.”

She shifted her hips with a groan, trying to pull him deeper inside her.

He pulled his finger back, teasing her opening again before pressing two fingers inside of her this time. The wrinkles softened and faded.