Page 59 of Double Dared
My heart sped up a little. “Okay,” I said. And there was a freedom in it, a liberation of some lingering vestiges of self-consciousness. Because with Harrison, you weren’t allowed to be self-conscious. You weren’tallowed to question if you were beautiful because he made you beautiful, no matter what.
“Wait here,” Harrison said, rising from the bed. He walked away slowly, his hips swaying and his firm ass the last thing I saw before he disappeared down the hallway.
He returned a minute later, a camera in his hand. It was one of those old Polaroid cameras that printed the images instantly. I recognize it by the bulky bottom where the photo paper was stacked.
“You wanna?” he asked, lifting the camera to show me.
Strange how hard my heart was beating at the thought. “Yes,” I said, then turned around to lie on my stomach, folding an arm under my head and resting one side of my face in it. “Like this.”
Harrison circled me with reverence, searching for an angle. Then I heard his breath stop, and the tension lasted for an eternity between us before the camera clicked and the shutter snapped open and shut.
The little mechanism in the camera buzzed, pushing out a blank, glossy paper that would soon show us how Harrison saw me.
As the colors emerged, so did the highlights, shadows, and shapes in the image, folds of the duvet beneath a naked figure of my legs, crossed at the ankles, ass curving high and the curve falling along the small of my back, lines extending to my broad upper back and shoulders, and only a hint of my cheek and eye visible beyond my messy hair.
Harrison placed the photograph on the nightstand, then glanced around the room. “Go stand by the fire,” he said.
“Are you inspired?” I asked.
Harrison replied by stopping me mid-rise and kissing me deeply. I did what he said, walking over to the fireplace and standing in the dancing light and shadows, facing the flames. My dick hung soft over my balls, and I turned to face Harrison just a little more when he whispered that I was perfect, triggering the shutter again.
We waited another few seconds for the photograph to come out, and then Harrison left it aside without waiting for it to fade in. Instead, he told me where to go and what to do, focused now on what he was doing.
I followed him through it, unbothered by my nakedness and emboldened by his compliments. He told me to face away from the fire, but to look at it over my shoulder, right hand on my left shoulder, chin resting on the back of it, eyes closed softly. Then I found myself standing on the balcony, glass doors open wide and pale curtains framing me, while moonlight lit me up and cool air caressed my bare skin. A few moments later, I was facing Harrison again, up close, as he took a photo of my head and shoulders. Then, feeling risky, I directed Harrison instead, coming down to my knees and reaching for his hips, looking up at him and the lens before his eye. And then, lifting my head high, I leaned my torso all the way back and planted my hands behind me on thefloor, still kneeling but emphasizing my torso, thighs, and cock for him.
Harrison whispered encouragements, telling me what a gorgeous person I was. And I believed him. How could I not? He made me feel gorgeous. He made me feel special, interesting, curious, and sexy.
He made it all seem so easy.
“You’re getting hard again,” Harrison said. “It’s beautiful.”
I lay on the floor, not sure what I was performing, but certain that it felt right. My hand moved down my abdomen as my dick thickened with arousal, and the shutter snapped every few seconds, followed by the buzz of the camera developing the photo.
And later, while still dazed and heated from the trance that this experience had been, I sat naked next to him on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, and Harrison held a stack of newly developed images.
They were grainy, vintage warm, freezing moments within their frames forever. They were beautiful, especially when I connected them to the feelings of arousal and praise and pleasure, each one unique and uniquely framed.
“I don’t think anyone I ever met would have let me do this,” Harrison said, looking at me while holding a particularly risky photograph of me on the bed, lying on my front, legs spread and ass lifted and in full view of the lens.
I chuckled softly. “I just do what you tell me, and things turn out for the better.”
“Mm.” Harrison thought about it, then stacked the photos together again and tossed them on the bed. He looked at me for a long moment. “You tell me what to do, and we’ll see how that plays out.”
Ideas zipped through my mind like lightning bolts. Then I cut through all that noise and found what I truly wanted him to do. I took his hand, and I led him around the bed to lie with me.
I lay on my side, facing away from him, and had him wrap his big arm around my torso while his entire body fit so perfectly against mine. His knees under mine, his crotch against my ass, his stomach against the small of my back, and his lips on the back of my neck.
“See?” Harrison said. “It’s not at all the things I say that are right. It’s you.”
“It’s us,” I said. “You make me…happy with myself.”
His arm wrapped a little tighter around me, and we drifted to sleep, naked and unburdened, in the beautiful house deep in the forest.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
taylor
True to his word,Harrison wouldn’t let either of us put on clothes for the whole next day and the night that followed.
