Hold your legs

"Hold your legs up," he says, his voice calm and measured. "Bend your knees and bring them up toward your chest. Let the light catch the curve of your thighs."

She doesn't hesitate. She doesn't even think. Her knees bend, her thighs lifting toward her chest, the wet fabric of the bikini bottoms shifting against her sensitive flesh as she moves. The pose is open, exposed, the white cotton still pressed deep between her folds, and she can feel the strain in her thighs as she holds it. Her back arches slightly, her heels hovering just above the lounger, and she tilts her head back to look at the camera through half-lidded eyes.

"Like this?" she asks, her voice breathless, the words slipping out before she can stop them.

Marcus doesn't answer. The shutter clicks, a rapid series of snaps, and she holds the pose. The cool air brushes against her inner thighs, against the wet fabric pressed against her, and she feels a tremor run through her. She doesn't close her legs. She doesn't look away. She just stays there, open to the lens, letting him capture every inch of her.

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