What to say

Izzy keeps her knees open, her body still angled toward the lens, but her eyes are fixed on Marcus. The white fabric of the bikini bottoms is still wedged between her labia, pressed there by his fingers only moments ago. She can feel the faint throb of her own heartbeat there, a slow pulse that matches the rhythm of the water lapping against the pool edge.

She doesn't say anything. She just watches him lift the camera again, hears the quiet whir of the autofocus locking in. The shutter clicks once, twice, three times in rapid succession. The sound is sharp and clean against the evening air, and each click seems to draw her further into the moment.

Her nipples are stiff against the damp white fabric, and she's acutely aware of the way the bikini top clings to her. She doesn't cover herself. She shifts her hips just slightly, the fabric pressing deeper into her sensitive flesh, and a soft, involuntary breath escapes her lips.

Marcus doesn't speak either. He just moves, adjusting his angle, crouching lower, capturing her from a new perspective. The camera's shutter continues, and she lets herself be seen. She lets the heat in her stomach build, spreading through her thighs, making her restless on the lounger.

She reaches up and runs a hand through her damp hair, pushing it back from her face. Her lips part, slightly, and she looks directly at the lens, holding his gaze through the viewfinder. She doesn't know what to say, but she doesn't need to. The air between them is thick with something neither of them acknowledges out loud.

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