Whats he doing?

The shutter clicks a few more times, the sound sharp against the quiet hum of the pool filter. Izzy holds the pose, the wet white bikini clinging to her, the fabric of the bottoms pressed taut against her mound. She can feel the cool evening air against the damp skin of her inner thighs, and she watches Marcus's face behind the camera, waiting for his next direction.

He lowers the phone, looking at her not with a smirk but with a steady, assessing gaze. "It's good. But it could be spicier."

Before she can ask what he means, he sets the phone down on the lounger, steps forward, and crouches beside her. His hands move to the sides of her bikini bottoms. Izzy breath catches, her eyes widening slightly, but she doesn't pull away. She watches him, her heart drumming.

Marcus grips the thin fabric and pulls it upward, the wet cotton sliding against her skin, wedging itself between the folds of her labia. She feels the pressure, the intimate pull of the fabric against sensitive flesh, and a soft gasp escapes her lips. Her thighs twitch, but she doesn't close them.

"There," Marcus says, his voice low, matter-of-fact, like he's adjusting a strap on a tripod. "That's the shot. Wet fabric, deep in the seam. It shows everything without showing anything."

Izzy swallows, her cheeks flushed, but she doesn't look away. She shifts her hips slightly, feeling the fabric shift against her, a dull, constant pressure that makes her bite her lip. She looks up at him through her lashes, her voice soft, trembling just a little.

"Like this? You think Joe'll like this?"