The photographer walked in rumpled and a bit worse for wear.
“He must have given the guards a hard time,” I murmured to Sara.
“Just as long as he’s professional, this should be fine,” replied Sara.
I watch his eyes wander the decor. Lingering over the more functional and esoteric pieces of furniture. Eyes finally centering on Sara, Tara, and I.
His breath hitches a bit when he realizes Tara is wearing only body painy but he then ignores us and sets up his gear.
This whole process is like getting a tattoo. Cool in concept, awesome when it’s finished but mostly dull with some moments of excruciating pain thrown in just to keep it interesting.
He moves us around like marionettes. Positioning us to catch the light of the fading sun. Moving Tara so that she’s between us or at our feet. Calm and efficient.
And finally he packs up and promises to have the pictures ready soon for us to look at and pick through.
Sara looks exhausted and Tara seems like she’s ready to get out of the body paint.
“Sara, if you would be so kind as to call the guard station and tell them to start phase 3, we can go and rest for a bit.”
“Tara, get your cute butt to the shower. I’ll be in shortly to wash you.”
Tara minces her way past, each step a study in sleepy seduction. She looks back over her shoulder and smiles that knowing smile. The soft flash, there and gone as she disappears around the corner.
Sara looks at me and asks, “What’s phase 3?”
“Just a private meal and some alone time. I thought we’d cater in. I presumed we’d be too tired to cook much of anything.”
Sara smiles up, eyes flashing through half lidded eyes, “But what if I’m hungry now?”
I smile, “Well, presumably, you will find something to eat that is to your liking.”
Her hands reach to my waist and the sounds of metal against leather unclasping hiss through the room.