Grace 19

To the readers,

This is the first romance I've completed in quite some time. I'd always wanted to write something that involved a photographer, and someone being photographed but could never really think of a plot.

Then, a few months ago, a story was uploaded here that I'd like to highlight by name: "Pictures of Her," by Intim8. Intim8 kindly gave me permission to mention them by name, for their story is a direct inspiration. As a result, you'll see some similar elements. I did take some time after reading their story before I started writing it so I wouldn't be too heavily influenced, so hopefully that worked! I highly recommend reading their story; it is excellent.

I can only hope my bit of writing does the inspiration some justice.

As a note, all the characters are in their mid-20s or so, and this is a standalone. It's heavier on dialogue and character interaction, rather than sex, so if that's not your thing, you're warned here! It's not the most realistic story but it flowed out of me naturally, and I enjoyed writing it. I did all the editing, so any mistakes are all mine! I'm also not a photographer, so if there is anything not quite right, the fault lies with me.

I hope you enjoy reading.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

She floated down the stairs like a summer breeze.

For the first time in his life, he realised it was possible for a stranger to switch the mood of an entire day. A gradual charge built in him as she approached, her devastating beauty turning that breeze into a razor wind.

"Are you Torn?"

He nodded, words stuck in his throat.

"Grace."

The usual amiable greetings he had for a new client were nowhere to be heard.

Grace gave him a slight frown and tilted her head. He felt vaguely stupid and immediately busied himself with the camera he was holding. Usually, he checked the relevant email before a client arrived so he could be prepared, remind himself of their goal for the session, but his last shoot had run over time.

Grace looked around at his studio and took off her rucksack, letting it drop to her feet.

"Nice vibe," she said calmly. "Kind of weird to see this place in the basement of a tattoo studio."

"Amelia gives me a good rate," said Torn, finally unsticking. "As long as I take photographs of her clients."

"Tattoo artist upstairs?"

"Right."

Grace gestured to the set. "Is that where I'll be?"

"Oh. Yeah. Uh, I'm sorry. I'm kind of not really prepared. Usually I'd check the email you sent me but my last client... hmm. Less said, the better."

"That bad?"

Torn smiled. "Let's just say they were very exacting. Not necessarily a bad thing. Just a little intense and unexpectedly long."

"Well, you won't have to worry about that with me," said Grace. "You don't even need to read the email. I know what I want and it's mostly just for you to take pictures while I stand."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"So... what's the end goal for you in this shoot? What I mean is, what exactly are you hoping to see with the pictures I take?"

Grace hesitated. She shifted her weight slightly from one foot to the other, a nervous expression flowing with it and disappearing when she settled.

"We don't have to talk about it," Torn assured her. "Just tell me what to do once we start. I can make suggestions here and there once we get going, but you'll have control."

She stared. It was disconcerting after a few seconds and as much as he wanted to look away and distract himself, he couldn't. Those green eyes had an iron hold.

"I want to see myself," she said. "That's all."

"... All right. I'll check my settings and the lighting. Feel free to set yourself up."

She opened her rucksack and started rummaging in it, while he satisfied his pre-shoot checks. Torn walked over to a nearby chest of drawers, and opened the top one to retrieve a fresh memory card. There was a mirror a couple of feet away; in its reflection, Grace stood up straight, holding a few garments in her hand.

"Is there some place I can change?"

He turned to nod. "That corner. Just remember to pull the curtain."

"Thank you."

Change into what?

She walked over to the designated changing corner, a wide area covered by a three-part screen and under a set of rails from which floor-length curtains hung, ensuring an additional barrier for privacy.

She glanced at him once, and the look in her eyes surprised him, before she pulled the curtains shut.

Only then could Torn take a long, deep breath. Her beauty was not only overwhelming, but intimidating, and not at all tempered by the sadness he'd just seen. He shook his head, clearing it. Professionalism. It was important. He just had to get through the next hour or two and that'd be the end of it.

A few minutes later, he was ready, and so was she.

She walked out in a thin grey tank top and a pair of matching small shorts. And every curve threatened to roll over him, squeeze him, destroy him. Torn trembled from the earth moving.

"Are you okay?" Grace asked, pushing a lock of her straight, dark hair behind her ear. She gripped her elbow.

Was something showing on his face? He nodded. "Fine. You?"

She looked around herself, at the muted red sofa behind her and the white sheet backdrop. "I'm nervous."

He almost said he was, too, but that wouldn't make sense in his position. Torn took a deep breath and said, "You're my last client of the day. We've got all the time you need."

She smiled a small, sad smile, and Torn knew then, he would never forget her for as long as he lived.

He cleared his throat and stood behind the tripod, moving the camera until it had her in the centre of the frame. Grace let go of her elbow and focused. The smile was gone and her gaze bored into the lens.

"How are we doing this?" Torn asked.

"You're the photographer. Click at will. Whatever part of me, whatever moment."

He hesitated. And asked, "Whatever part?" Clarification was paramount.

"I wore these clothes for a reason. I won't judge you, whatever you focus on. Close-ups included. Just make sure nothing is left out."

Torn swallowed nervously. On the screen of his camera, he traced the thick hourglass silhouette of her body with his eye. "I might need to be closer to you at times."

"I'm okay with that. I don't want you to hold back."

"Okay."

It was perhaps the strangest session he'd ever had. Grace barely spoke as she changed poses, all of which were remarkably basic. Standing with back straight, to a relaxed posture, to both profiles as he took picture after picture of her whole form.

When she turned her back to him, he briefly admired the way her waist flowed out to her hips. Those shorts were fairly snug, leaving little to the imagination. She calmly placed one foot further back, causing one cheek to bulge a little, and it flustered him.

When she faced him again, she said, "Closer."

His eyes flickered up and met her's. Torn detached the camera from the tripod and approached. He clicked the button irregularly, letting his eye guide him.

"Start from my feet," she instructed.

Torn nodded and crouched down.

He took a picture of both her feet, and then one of each. Slowly moved up her legs. Her shins, and past that, he couldn't help but linger on her thick thighs and the way they merged with her torso. Grace had some tone, no doubt from regular exercise, but there was still softness everywhere.

She subtly put weight on one foot, and then the other. He snapped the shape of her hips as she did that, and then her belly and waist.

Her chest. The line of cleavage, the dents her large nipples made in the thin material as her breasts violently strained against her top. Her collarbone and shoulders, the curves where they merged into her neck.

Seconds flowed into minutes.

Amongst all those simple documentations of her flesh and her contours, he took pictures of little things that caught his eye. Some of them motions, of which he was convinced she had no awareness.

A brief curl of her toes on one foot. A muscle flexing in her thigh, and her inner thighs rubbing together softly. The hem of her top was higher on one side, revealing some of her soft belly and belly button. The dipping of her shoulder and the rise of the other caught his fleeting eye.

She slanted her neck to one side softly at one point, and almost met her shoulder with her jawline. And a lip bite, momentarily revealing a sharp canine. His pulse kicked up; her bite would hurt in a good way.

Her face was last. She was nervous and Torn hesitated, but took a picture nonetheless. Something subtle was present in her eyes, but he didn't recognise it. Another click, only Grace fully aware of what he'd captured in that instant. What if he asked her about it? Would she answer? He doubted it.

She smiled lightly for his camera; the way her full lips stretched mesmerised him.

Something was different. Torn took a couple of pictures but at the same time, tried to take her in holistically. Her chest rose and fell quicker than before. One of her knees was turned inward, and... He paused, unable to believe what he saw.

Was that a small dark patch down there? Right between her legs? His gaze flicked up. Her nipples were harder, more prominent.

When their eyes met then, he finally recognised the subtle touch of arousal in her.

"Torn?" Her voice had a husk to it now.

The razor wind rose, its blades dipped in lava. He stayed silent, too worried about his body reacting to her.

"Do you do nudes?"

It was the worst question she could've asked. She was clearly aroused, wasn't she? That, coupled with her question, lanced his heart, and the hot blood from it pooled in his belly, all red desire.

The charge she'd built in him threatened to explode and he almost gave up his tenuous hold on professionalism. But somehow, some way, a reminder dawned; this was their first meeting and nothing would happen between them. Torn could not deviate from the photographer role he'd performed perfectly.

Once she left the studio, reality would crash back onto him.

It was a true thought. Her presence had warped the space around him into near total fantasy, driven by his attraction to her. There lay the crux.

"I do, yeah," said Torn, somewhat reluctantly, somewhat quietly. "But I prefer people to ask ahead of time. There have been occasions where a few belligerent clients from upstairs wandered into my studio without permission. Because of that, I like to schedule sessions involving nudity for out-of-hours times for the tattoo studio."

Her chest rose and fell twice before she asked, "Has anyone ever wandered in while you had someone here?"

"... No."

She opened her mouth; words were coming, and he had to stop them.

"But I can't risk that," Torn added.

The spell broke.

Grace blinked the headiness out of her eyes, glanced at the camera and nodded. She looked vaguely embarrassed, conflicted... ashamed? Was it shame?

Torn only held confusion, but... What exactly was he confused about? His thoughts waterfalled and through it all, Grace's look of arousal distorted them, so even the chaos didn't feel normal.

"You made me feel comfortable," murmured Grace. "Thank you for that."

Torn nodded, though it felt hollow.

"I should go. I..." Grace trailed off. "I'll go and change."

She went back into the changing area, and he went to his computer and ejected the memory card from the camera. Grace probably wanted all of the pictures. Hopefully she'd be happy with them.

While she changed, he began to understand his confusion. The centre of it held the singular question; what had caused her arousal? The photoshoot itself? Exhibitionism on her part? Or... him?

No. That way madness lay.

She'd barely varied her pose the entire time. Had she meant to do more?

Would she come back?

"Torn?"

He turned around.

"I know you probably keep some for your portfolio, but I want the only copies."

"I only do that with permission. You're in charge. They're all on here," said Torn, holding out the memory card.

She took it, leaving little droplets of heat where her fingertips touched his skin. Grace looked at it closely before she put it into the little pocket on the outside of her rucksack. Then, she stood there for a few quiet seconds. Torn wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came to mind.

"Thank you," said Grace, finally.

"I hope they're what you wanted."

"Yeah. Me, too."

She walked away, pulling on her rucksack. Only once she did look at him when she turned to ascend the staircase. Then, she was gone.

Torn stood there for some time, and tried to understand the last hour or so; the effect she'd had on him, and how it felt simultaneously light and heavy. Like he'd just been brushed by the tip of an angel wing as she flew past.

-x-x-x-x-

Sleepless nights followed her departure. More than once, he brought up her email address on screen, but resisted. A few weeks later, she was a pleasant distant memory that invaded his waking thoughts now and then.

-x-x-x-x-

The email came one evening three months later and upon seeing her name, his heart thudded staccato.

She asked for a session at a time when the tattoo studio would be empty. Torn knew what that meant and his heart drew further energy from the realisation.

On the evening in question, Torn's preparations were quick. He made sure the studio was warm, that Amelia had shut shop for the night so he had the only keys, and there was a long robe for Grace if and when she needed a break. He waited patiently.

The buzz from the intercom startled him out of his daydream and upon confirming it was her on the video screen, he let her through the door. When he heard the rhythm of her steps coming down, he noted his heart pulsed more than twice as fast. Torn took a deep breath as Grace came into view.

The potency of her had not diminished one bit; the razor wind still tore at him.

"Hello, Grace," said Torn, determined to speak first.

She slipped off her rucksack and hung her coat up on the nearby rack. "How have you been, Torn?"

"Fine. You?"

Grace shrugged. She looked at the set. "You put up the red backdrop."

"That's what you asked for."

"I hope I feel like using it."

Torn's brow creased minutely.

"I'm going to change."

"Okay."

Since he had nothing to do while he waited, the minutes she spent behind the screen stretched to the point of impatience.

A sound came from the changing area, slightly muffled by the curtain.

"Sorry? Did you say something?"

Her voice came through louder. "Is your name really Torn?"

"Lucas Torn. There was another Lucas at school so Amelia made me unique. It stuck."

"Amelia? Oh. The tattoo artist."

"That's her."

"You were at school together."

"More than one school."

Grace walked out two minutes later. Even as his breath caught, he willed himself to be immune to her. To see her as any other client. He failed magnificently.

Any other client lacked her radiance in lingerie.

The matching bra and panties were vivid blocks of crimson shot through with black-threaded embroidery. From the gusset grew complex flowers, matching those covering the lower half of the three-part cups. Despite the near full coverage, her breasts were enough to exert a subtle sway.

Grace was draped with nervousness, the toes on one foot tightly curled as it softly swivelled on the spot. Was this the first time she'd been in intimate apparel away from a lover's eyes?

She stilled. "Can we talk for a bit? Is that a weird ask? I just don't quite want to pose yet. Or take my..." She left the rest unspoken.

Torn nodded. Her request excited and scared him in equal measure. The first session's near silence had woven a spell over everything. What would words do?

"Okay." And she went quiet.

"What's on your mind?" Torn asked gently.

"Lots of things."

"Like?"

"I went to four other photographers in the last three months," said Grace.

An odd twinge of jealousy snaked through him and he almost laughed at himself for such an absurd reaction. She stroked down her forearm and scratched at it.

"They were good, but..."

Torn waited.

Grace sat down on the sofa and looked him full in the eye, her expression oddly defiant and her body rigid. He couldn't help but take a shot of her. She tilted her head in curiosity.

Of course. She hadn't actually given her explicit permission for him to take pictures. "Sorry. Your expression was... interesting," he explained. "Hadn't seen it before. I can delete it."

Moments passed, and she shook her head like she'd made a decision. "You can take whatever pictures you want."

The implications of that ruffled him, but he leashed his imagination before it wandered too far.

"You were saying. They were good, but..." Torn prompted.

"Out of all the pictures I've seen of myself, I think only you saw me the way I needed to see myself."

He had no idea what to say. What had he done differently to the others?

"And I think that's because you're like me, Torn."

She crossed her legs and he took another picture. Grace looked at him, or through him. Waiting for a reaction.

"Like you?"

She nodded. "I think... I think you keep your distance from most people. I think your camera is how you connect to them, even just briefly. You get to really look at them, without self-consciousness, and admire them. That's a kind of intimacy. And you're very good at it."

It was funny how she sat barely dressed compared to him and yet he felt more exposed.

"I think you're giving me too much credit," he murmured.

"No. I studied those pictures. I thought about the way you behaved when I was here the first time."

Warmth flooded him. Torn made a concerted effort not to ruminate on her words. He tried to take another picture but she'd weakened him momentarily and his finger simply shook on the button, before he forced the push. And he tightened that leash on his imagination further.

"I'm not always like that," he told her. "Usually I talk more."

"But you'd rather not."

Truth. "I have to sometimes."

"You barely spoke to me when I was here last. I liked that," said Grace, looking to the side in thought.

The way her neck muscles and tendons changed in that motion caught his eye. Torn took a picture and she looked at him again. What would it be like to fill the hollow of her throat with a kiss, and have her hold it there forever?

He cleared his throat. "This means you like your distance from people, too?"

Grace hesitated. "That's... complicated." Her fingertip made circles on her knee. He zoomed in and caught that.

"You know you don't have to answer that."

"I brought it up to begin with. And I do want to talk to you." Her voice was quieter.

"Okay."

Again, she went quiet. Inkling upon inkling piled up in Torn, that perhaps there was something specific Grace wanted to say, but something was in the way. What to do about it? His gaze wandered and settled on the robe. Torn walked over to it, picked it up and brought it to her.

"Uh... what?"

"You might feel more comfortable talking if you put this on," said Torn, laying it down next to her. "And it might help you say what you want to say," he added.

Grace's eyes widened. She picked up the robe and put it on, and sat down again. "Thank you."

For what, he wasn't sure, but he nodded nonetheless.

"Okay. You're right," she said softly, and Torn knew he'd done the right thing. "I feel strange saying this but I feel compelled to, and I believe in being honest." She took a deep breath. "I-I feel comfortable around you, Torn. I don't know why. I don't know what it is, but I'm not sure that matters. It's unusual for me, and it makes me feel weird, because it's something that I haven't experienced for quite some time."