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His lopsided grin flashed, and my stomach flipped. Stupid traitorous body … and damn him for being so damn good-looking. I tried to keep the lens centered on his face, but I had to get several of his abs, for you know … research. But when his hand rubbed over his stomach and then slid to the button on his jeans, I gasped, “What are you doing?”

“Well, you said you were used to doing nudes. Will that make you more comfortable as a photographer?”

I swallowed again, unable to answer, wanting to know what he was doing. How far he would go. And how far would I go?

The button popped, and I swallowed the sawdust in my mouth. I snapped a picture of his hands. Well yeah, and his abs. So sue me. He popped a button, giving me a hint of the forbidden thing I couldn’t have. I kept snapping away. We were locked in this odd, intimate game of chicken. I swung the lens up to capture his face. His gaze was slightly hooded. His lips parted …

Turned on. I stepped back a step to capture all of him. His jeans loose, his feet bare. Sitting on the stool, leaning back slightly and giving me the sex face, because that’s what it was—God’s honest truth—the sex face. And I was a total goner. “You’re not taking pictures, Len.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Oh, sorry.” I snapped several in succession. Full body shots, face shots, torso shots. There were several torso shots. I wanted to fully capture what was happening. He unbuttoned another button, taunting me, tantalizing me. Then he reached into his jeans, and my gaze snapped to meet his. I wanted to say something. Intervene in some way … help maybe … ask him what he was doing. But I couldn’t.

We were locked in a game that I couldn’t break free from. Now I wanted more. I wanted to know just how far he would go. Would he go nude? Or would he stay in this half-undressed state, teasing me, tempting me to do the thing that I shouldn’t do? I snapped more photos, but this time I was close. I was looking down on him with the camera, angling so I could see his perfectly sculpted abs as they flexed. His hand was inside his jeans.

From the bulge, I knew he was touching himself. And then I snapped my gaze up to his face. Sebastian licked his lip, and I captured the moment that tongue met flesh. Heat flooded my body, and I pressed my thighs together to abate the ache. At that point, I was just snapping photos, completely in the zone, wanting to see what he might do next.“Len … ”“Sebastian.” My voice was so breathy I could barely get it past my lips. “Do you want to come closer?”

“I—I think maybe I’m close enough?”

His teeth grazed his bottom lip. “Are you sure about that? I have another question for you.”

I snapped several more images, ranging from face shots to shoulders, to torso. Yeah, I also went back to the hand-around-his-dick thing because … Wow. “Yeah? Go ahead.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your boyfriend ‘til now?”Oh shit. “I—I’m not sure. I didn’t think it mattered. It sort of feels like we’re supposed to be friends.” Lies, all lies.

He stood, his big body crowding me. “Yeah, friends … ” I swallowed hard. I couldn’t bloody think with him so close. His scent assaulted me, sandalwood and something that was pure Sebastian wrapped around me, making me weak. Making me tingle as I inhaled his scent.  Heat throbbed between my thighs, even as my knees went weak. “Sebastian, wh—what are you doing?”

“Proving to you that we’re not friends. Will you let me?”He was asking my permission. I knew what I wanted to say. I understood what was at stake. But then he raised his hand and traced his knuckles over my cheek, and a whimper escaped.His voice went softer, so low when he spoke that his words were more like a rumble than anything intelligible. “Is that you telling me to stop?”