“Where’s your phone? I want to see your search history.”
Innocent expression fixed in place, I hand it to her once I’ve unlocked the screen. That’s when she shrieks and plants it to her chest. Cheeks burning, she scours the store for anyone who might have seen. “What the hell, Cody?”
I hitch a shoulder. “My personal cell. No one will see apart from me.”
“And me, apparently,” she wails, but it doesn’t stop her from tipping the screen so she can see the photo of her ass bearing my teeth marks. Her throat bobs the longer she studies the image, and I’m left dealing with the beginnings of a boner—honestly, her reactions are so fucking delicious.
“Imagine the album I’ll have curated by the time I have a white beard worthy of Gandalf,” I croon, sliding my hand over her shoulder as I tug her into me.
She uses me to prop herself up. “I-I want to pick the wallpapers.” The words bleed with her nerves, but there’s a lot of curiosity there too.
“Sure.”
This whole thing is a trust exercise anyway. I know how much it means for her to give me permission to photograph her like that.
“I want pictures with you in them,” she orders.
