Caught in the Flames on AO3
Caught in the Flames on FFn
Caught in the Flames TWCS
After soaking in the tub until the water cooled and bubbled
dissipated, I felt infinitely more comfortable with Edward. I didn’t have any
qualms getting out of the tub and for him seeing my naked body. I knew he
appreciated it with the response of his growing cock, but he was respectful and
let me handle everything in my own way. Though, I did make it harder, in more
ways than two, when I put on my pajamas without any underwear.
I thought my boyfriend was going to have an aneurysm.
The next morning, we woke up early and made arrangements to
go on a tour of the vineyard at the chateau. We dressed casually in jeans and
jackets before meeting in front of the chateau. I was snapping photos of the
building and the bay we were overlooking. When Edward wasn’t paying attention,
I took numerous photos of him, too. He was quickly becoming my favorite subject
to photograph. His face was angular and sexy. His hair was artfully tousled
with natural copper highlights. His jaw was square, pronounced and stubbled lightly
with his beard. His eyes were a bright jade, twinkling with happiness and love,
surrounded by long, dark eyelashes. His nose was slightly crooked from a fight
he had when he was in middle school, but it made his features rugged.
“I hear the shutter click, Bella,” Edward said, giving me a
crooked grin. “I know you’re taking my picture.”
“What? You’re handsome,” I retorted, batting my eyelashes
behind my sunglasses. “You should be a model.”
“Ah, no. My one foray in the modeling world was a
firefighter’s calendar for some fundraiser for the hospital. I felt like a
piece of man meat,” Edward grumbled. “I was oiled and slicked up. I felt
so…so…used. It felt tawdry and…” He shuddered.
“Did you really use the word tawdry?” I snorted.
“I did. It’s how I felt,” he replied, jutting out his lower
lip.
“Tawdry?” I laughed.
“You are really damaging my fragile psyche, Isabella,”
Edward growled playfully. “I am not a piece of meat to be ogled.”
“And how much money did the calendar raise?” I countered.
“$25,000 for a new children’s wing,” he grumbled.
“Would you do it again?” I asked.
“If you were the photographer and I wasn’t bathed in baby
oil, making me look like a damn stripper,” he answered, shrugging slightly.
“Have you been asked?” I questioned, slipping my camera into
the bag I had slung over my shoulder.
“Emmett and I were approached during our last shift by the
same woman who arranged the previous calendar,” Edward replied. “Emmett jumped
at the chance, but I said I’d think about it. The only person I want to objectify
me as a sexual being is you.”
