Thigh Highs

by Katia Rose

  “Your skin,” he murmurs, “looks perfect in this light.”

  Then I hear the click of his camera and whatever spell he’s put me under breaks.

  “Hey!” I snap. “A little warning would be nice before you start taking pictures of my ass.”

  “Relax,” he laughs. “I’m just making sure I’ve got the settings right.”

  I turn around to face him and find his familiar smirk back in place.

  “You know you are going to have to open that shirt. The point of you wearing the lingerie is so I can actually take photos of you in the lingerie.”

  “I’m aware of that,” I deadpan, “but you’re not seeing me in my underwear for any longer than absolutely necessary. This is not a free show, Penn.”

  “Oh? Then where do I buy my tickets?”

  I throw my hands up in the air and the front of my shirt slips open. Aaron’s eyes go straight to my boobs and I whip the blouse closed again, glaring at him. He laughs as I turn on my heel and stride back towards the desk, picking up the oversized headphones we’re using for this part of the shoot.

  “Okay,” I say, sliding them over my ears and adjusting my hair in front of the mirror, “let’s get this over with.”

  I position myself by the window and let my shirt fall open again. Then I stand there with my arms hanging limply at my sides. Even though we’ve already discussed in depth what we want the pictures to look like, modelling is not part of my skill set. I feel as awkward as if I were standing here dressed as a giant hot dog, instead of wearing a gorgeous set of lingerie.

  Should I just start posing? What poses do I even pick?

  “Uh, what should I do?” I ask, as Aaron fiddles with his camera again.

  “Well, this is the fun, carefree portion of the shoot, so just...be fun and carefree? Maybe jump around a bit? Twirl?”

  I glare at him.

  “Right. I forgot that fun and carefree isn’t exactly your style, Dominguez.”

  Something about that statement sets me off. I hate that Aaron thinks he’s already got me all figured out, pinning me down as the uptight perfectionist. I might get a little too wrapped up in school sometimes, but I do know how to let loose. The only reason Aaron’s never seen that is because I’m always too busy compensating for his complete lack of focus.

  “I can be fun!” I protest. “Just watch.”

  I start jumping around, jerking to the beat of the imaginary music coming out of my headphones. I hold my hands up over my head and twirl around a few times. Everything still feels excruciatingly awkward, and I stop moving when I hear Aaron let out a burst of laughter.

  I face him with my hands on my hips. “Why aren’t you taking any pictures?”

  “Because you look ridiculous.”

  “Of course I look ridiculous,” I retort, feeling my cheeks burn. “I’m jumping around in my underwear while you take my photo. This whole situation is ridiculous. How would you feel if you were the one half naked right now?”

  The corner of Aaron’s mouth pulls up. “Pretty good, actually.”

  “Prove it,” I say, crossing my arms. “Strip. Now.”

  He balks a bit. “What?”

  “Strip. If I have to be in my underwear right now, so should you. It’s only fair.”

  He hesitates for a minute, caught off guard, and then it’s like his Douche-O-Meter recharges itself and all his swagger comes rushing back. He removes his camera from his neck with a grin.

  “If you wanted to see me naked, Dominguez, all you had to do was ask.”

  He keeps his gaze locked to mine and reaches for his belt. I try to look unimpressed, but something in the air between us has thickened, the weight of it spreading a flush across my skin. He drops his jeans to the floor and steps out of them. I fight to keep my eyes fixed on his even though all they seem to want to do right now is move lower.

  This is Aaron Penn, for god’s sake. Yes, he’s hot, but you’ve seen plenty of hot guys in their underwear before.

  He pulls his shirt up over his head, and I take the second that it blocks me from his view to rake my eyes over his chest. He seems to work out as hard as I do, the muscles of his stomach brought into sharp definition as he lifts his arms above his head. I catch a sight of the tattoo I remember him showing the girls in the cafeteria. The design looks geometric, a circle made up of curved triangles, and I wonder what it means.

  I flick my attention down to his navy boxers and see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric. I can tell he’s already getting hard.

  Typical, I think. Perv.

  “Like what you see?”

  I look up to find him standing there in just his boxers and beanie, watching my every move.

  “You clearly do.” I gesture in the direction of his boner and swear I see him get harder.

  He tugs his hat back a bit and shrugs, completely unashamed. “Do you feel less awkward now?”

  If anything, I feel way more awkward now that we’re both next to naked and I’m forced to acknowledge that the sight of Aaron Penn getting hard for me is making my thighs clench.

  “Yes,” I answer, “much less awkward, now that we’re on equal footing. You ready?”

  He picks up his camera and I start my weird silent dance routine again, avoiding any eye contact with Aaron. I hear the camera click a few times before it stops and I look over to find him watching me with a critical expression.

  “What is it this time?”

  “You’re too nervous,” he tells me. “Your whole body is stiff. We need this to be...natural.”

  He holds up a finger as if he’s just had an idea, and then saunters over to the desk to grab his phone. I watch as he swipes his finger over the screen a few times before the opening chords of ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’ fill the room.

  I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. The song sweeps me away to long car rides with my dad, windows rolled down, the wind whipping through the wild mane of hair I had even as a kid.

  “Is AC/DC okay?” Aaron asks. “I can put something else on.”

  I shake my head and laugh. “I was raised on AC/DC. My dad made sure I knew that you don’t turn AC/DC off; you only turn them up.”

  Aaron’s grin matches my own. “Well in that case...”

  He cranks the volume on his phone as loud as it will go and moves towards me. Without realizing it, we’ve both started swaying to the beat. Just as the chorus kicks in, Aaron starts mouthing along to the words, doing what is simultaneously the best and worst impression of Angus Young’s duck-walk I’ve ever seen. I cover my mouth with my hand to hold back my laughter and end up letting out a snort.

  “Come on, Dominguez,” he urges. “You gonna knock me out with those American thighs?”

  It’s impossible to be self-conscious while he does whatever it is he’s currently doing with his body, so I give in and start to dance, rocking my hips with my hands held up in the air. Aaron keeps doing his terrible impersonation, and before I know it all the awkwardness is gone and I’m whipping my hair around like I’m in a music video, breaking out the kind of dance moves I usually reserve for when I’m alone in my bedroom.

  I almost don’t notice when Aaron starts snapping shots with the camera. Neither of us stops moving to the rhythm. We circle around each other with un-choreographed footwork, laughing as we try to outdo each other’s ridiculous moves. The chorus starts up again for the last time and I duck my head down before throwing it backwards, timing an epic hair flip with the final note of the song. I hear the shutter clicking non-stop, capturing every second.

  I stop to catch my breath and Aaron pants beside me. ‘Who Made Who’ starts to play, but we’re both too tired to go for a second song. I can feel a trickle of sweat starting to slide down my back.

  “See?” I say to Aaron. “Fun.”

  “Very fun,” he agrees.

  “Did we get any good shots?”

  He laughs at that and holds his camera up so he can scan through the photos. What
ever he sees seems to satisfy him. “Peaches, the camera loves you.”

  I’m so pumped up from dancing that I don’t even call him out on using ‘Peaches.’

  “Let me see them.”

  “Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head. “I don’t let anybody see my works in progress. You can look at them when I’m finished post-production.”

  “Oh come on, Penn. This is our project. I think I should get a say in which pictures we go with.”

  He just shakes his head again. “Trust me, Peaches. You can rest assured you’ll look good.” He glances down at the camera screen again and licks his lip. “Very good.”

  “Don’t start being a caralho again. You have a lot of valuable equipment in this room I could threaten to break.”

  He grins in response and I know a typical Aaron Penn innuendo is coming up. “I think you’ll find my most valuable piece of equipment can be found right here.” He gestures to his crotch and I let out a groan.

  The King of the Douche has returned.

  We’re quickly running out of light, so to save time I tell Aaron to just turn around while I change into the second outfit, keeping my eyes glued to him the whole time. When he doesn’t show any signs of pulling a dick move and trying to sneak a look at me, I pause for a moment and take in the sight of his naked back. Even the muscles there are toned. He has a lean build, but every inch of him is defined.

  All I have on right now is a sapphire blue pair of panties, part of the second set of lingerie. Every gust of air feels like its kissing my bare skin, sending little shivers up and down my spine. My nipples have already hardened and I’m glad the bra for this set is fully lined, because there is no way Aaron needs the satisfaction of thinking he’s the reason for it.

  I snap the bra into place and tell Aaron he can turn around. His eyes go wide.

  “Am I allowed to tell you that blue is definitely your colour?”

  “I’ll allow it.” I bite back a smile and pick up the mug off the desk.

  “So the vibe for this set is confident lady boss,” Aaron says, as we set ourselves up by the window again. “Shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

  “Was that a compliment?”

  “You can take it however you want.”

  I sip on the imaginary coffee in my mug and Aaron starts snapping shots. He makes a few suggestions for different poses and we’re done with the set in minutes, which is lucky since we’re almost out of light. I hurry into my final outfit as Aaron sets up for the last part of the shoot. He hauls a white couch over so it’s positioned in front of the window, and I take a seat on it, clutching the fluffy blanket I brought. I’m wearing a sheer, burgundy babydoll and a tiny pair of satin underwear in the same colour.

  “This is perfect,” Aaron murmurs, as he points the camera at me and adjusts the focus. “Could you lie back a bit?”

  I do as he asks, lounging on the couch and trying to embody the cozy and comfortable look we’re going for. I feel anything but. Being stretched out in front of Aaron as he tells me what to do with my body is having an effect on my ovaries that’s becoming harder and harder to ignore.

  In complete contrast to me, he seems totally focused now. He gets down on one knee and rotates the camera to take a few vertical shots.

  “Perfect,” he repeats. “Put one arm behind your head and let the blanket trail over the edge of the couch.”

  I follow his instructions.

  “Now run your hand along your thigh.”

  Even just the feeling of my own hand raises goose bumps on my skin. Aaron steps closer.

  “Can I just...?”

  He reaches for the edge of the babydoll, and when I don’t say anything in protest, he lifts the edge up so part of my stomach is exposed.

  “Now if you just twist so that you’re—”

  His hand closes over my hip and the sudden contact draws a gasp from me. His eyes snap up to mine, which I’m sure are wide with shock, both at his touch and how much I suddenly want it. His mouth drops open just slightly as the same heat I feel floods his features. He swallows and his thumb brushes over my hip, quickly enough that I tell myself it was just a twitch.

  “So that you’re—” He has to pause to clear his throat, his voice now deeper than before. “So that you’re turned towards me a bit more.”

  I shift under his grip and he pulls his hand away, backing up and crouching down again to hold up the camera. He works slower now, repositioning himself and zooming in and out a few times before I hear the shutter click.

  “Turn over,” he orders, “on your stomach.”

  I flip myself over, propping myself up on my elbows and resting my chin on my hands.

  “I just need to fix your clothes a bit.”

  He moves back towards me and I feel him adjusting the babydoll. Then his hand smoothes the band of my underwear and something in my body reacts before I can stop it, my back arching as my hips shift upwards, thrusting into his touch.

  I go completely still, hoping he didn’t notice, but the way his hand hesitates over my skin makes it clear he has. I can hear both of us breathing in the seconds that follow, and then the heat of his palm presses into me harder. He traces the curve of my ass just slightly, not enough for me to call him out on it, even if I felt like I could speak right now.

  “Good,” he says between heavy breaths. “That looks good.”

  This time he moves to the arm of the couch, so we’re face to face.

  “Look to the side,” he tells me, “and hold a corner of the blanket in one hand.”

  He snaps a photo and then reaches out to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. The tension between us has risen to a level where even that feels borderline erotic. I try to tell myself that this is the guy who was just hopping around to AC/DC in his underwear, the guy who described his dick as his most ‘valuable piece of equipment.’ He shouldn’t be able to make me feel this way.

  The man I’m looking at right now feels like someone else, though. This is a side of Aaron Penn I haven’t seen. The guy who doesn’t take anything seriously now has a commanding intensity that my body won’t let me ignore. I know that if he started to pull the lingerie off me right now, I probably wouldn’t stop him.

  He stands up, towering over me where I lie on the couch, and starts to take more pictures from the higher angle. I’m just below eye level with the hard-on that’s still pressing up against his boxers, and it isn’t doing my self-control any favours.

  Aaron takes one last shot and then lowers his camera, looking at the screen.

  “Okay, I think we’re all d—”

  His voice falters when he looks down at me. I hear him exhale as he takes in the sight of me just inches away from his cock. My chin still rests on my hands, and I draw my lip between my teeth as my eyes flick between his boxers and his face. His chest starts to heave with rapid breaths.

  “We’re done?” My voice catches on the second word. “You don’t want anything else?”

  I blink up at him. He just stares for a moment before breathing out and shaking his head.

  He steps away and lifts his camera over his neck. “Yeah, Dominguez. We’re done.”

  Dusk is just setting in as we step out into the near-deserted parking lot. My rusty Subaru is parked at one end, Aaron’s only slightly less decrepit Hyundai at the other.

  “So,” I begin, and then stop, not knowing what to say next.

  We’ve barely spoken since finishing the photo shoot. After dressing and packing up all the clothing and props, we got the room back in order and locked up the studio with as few words as possible.

  “So,” Aaron picks up, “I totally saved our asses.”

  “Um, I think the saving credit is equally mine.”

  There’s only a half-hearted heat to our bickering. The rise he usually gets out of me is muffled by confusion, the familiar spark of annoyance refusing to ignite.

  “You, uh, good to drive home?”

  I give him a doubtful look. “What, do you think your presence i
s so intoxicating I’m no longer in a fit state to drive?”

  He flashes me a smile “Something like that.”

  “I’ll see you later, Penn.”

  I shift my bag up on my shoulder and start to cross the parking lot when he calls out my name. My first name. The sound of his voice wrapping around the syllables I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him say hits me with a jolt. I stop moving.

  “Christina!” he calls again, stepping up beside me. “Look, about the whole photography thing, I meant it when I said you can’t tell anyone. It’s just...Just don’t. Please?”

  There’s a wild-eyed urgency in his features.

  “Of course,” I answer. “Your artistic sensitivities are safe with me.”

  He bobs his head once. “Good. Thanks. Goodnight, Dominguez.”

  He turns and heads towards his car.

  Part Two

  Aaron

  7

  Top of the Class

  Christina Dominguez is going to be my undoing.

  I scan through the dozens of photos of her I’ve just transferred to my laptop. I know I have to narrow what we’ll use for the campaign down to about ten, but deleting even one feels like a crime.

  We timed the shoot perfectly, the fading daylight painting the white of the studio gold and giving Christina’s features the exact kind of soft glow we were aiming for. Her curves alone would be enough to give anyone with eyes a heart attack, but that’s not what I’m staring at as I click between photos.

  I haven’t done any portrait work in a long time, and looking at the shots of Christina, I remember why it’s my favourite type of photography. When handled correctly, there’s nothing better than a camera for revealing who someone really is, for digging down past all the walls and bringing up the brutally raw, achingly honest truth. Anyone can take a picture of a mask, but a skilled photographer can show what’s behind that mask without even asking their subject to take it off.