The photographer ?? [mf] [romantic prose]

He was an artist, a photographer with a love for nostalgia and soft lines.

She was a romantic, desperately searching for someone to hopelessly adore her.

They met at a downtown bar. He drank dark liquor, holding the glass in his careful, confident hands. She drank white wine, licking her lips after every sensual sip.

“You’re beautiful,” he says to her. He means it.

When they first kiss, it’s slow. His fingertips brush the angles of her face. She swoons. Her romanticism burned for the beauty he saw in her.

“Let me photograph you,” he gently pleads. “Let me show you how gorgeous you are.”

She glows from his affection. He takes her home. She lets him undress her. She would do anything to keep his eyes on her.

Her lips are swollen, her chest is flushed from their embrace. He’s captivated by her spell.

She lays on his bed in the candlelight, performing for him. She stretched, lengthening her arms and arching her back. She looks to him for approval.

He praises her with the clicking sound of the old film camera shutter.

She lifts herself up and reaches behind her back, her eyes on him. His excitement builds. She tosses her bra on the floor. His mouth is dry. Her nipples are hard. The sound of the camera shutter fills the room.

He’s enraptured by her endless curves and the way she was blooming before him. He yearned to reach out and touch her body. He resisted, focusing his lens on her hips instead.

She dipped her fingers underneath the sides of her thong and trailed them down her legs. She opened for him, glistening. His cock throbbed. The camera clicked.

“You’re a goddess,” he said.

“Touch me,” she begged.

They kissed, desperately, devouring each other’s devotion. Their hands and limbs were tangled in a fervor. He paused only to remove his clothes for her. She watched him, breathless and wanting.

When he returned to her, he kissed his way down her body, worshipping her every inch. She reveled in his touch.

He tasted her, drinking in her moans and getting drunk on the way her body rocked with his.

She was a melted puddle of desire, twisted up in his sheets.

He couldn’t help but reach for his camera once more.

She gasped when the head of his cock met her center, slipping up and down on her wetness. He teased her entrance, watching the way her arousal coated him through the viewfinder. He clicked. She purred.

Discarding the camera, he lowered his mouth to hers. She tasted herself on his tongue.

He positioned himself between her legs and watched her eyes roll back as he sank into her. She opened up for him, pulling him deeper. He throbbed inside of her. Her walls clenched around him.

Her body sang as he set the rhythm. He consumed her, sucking on the vein pumping in her neck, biting her shoulder, kissing her nipple. She was in heaven.

“Come for me,” he moaned into her ear. She obeyed his command, calling out his name as she contracted beneath him.

Her climax sends him over the edge. He finds his release deep inside of her with a growl of pleasure.

They hold each other as they both come down from their high. The room is hazy.

She reaches out for the camera resting nearby.

“That was amazing,” she says, focusing the camera on his devoted gaze.

She clicks.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/kwbc0x/the_photographer_mf_romantic_prose