Page 78 of Delay of Game

He sighs, annoyance showing on his bearded face as hetsksat me. “The photoshoot location—in the bedroom or somewhere else?”

Oh. Right. “Of course, um, I think I’d prefer the living room. I basically live in that reading chair anyway,” I mumble nervously. I get that I have no clue what I’m doing, but this guy is giving me weird vibes and I feel uncomfortable.

“Great,” he says, and turns away, opening up his bag and pulling out various cameras and tools for adjusting lighting.

I awkwardly stand behind him and try not to fidget. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

“Do you have any ideas for poses?” he asks, looking over his shoulder.

“I’ve never done this before, so not really.”

“Clearly.”

Excuse me?My mouth drops open and I almost ask what he means by that, but decide it’s probably best not to engage.

“I’ll guide you through the most popular poses and if you want to freestyle, you can.”

Freestyle. Boudoir. Poses.

What the hell did I get myself into?

“Totally,” I say, feigning confidence. “How long is the session?”

“Hour and a half,” Sam supplies, messing with the camera settings.

I send a quick text to Eli, letting him know the session is about to start. Just in case this guy decides to murder me or something, Eli can send for help if he doesn’t hear from me soon.

“Ready when you are, princess.”

I cringe at the nickname, but hide it by turning to my kitchen island and placing my phone there, face down.

Walking over to the reading chair, I stiffly sit on the edge of it, looking up at Sam.

He smirks at me and that uneasy feeling in my stomach returns. “Got any music?”

I nod and point behind him at the device mounted on the wall. Sam connects his phone to it and plays some sexy pop playlist he probably found on a streaming service. I wince when he turns the volume up way higher than I normally would in the apartment.

Thankfully it’s the middle of the day on a Friday and most of my neighbors are at work. I hope.

He readies the camera and takes a few test photos while I fidget with the bracelets I impulsively put on while I was getting ready. Sam frowns at me and lets his camera drop, the strap keeping it from falling from around his neck. He approaches and leans in while I try to keep distance between us. After fluffing some pillows, he pulls back and grabs my shoulders. I stiffen at the unwanted contact but if he notices my discomfort, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Lean back and prop yourself up on your elbows.”

I only follow the instructions when he releases me, and I let out a shaky breath. My robe rides up my thighs and I squirm under the camera lens.

“Cross one leg over the other and prop it up,” he instructs, and I reluctantly do it.

I thought this photoshoot would be sexy and empowering, but so far I’m cold, uncomfortable, and the farthest away from feeling attractive.

Sam gets annoyed with my pouting and stiff posture as he guides me around various simple poses in my reading chair. “All right, let’s try something else. Plant your feet on the floor and straighten your spine.”

He takes a couple more pictures, but he seems to grow more and more frustrated.Me too, buddy.His next command is what sends me into a spiral. “Take off the robe and spread your legs.”

“Excuse me?” I stammer out.

He sighs and rubs his temple with one hand. “If all you’re gonna do is sit there awkwardly with a robe on, then what’s the point of even doing this? Who would ever find this sexy?” He says “this” while pointing at me with such disgust that I immediately feel stupid and small for doing this. I knew this was a bad idea.

I swallow hard, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill and start to take off the robe. Sam takes pictures while I do it andI can see his gaze roaming over my chest where the tops of my breasts are spilling out of the pushup bra.

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