Page 40 of Under The Twilight Rainfall
Valen stops near the big waterfall and catches my eyes before dunking his head under. It’s not especially tall, so the water doesn’t come down hard, and Valen just stands there with his head tipped back, eyes closed as the water cascades down his body. It has to be cold, but he doesn’t flinch or shiver.
I want to hold him again. It’s been less than five minutes, and I already feel the need to wrap around him, skin on skin. I’ve heard the phrase ‘too much of a good thing’ my whole life, and I’ve always thought it was a crock of shit, but I can see exactly where this will lead.
I can’t fall in love with Valen.
I can’t deny that I care, and I can’t fight the tug he has on me anymore—but I have to draw the line somewhere.
When I follow him over, I resist the urge to touch him, instead waiting until he leans forward and smiles at me with those soft, affectionate eyes. My bag is tied around my waist—wet shirt long since stuffed inside—and my fingers twitch with the desire to capture this moment. To capture Valen.
Droplets drip down his chest, water lapping at his not-quite-fully defined abs. He’s found himself a rock to perch on, and I want to drag him back into the water and tussle until we’re out of breath from laughter and exertion. I want to capture it on video even though I know there’s nowhere for me to set up shop, and I don’t have my good camera with me.
I never want to capture the intimate, private parts of my life. Sex is one thing, but something like this that I feel in my soul, being dredged up and out and giving me no choice but to reach for it before it disappears? I don’t want people to see it. To see me.
But I want them to see him. I want the world to see Valen through my eyes. This incredible, handsome, infuriating man who makes me want to scream as badly as I want to hold on to him and let him comfort me in ways I stopped letting anyone long ago.
“Can I film you?”
Valen’s eyes widen marginally, but he nods all the same. I have two cameras with me: One is my GoPro style, really great for action shots and all the canyoneering we did, and the other is a waterproof handheld video camera. Not the highest quality compared to what I shoot with in the bedroom, but it gets the job done. Once I have the latter out and my settings where I want them, I close my eyes and try to get into photographer mode.
It’s surprisingly easy. Positioning Valen’s hands where I want them—gripping his shoulders, then folded behind his head as the water pours around him—isn’t as distracting as I thought it would be. My skin tingles with every touch, anticipation rising when I drag my fingers down his chest and push him under the waterfall.
He laughs, squeezing his eyes shut, and I snap my pictures before yanking him back out and into the clear water with me. He pulls me close with one arm, plucking the camera from my hands and holding it behind his back.
“Playing dirty, Dex?”
“You haven’t seen dirty yet, Val.”
His eyes flash with heat, arm tightening around me, and my breath hitches when his gaze drops to my mouth. He swallows roughly, and I tell myself if he leans forward I have to pull away, even if my body wants the opposite. Instead, he raises his eyes to the sky, mumbling something incoherent under his breath, and brings the camera back around to scroll through it.
My muscles tense, and I know he feels it because he stops with his finger on a button and looks at me.
No one sees my pictures before I’ve edited them. No one knows about the ones I keep for myself, the ones that are too intimate for me to share with my subscribers.
But when Valen lowers the camera like he’s going to give it back—he’s going to respect that I don’t want him to look—a pang of disappointment hits.
I want him to see it. How I see him.
“Go ahead,” I say, even though my throat feels raw.
I watch all of his emotions play on his face. The awe. The surprise. For a moment, even the arousal that leads to an embarrassed blush. I know I’m good at capturing sensuality. It’s a skill I’m proud of. I’ve had several men tell me they never thought they were particularly ‘porn star’ attractive until seeing how I captured them on video. It’s ridiculous because they were all hot as hell—Valen included—but a lot of people need something extra to see it for themselves.
There’s a handful of still shots and some video footage, and I wonder which ones are making Valen pause, which ones are making him scrub at his jaw and smile like it might split his face.
“Do you have any idea how incredible you are?”
I want to say yes, but the astonishment in his voice stops me.
“Because I’ve seen everything you do, and I know how insanely talented you are, but this?Dex.” He says my name like it’s something holy.
“I’m good at what I do.”
“You are better than ‘good.’ Why haven’t you... Why don’t you take more pictures like these?”
When I frown, he turns the camera and points to one of the shots. “Your scenery shots are beautiful, there’s no doubt about that. Your camera work for the sex stuff is out of this world—but you can pull out something like this, and it shows how passionate you are. You don’t see yourself when you’re working, but you are absolutely enraptured by the human body. Think about what you could do if you focused on showcasing that.”
I bite down on my lip, clicking through the pictures to grasp his point. It’s not like I’ve never taken pictures of or with other people. Like with Valen, I usually get a few from the people I hook up with while traveling. Usually it’s a prelude to the video of them fucking my brains out, but they’re there.
Doing model photography just feels so... permanent. There’s contracts, and even if I get to travel while booking new talent, there will always be something tying me to those places. Telling me I need to go there. And as soon as it feels like an obligation?
