Page 112 of The Right Sign

“Ready!” the director yells.

Yaya glides back to me, her dress swaying behind her. Her eyes glint with an icy kind of fire, and I know that—whatever happens in the next few minutes—I’m going to adore her ten times more than I already do.

The camera starts flashing.

The shift in Yaya is immediate.

Earlier, we’d been steeped in awkwardness. Stilted tension. A distance that could fit a small whale between us.

Now, she’s electric.

Thrumming brilliance, her hips loose and her body near liquid, flowing.

She’s on me.

An arm to my shoulder and her face peering up at mine in sensual thought, as if she knows all the ways she’s going to please me tonight.

Click.

Head slightly turned, eyes on the camera, chin on my arm.

Click.

“Yes!” The photographer screams in exhilaration. “Yeees! That’s it!”

I can tell she’s keeping one eye on his response because she starts leaning more into the sensual poses. Her arms drape over me. One leg bent. Eyes on the camera. Then eyes on me. Then a slight shift of her head so her face takes in more of the light.

Her motions are fluid. A dance.

“This is it! This is amazing.”

I start to get comfortable too.

My job is easy enough. Look at Yaya Williams like I want to pin her against the wall and suck her soul out of her body?

Easy.

I can do that all day.

The looking and the actual sucking.

Damn. I want her against the wall so badly.

“Let’s get some couch shots,” the photographer says.

Yaya peers at Jenny, who’s standing nearby, and then she walks confidently to the couch.

I sit, expecting her to join me. She stands instead and crouches down, both arms around my neck. Almost a chokehold. Or maybe I feel like I’m choking because she’s got those pretty fingers wrapped so tightly around my heart that I can’t think.

Her perfume is a sweet, vanilla essence that makes my mouth water.

It takes so much not to lick her skin.

Keep it together, Dare.

She sinks her handinto my shirt.

Yaya’s hand.

---