Anna
writes contemporary, paranormal, BDSM and LGBT erotic romances. She is herself
a bisexual submissive, and finds writing the perfect outlet for her wild ideas.
In real life, Anna is an introverted bookworm, looks sweet and kind of innocent, but don't let her brown eyes fool you.
In real life, Anna is an introverted bookworm, looks sweet and kind of innocent, but don't let her brown eyes fool you.
Take a peek at her newest release, contemporary M/F erotic romance THROUGH HIS LENS.
Newly
divorced and rediscovering her place in the world, Fiona found a strange solace
in taking photos of herself. Next step: she hired a professional photographer
to take her portraits. Modelling for him felt empowering. Would this be only a
one-time thing or would she have the courage to pursue a relationship with
Nathan, the photographer whose green eyes captivate and disarm her?
Note: Explicit sex scenes. Adult material intended for readers aged 18+.
Note: Explicit sex scenes. Adult material intended for readers aged 18+.
Excerpt:
I wake up feeling refreshed.
Orange light streaming in through
the curtains shows that evening is soon approaching. I walk to the bathroom for
a shower.
After stripping myself bare, I
scrutinize myself in the full-length mirror.
Quite simply put, I still have a
hot body. My curves are smooth and pleasing to the eye. Perhaps I am a bit pale
from working indoors all the time, but that can easily change. Besides, there
is a frailty to the paleness of my skin that I like. A hint of sadness lingers
on my face, but generally, my features are attractive. Yes, I decide: I can be
considered beautiful.
I take my cell phone and mindlessly
begin taking photographs of myself: close-ups of my breasts, full-body shots,
slanted angles of my bottom arching up, several near-identical snaps of the
small of my back, my legs as I stand tip-toed, the bend of my arms, and a few
of my neck as I elongate it.
The thrill of seeing my naked body
stacking up in my phone’s photo album is delightful. I am like a teenager first
experimenting with her exhibitionist tendency.
That is when I remember Nathan, my
wedding photographer who I have heard also does portraits occasionally. He had
sent me emails about one or two of his exhibitions before. I skip over to turn
on my laptop, butt-naked, and type his name on the Internet to find his
website, with a large gallery of his recent works.
I like what I see. His photographs
are professional and far more atmospheric than the clear, almost childish ones
that I have just taken.
Several of his albums are boudoir
photos: some are nude photos of women reclining in various poses on a bed,
others are of women dressed up in lingerie and corsets that must have taken
hours to bind oneself into. But whatever the respective styles are, I admire
all of Nathan’s work.
Too bad he does not have any
exhibitions going on at the moment, or I would love to go see his work
displayed in real life, while he stands nearby, looking handsome and confident,
thanking people for their compliments.
Did I just describe him as handsome
and confident?
I grin.
First day of my divorce, and I am
already developing a crush on another man. Maybe I am not as innocent as I have
imagined, after all.
I stare at his phone number on the
browser for ten seconds.
I shake my head.
My eyes continue to gawk at the
same spot.
Reluctantly, my feet carry me to
the kitchen, boiling water and making myself a large mug of decaf tea, still
butt-naked.
Armed with my comfort drink, I
return to my computer screen, my full attention fixed on Nathan’s number.
By the time the tea is finished,
his number is imprinted in my memory.
I close the browser window.
My butt refuses to move.
I laugh at my juvenile behavior. I
type the number onto my phone and call Nathan.
“Hello, Nathan Gould’s studio.”
“Hi, my name is Fiona. You were my
wedding photographer a few years back.” Shit. My hands are sweating. “Em… I was
browsing through your website and I got interested in your portraits.”
“Nice hearing from you, Fiona. Do
you want to do a family portrait?”
“Oh, no, no,” I fidget. “I, err… I
just got divorced.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No, no, it’s a good thing
actually.” Damn. Did I have to say that? I clear my throat. “Anyway, I was
wondering about, em… the boudoir photos.”
“Sure, let me send you information
on a few of our standard packages. You can go with those, or we can arrange
something based on that.”
There, the sound of common sense
and business; his sober tone puts me back on my tracks.
I give him my email address and
hang up. Time to really get my shower.
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