With an intrigued smile, I step forward. “Ah, your pull from those bloody Poms. I’ll celebrate that.”

She tilts her head adorably. “Poms?”

“English. Brits. And of course we have photo booths. I believe they are quite popular at weddings and parties, yeah? People take pictures with silly props and what not.”

“Sometimes.”

I reach her, touching the smooth skin of her arm with the back of my fingers. My smile gentles. “What are we doing here, Brooke? Do you want to take photos with me?”

Something sharp gathers in the center of my chest, spreading down my limbs and prickling in my scalp. Is it possible she wants a keepsake from our night together? A piece she can store away and slowly build on?

The evidence of the beginning . . .

Fuck, it’s staggering how badly I want it. How affected I am. She isn’t the only one feeling out of sorts here.

Brooke steps inside the booth, which seems to be much larger than any of the ones I have ever seen before. I’m guessing you can fit groups of people in here instead of just one or two. Perfect for a large party of kids, I suppose.

Facing me, the corner of her mouth lightly pulls into a smile. “It’s a dark spot. I’m hoping there’s enough going on out there to keep the staff occupied for a bit.” She holds out her hand to me. I don’t miss the slight tremble in it. “I need ones. Got any?”

I stare at her, wondering if she’s about to do something she’s possibly never done before. If maybe this fresh, charmingly sexual woman wants to give me one of her firsts.

I’ll take it.

I dig into my wallet and hand her a few bills. When I move to step inside with her, she presses against my chest, keeping me out.

“Watch for your photos. There.” She nods at the slot on the outside panel.

I give her a wary look, but ultimately agree to this. Maybe she wants to give me photos of herself first before we take any together.

Too fucking right. I would love photos of Brooke.

I step back with a quick jerk of my chin. “All right.”

The curtain is drawn. It stops a short distance from the bottom of the booth, completely obstructing my view of Brooke. I move to the side and press my back against the panel, waiting. A soft shuffling sound comes from behind the curtain, followed by a click, the shutter of the lens. Three more follow between long seconds, and I imagine her changing her pose, going from something innocent and playful to something a bit silly. Brief flashes of white light streak across the tile floor at my feet. I cross my arms over my chest, only to push away from the panel when I hear something slide into the slot behind me.

I pick up the sheet of photos.

Good God. Holy . . .

“Fuck,” I groan, my cock quickly lengthening as I stare at the four shots of Brooke; topless, pinching her rose colored nipples, licking and sucking the skin of her tits. Her pretty little arse turned toward the camera in the bottom shots while she fucks her pussy with two fingers. Over her shoulder, her eyes are round with abandon. Feverish and frenzied. Her red lips parted with a sigh or a moan.

She’s giving me this. This gorgeous girl is giving me images of her body to not only admire, but to keep and stare at for later, stroke my cock to, do what I want with.

I wrench the curtain open and step inside, dropping the sheet of photos on the bench and grabbing her face after I conceal us.

She’s still topless. Her skirt is still gathered at her waist, and she’s panting, breathless from her own touch.

I slide my mouth against hers. “Jesus Christ, Brooke. You’re trying to kill me, yeah? You sweet fucking thing.” She answers with a moan as I kiss her jaw and suck on the skin beneath her ear. Sugar sticks to my tongue. Gripping her arse in my hands, I groan against her neck. “You taste so fucking good. Like one of those bloody cupcakes you make.”

“It’s my body lotion. Vanilla cake batter. It’s edible.”

“Fuck. Don’t tell me that.” My groin throbs against her belly. I pinch my eyes shut.

Stay focused, mate. You don’t want to rush with her.

Brooke giggles against my ear. “Why not? I’m wearing it for you. Lick away.”

I lean back and bring her hand to my mouth, drawing on the tips of her fingers.

“Mason,” she whispers, moving in to kiss me, sucking her taste off my tongue. Pressing, pressing, harder. Her lips are soft yet commanding, and she tastes like her wine from earlier; a warm, ripe fruit. I bite her lip and she gasps, tilting her head back and brushing her heavy breasts against my shirt. She does the same to me, a quick bite of pain, and I groan, slapping her ass and relishing in the quiet shudder that ripples through her body.

Fucking hell, she likes it.

Her warm hands travel under my shirt and across my stomach, nails dragging against skin, fingers squeezing my hips and pulling me closer while her mouth slowly devours me.

“Filthy fucking devil. Sit. I want to kiss you here.” I press my hand between her legs, my other palming her breast, roughly squeezing it.

She drops back onto the bench, meeting my eyes as I lower to my knees in front of her, as I spread her thighs open with my hands and settle my body between them.

“Were you wet before you touched yourself?” I ask, bending over her and licking between her breasts. I pull a nipple into my mouth and she arches her back, hands fisting my hair and breaths growing hurried and sharp. A whimpered yes catches in her throat when I drag my teeth across the hardened peak.

I know at any second someone could come walking into this room, see the bottoms of my legs, hear Brooke’s quiet, aching noises and investigate behind the curtain.

What would Brooke do? Would she stop me? Cover herself up while I continue working her with my mouth? Maybe she wasn’t only shaking when she stepped inside here because this is a first for her. Maybe she was thinking about the risk, doing this here when we can easily be somewhere more private, a room with four walls and a lock on the door.

I don’t relish in the thought of anyone seeing Brooke, topless and coming against my face, but I want to give her this. Be the person she associates with this memory.

With a thick voice, she begins begging me with quiet words.

More and move and more and yes.

“How wet were you?” I ask her, kissing her ribs, her stomach, licking the skin of her hip. The sweetness from her lotion soaks into my throat, making me dizzy and delirious.

She tastes too good. Smells too good.

“V-very. It was dripping down my leg.”

“Fuck, Brooke,” I growl, ducking my head, meeting her gaze as I press my lips against the smooth skin of her inner thigh. “Here?” I ask, opening my mouth and sucking.

She nods, her lips parting, fingers digging into my scalp. “Higher too.”

I smile against her. “Obviously. But I rather like kissing you here. Can I keep going?”

“Mm.” She tugs gently on my hair. “No. Move up. I want you to taste me.”

“I am.”

I switch legs and slowly drag my tongue closer to her pussy, kissing and licking her skin. She never stops watching me, her hazel eyes wide and hungry, capturing and captivating me.

“Play with your tits,” I tell her, blowing against her clit.

With a soft cry, she lifts and squeezes them, rolling her nipples between her fingers as I slide her legs to my shoulders. I press my nose against her clit and inhale, groaning, blinking up and seeing the awe bloom across her face.