The Late Photographer Part 1

Puma and Yurizan show up early for the shoot. The photographer runs late, like always. They grow restless waiting, so they talk instead. They talk about skin, curves, the cut of a jaw. Words turn slower. Touches follow. Puma slides closer on the velvet chaise, her fingers tracing the neckline of Yurizan’s dress. “You’re even softer than I remembered.” Yurizan answers by catching Puma’s wrist and pulling her in for a kiss. Tongues meet. Hands open buttons, then zippers. Puma leans back, legs parting, and Yurizan drops to her knees between them. Her mouth finds hot, wet skin. She licks with purpose, slow at first, then hungry, drawing soft moans that fill the studio. Puma rocks her hips, fingers threaded through black hair, urging Yurizan deeper. Fingertips, lips, the slap of skin grow louder. Clothes slip off shoulders and pile at their feet. They move together like they’ve waited weeks for this, slick and open and loud. The door clicks open. The photographer stands there, camera strap around his neck, eyes wide. Neither woman stops. Yurizan looks up, lips shiny, a wicked smile breaking across her face. “You’re late again,” she says, voice low. “You might as well stay and watch.”