Girls of MetArt - Episode 4

She had the kind of skin that caught the light in ways that made you stare. The photographer caught her mid-motion, one hand sliding the thin strap of her dress down her shoulder, the fabric catching briefly on her nipple before falling away. Her other hand rested between her thighs, fingers parted just enough to show the pink beneath. The shot hung suspended between invitation and retreat, her mouth slightly open, lips wet from the tongue that had just passed over them. She looked directly into the lens like she already knew what you were thinking. The afternoon sun pressed through the windows behind her, throwing long shadows across the bed where she'd left her underwear in a careless heap. One heel still on, the other kicked aside near the wall. Every inch of her looked deliberate. Nothing felt staged.