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Carmy never dates his models. It’s not that they aren’t attractive, they are, but he wasn’t especially drawn to them. Not for a lack of personality, but for what he lacks: Focus, which is ironic for the career he has and the person he is: A pair of eyes observing the world. No one has held his attention for long enough to be called anything serious. Some would call him a playboy, but it’d be more accurate to say that he has commitment issues. For work, he does his job, gets his pay, and goes home. The same could be said for every screw he had, minus the money. So yeah, what would he get from messing around with his models when it could fuck with his future income. So far, besides the accused hoe-ing around, he’s kept a good image and he’d like to keep it that way. Unfortunately for him, Sydney Adamu walked into his life.
He doesn’t completely get why she keeps choosing him as her photographer, but he does know that the deep brown of her eyes could be captured no matter the exposure setting, so why complain about his IPA-awarded talents being used for instagram promos? Anything to give her reasons to keep bringing him around. Through his scope, he observes her moving to the rhythm of the kitchen, choosing the right moment to snap the requested candid shots.
“You hungry?” Going from the viewer to reality is only a shock to him around Sydney. It’s the reminder that they’re both flesh and blood, that the plane separating them only exists in his mind. He doesn’t know the last time he had more than a bite to eat but-
“You don't have to.” She kindly rolls her eyes at his denial.
“Dude, we’re in a kitchen. And really, it’s the least I could do.”
“Syd-“
“Actually there’s this one thing I’ve been working on, lemme grab it.” She brings him this amazing plate of hot food that he scarfs down.
“Holy fuck.”
“Yeah? The cinnamon isn't too heavy?” She knows it isn’t, but needs to hear it from his mouth.
“No, it's perfect.” After this she makes a habit of bringing him messy food that’ll smear on his face and hands. He never complains because he likes seeing her pillowy lips wrapped around her fingers, or the shape of her mouth as she sucks a bone dry. He doesn’t know that she feels the same.
To Sydney, there’s something about how he looks at her. Like, it’s not just that he wants to consume her, but that he’d enjoy every gush of blood down his throat, every piece of cartilage wedged in his teeth. He wants her in a way destructive to them both. And when her every nerve screams for escape like the prey she was made into, she only moves closer in. She has to fight the urge to lean back into his chest as he leans over her, one hand on her chair and the other guiding the mouse. Picture after picture, she sees herself through his eyes, only interrupted by a vibration rattling the table. Asshole shines on the glowing screen of his phone, and Carmen swears under his breath.
“This’ll only take a sec.” Her warden gone, Sydney looks over the file again. Every picture is titled and organized with name, date, and time. But one she spots is only a mess of numbers, the meaning of which she can’t guess. It pulls at her- Carmen seems like the type to always keep his ducks in a row, but things can be missed; maybe he forgot to share it. The picture pops up on the screen, wide- from corner to corner. It hits her immediately that the image doesn't fit with the rest, being more sensual and intimate. The up-close portrait is suggestively cropped. Her bare shoulders and upper chest exposed with her face caught between expressions, eyes lidded and lips parted. The subject looks directly into the lens, into the viewer. Did he jack off to this? Did he jack off to it in this very chair? This discovery didn’t disturb her as much as it should have. No, it excited her. He was as obsessed with consuming her as she was of him.
“Okay, we can get back to-“ he skids to a halt taking in the scene in front of him. From her expression he gathers that this isn’t something he can bullshit his way out of so he goes straight for asking for forgiveness. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. That wasn’t supposed to- I should’ve deleted it right away.” But he didn’t. He couldn’t. It would be like setting fire to the Mona Lisa. He stops babbling when she leaves the chair to walk up to him. As she brings her hand up to cup his jaw, his eyes are shut tight, prepared for a violent response despite how lightly her thumb strokes his cheek.
“Carmy. Look at me.” And there are those spheric organs, bright and twitching in their sockets. She can tell they’re tracing every line of her being. The thumb moves across his bottom lip, feeling the wind of his breath as he sighs with a “Syd.”
“I love how you see me.” That feeling sings in her, too loudly to hear anything but his voice.
“Can I?” She moves away and wills herself as pliable as a doll. A mannequin for his amusement. His Galatea. He spins them and pins her to the door. Takes his time undoing every button of her blouse. His eyes only avert from hers to take in her slowly revealing cleavage. With a restrained hunger he cups the swell of her breast before removing them from her bra entirely. He looks stunned at them, like a bright flash went off in front of his face. Carmen lowers himself to take a nipple into his mouth and rolls it on his tongue, sending a jolt of pleasure down below. She bites her lip to stifle her moan and his teeth close in punishment.
“Fuck.” She curses, but the burning between her thighs is more painful.
“Let me hear you.”
“Only if you stop teasing me.” He brings a hand up pressing against her crotch, which she starts grinding on.
“That good?” The only noises she gives are ones of frustration. He nudges open her legs wider and wider, and just stares. It unnerves her, but she allows the examination. She still has no clue what he’s thinking when he opens her lips with his hand, and gawks like he’s trying to map out her entire uterus from that tight hole.
“So, um, do you want a picture or something?” His eyes connected with hers again, but they weren’t lit up by her quip. Instead they’re dark, his serious expression telling her that she shouldn't have made such an offer so casually.
“If you’d let me.”
“Carmy!” She wanted it to come out like more of an admonishment, but even to her own ears it was a whine of need, a begging he finally listens to. He dives in with a long swipe of his tongue, back to front and then swirls it around her clit. His tongue explores every fold before pushing in and fucking her with it. During this he watches her from an angle that must be unflattering but the dilation of his pupils only grows, absorbing it all. The tremors of her stomach. The rise and fall of her chest, and the colorful emotions her face flashes through. Even when she finishes, head tilted back and lids firmly shut, she can still feel the icy shock of his eyes on her, watching. And he looks and looks and looks because his vision will never capture something like her again.