I told myself I wouldn’t reply to the message.

It arrived two days later, short and exact:

Studio is free Thursday at 8. Same terms. Confirm if you want the second session.

I stared at the text until the screen dimmed. My headshots had already been delivered—clean, professional, exactly what I had paid for. There was no practical reason to go back. There was only the memory of his mouth on my breasts, the stretch of him inside me, and the way the shutter had clicked while his cum was still leaking out of me.

I typed one word.

Confirmed.

The warehouse elevator felt slower the second time. When the...