Picture Perfect (Isle of Kala)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

DYLAN SPRUCE

The bell over the door chimes, and I hear Kyanne greet, “Welcome to Booty Boudoir Studio. You must be Larson and Tomy.”

I don’t hear the answer as I move deeper into the studio, stopping in front of my mirror. It’s one of those really big ones that you might find in the dressing rooms of Broadway performers, complete with bulbs around the perimeter.

Yep, still immaculate. Turning my face to the side, I tap the corner of my eye with my finger.

Is my eyeliner smudged? I move closer to get a better look.

No, it’s perfect too. Smirking, I turn toward the very back of the studio where my desk is.

There are four monitors set up, each with a different set of photos.

A different couple. Different individuals.

My attention moves between them as I touch them up and get them ready for print. This couple, with the harness and crop, is probably one of my favorite sets I’ve taken in a long time. One of the women was pure dominance, and it was gorgeous to see the way she handled her pet.

“Dylan?”

I turn away from the screen as Lawrence steps into the room with a travel mug.

“Your tea,” he says, setting it on my desk.

“Chai dragon, not regular chai?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Steeped at precisely two hundred and twelve degrees for three minutes and thirty seconds?”

“Yes.”

“Clover honey?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“The size of a quarter.”

“Mm. Oat milk?”

“Whole milk. Just until the color is cherry like wood.”

I nod in approval. “Reduced to one hundred and fifty degrees?”

“Yes.”

“With biscuit cookies on the side?” I eye the desk, seeing the distinct lack of cookies.

Lawrence sets a plate beside my travel mug. “Caramelized biscuit cookies. Two.”

I smile. “Very good, Lawrence.”

He smiles, his eyes trained on me as I take the lid off my mug and dip a cookie in. As soon as I put it in my mouth, I understand why he’s watching me. “Something’s different,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

“They didn’t have your normal cookie. No one does. The shipment came in with the wrong cookies, but I checked, and these are the same ingredients—even a single calorie less per serving. Three out of ten people like them better than your usual,” he says.

Better, huh? I dunk it into my tea again and take another bite. “They’re not awful, but I’m not so sure I’d go so far as to say they’re better. Thank you for looking into it for me.”

Lawrence grins. “Of course. Anything else?”

“Our next shoot is here. Will you get the studio ready for me?”

“On it.”

I watch him hurry away. He’s the best assistant I’ve had since moving my business to Kala—and I’ve been through several. Apparently, I’m high maintenance because I like things a specific way, and if someone can’t follow those directions, I’m a diva.

Why is the world suddenly filled with people who can’t be bothered to do the job as it’s supposed to be done and still expect to be paid full wages?

If you can only manage half the job, you only get half the pay.

That’s it. I pay a very competitive wage for my assistants, but very few can cut it.

Even when I lay out exactly what I expect from them.

Do they think I make my tea differently at home than I ask for from them?

I don’t. I’ve spent years finding the optimal method and temperature to prepare a perfect cup of tea.

That’s why I like it in a very specific way.

I know what I like, but when you say they got it wrong, you’re suddenly a bitch.

When I finish my cookies, I put the lid back on the tea and check on my cameras to make sure they have fresh memory cards and batteries. The tray with the different lenses is prepped, and the lenses have been cleaned.

By the time Lawrence returns, telling me the room is set and used items sterilized, I’m ready to go. “Bring them in, please,” I tell him as I bring my camera into the studio.

There are three rooms set up in the studio—a bedroom, a library, and an office.

I set my tray at the side in front of the wall of props.

I have a little bit of everything. The only thing I don’t have is lingerie.

That’s on them to provide, or we’d be doing endless laundry.

There’s a wonderful shop on Anapos if they’d like to increase their lingerie collection—information Kyanne tells them when they set up an appointment.

“I hope you’re enjoying your stay on Kala,” Lawrence says.

“We are, thanks. It’s so… magical.”

It is. That’s why I moved here. The outside world is black and white and filled with assholes. The Isle of Kala feels like it exists outside of it. In a parallel universe. We have the same everything, but there’s no hunger, hate, or war here.

“Have you had a chance to look at the different packages?” Lawrence asks. “Which room are you thinking?”

“Bedroom. My favorite photos in your albums were in the bedroom.”

“Very good. And you brought with you any variety of clothing you’d like?”

See? Lawrence remembers all the important questions, so I don’t have to ask them.

“We did.”

“Very good. This is our expert photographer, Dylan Spruce.” I turn at Lawrence’s introduction, and my lungs freeze.

Living on a queer island resort means I’m surrounded by hotness of all kinds. No matter what your fancy, you’ll find it on Kala. Which I have. Many times over.

But the man standing before me now takes my breath away. Objectively, he’s not the hottest man I’ve ever seen. But I love the shape of his jaw, the shade of his brown eyes, the curve of his lips, his height, his muscles. He looks like he could fold me in half and stick me in his pocket.

“Dylan?”

I jerk at my name. The moment when time froze skips ahead so I’m back in the present.

“This is Larson and Tomy,” Lawrence says, probably not for the first time.

“Hello,” I greet, offering them a smile. God, I feel shaken. My legs feel all wobbly. If I look at Larson again, I might fall on my face.

The smaller man is Tomy. He’s adorable, and I can see why someone as perfect as Larson might be smitten with him.

He has this smile that feels incredibly welcome and beautiful.

He’s taller than me—which, at five-foot-one, isn’t difficult—but not nearly as tall as Larson.

He’s soft and lean, the kind of body you’d expect to be a model.

In fact… is he a model? Now that I’m looking at him, I think maybe he is.

“Where would you like to begin?” I ask.

Lawrence looks at me, perplexed. Probably because I don’t generally give my clients a choice. I’m the photographer. This is my show.

“How about you change into the first set of clothing you’d like,” Lawrence suggests. “There’s a screen right there to change behind. You can keep your bag back there since you’ll change again.”

“Thanks,” Tomy says. He looks up at Larson with a smile. The kind of smile that can make the world melt. He’s the perfect sweetheart.

Tomy takes Larson’s hand, and the big man pulls him back toward the screen. I try to keep my focus locked on where their hands are linked, but when Larson glances over his shoulder at me and our eyes meet, I’m once again shoved out of the present and thrust back into that frozen-in-time paradox.

Until he disappears behind the screen and Lawrence stands at my side, concerned. “Are you okay?”

Swallowing, I turn away. “Yes. Would you grab my tea? I forgot it on my desk.”

“Of course.”

I appreciate that I can’t even hear his eye roll. Even if it’s there, it’s well hidden.

While they change, I take several sips of my tea, using the familiar taste to settle my mind. It doesn’t matter who he is; there are two key facts I need to remember. One, he’s clearly in a relationship. Two, this is business. I need to be professional.

When they come out, Tomy is in the skimpiest little shorts and a crop top. Larson is in jeans and a tank. Well… only one of them got the memo about the kinds of clothing that people typically wear. I’m impressed that he even brought jeans.

“One of my favorites is against the wall when the guy is pulling his shirt up and we see his sexy abs,” Tomy says, and I think I know the one he’s talking about.

“I think maybe one of Larson like that, but also, one with me on my knees in front of him like that. Looking up and drooling over what I see?”

Well, that won’t be hard. If the abs he’s hiding under his shirt match the sexiness of his arms, I can only imagine.

“Okay, good,” I say and gesture for them to join me in the bedroom. There’s a single wall that’s empty. I have a green screen that I can move anywhere to change the vibe if need be, but I think the elegant-looking wall of the bedroom will be fine.

I gesture to the wall and then pause. This is the part where I typically adjust them by hand. But that means touching Larson, and there’s a chance that I might lose my composure. It’s already hanging on by a thread. It doesn’t help that it feels like his eyes are trained on me alone.

You’re a fucking boss, I growl inside my head. Get your shit together!

I don’t do well with being yelled at. Even by myself, so it’s enough to make my spine stiffen. “Over here, Larson. Lean against the wall in a relaxed, confident way. I want to see the kind of body language that says, ‘Yeah, I know I’m hot.’”

Tomy grins as he watches.

Larson’s eyes remain locked on mine, and fuck if I don’t feel the heat of his attention sizzling through my body. I’ve yet to hear him speak, as it’s been Tomy doing all the talking. It was his voice alone speaking to Lawrence as they were led in.

Without comment, Larson leans against the wall. I wouldn’t say his posture and expression are sexy confidence. He looks just as possessed as I feel, his attention still on me.

There’s something in the way he’s watching me that has me pulling my camera up. “Don’t move,” I say. “Don’t change anything.”

His chest rises and falls, but his eyes are locked.

Even through the lens of the camera, I can feel his focus on me.

I snap a picture. The lighting isn’t right, but I adjust my angle, making a slow half circuit around him so I can capture this from every side.

His eyes follow me. By the time I finish, I feel breathless.

Fuck’s sake. He hasn’t even shown me his abs!

“Do you know the image that Tomy is referring to?” I ask him.

Larson nods. I watch his hand as it comes out of his pocket and grips the bottom of his tank. He slides it up against his skin, revealing the sexiest fucking stomach I’ve ever seen. He stops at his heart, and my mouth is filled with fucking saliva.

I want to lick him.

I’m not at all prepared for when he actually flexes his stomach and the clear six pack becomes incredibly pronounced with a distinct trail of hair from his navel dipping into the waist of his jeans.

Holy fucking queen of the gods, I’ve never been more hypnotized.

Without meeting his eyes, I make another slow circuit around him, his eyes remaining on me. Tomy and Lawrence are entirely forgotten for several minutes as I instruct him in what is beginning to feel like a very intimate photoshoot with a man who isn’t on the market.

I don’t know who this man is or why he affects me like he does, but I can feel in my soul that he’s mine.