London Twist: A Delilah Novella

Fatima’s laptop and took a few more pictures.
    “Yes, that’s better,” she said, snapping away and checking the viewfinder. “I love this light. Here, take that towel off your head, all right? Yes, good. Now, shake out your hair. Ah,
oui,
beautiful.”
    She stood, moved the coffee table aside, and circled Fatima, getting multiple shots from various angles. “Bring the glass to your lips. Yes. You’re contemplating something. Anticipating. Waiting for your lover. Yes, exactly like that. Now drink. No, don’t move your head, only the glass. Yes. Put the glass down. Now look at me. Head down, eyes up.
Oui,
like that. My God, girl, you are
éblouissante
. Stunning.”
    And she was, too. As naturally smoldering for the camera as any professional model Delilah had ever shot.
    Delilah lowered the camera and looked at her for a long moment. Fatima returned the look, her expression confident, almost serene, any hint of previous reluctance gone. Whether it was the wine, the setting, the company… Delilah didn’t know. But Fatima was past reluctantly surrendering to the shoot. She now seemed almost intoxicated by it.
    Delilah felt her heart kicking harder. What was she doing? She had enough already. She didn’t need to go further. Kent’s app was active. When they were done with the shoot, she would hand the camera card to Fatima, and Fatima would plug it directly into her laptop. She’d type in her password, the app would capture it, the op would be done.
    Delilah said, “Move the robe down one of your shoulders.”
    Fatima’s mouth opened as though to say something, but she didn’t. She shook her head, once, wordlessly, her expression suddenly confused.
    “Oui,
yes, I want you to. While you look into the camera. Do it slowly. Deliberately. Like you would to seduce a lover.”
    Fatima’s lips were parted. Was she breathing hard? Delilah was.
    Gradually, uncertainly, Fatima crossed her left arm over her body and lowered one lapel of the robe with her right, stopping when it was halfway to her elbow. The glimpse of additional honey-colored skin against the white robe was deliciously tantalizing.
    “
Oui
, yes, like that,” Delilah said, snapping away and circling back to the couch. She kneeled on one of the cushions. “Now clutch the material close to you. Not because you don’t want me to see. Because you don’t want to
let
me see. Because you’re tormenting me with your beauty. Like that, yes. Yes, yes.”
    She lowered the camera. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. She was so excited she was wet. What was wrong with her? She had seduced countless men. It was her job, she was good at it, she enjoyed it, it didn’t make her nervous. And yet now her hands were shaking so much she wasn’t sure she’d be able to steady the camera.
    “Fatima. Lower the other shoulder of the robe for me.”
    Again, Fatima said nothing. Still looking at Delilah, she reached with the opposite arm to the opposite side of the robe and lowered it as she had the first. She crossed her arms just below the curve of her breasts, the upper half of which were now beautifully revealed.
    Delilah lowered the camera. “More,” she said.
    She saw that Fatima was trembling. Her lips were parted, her eyes directly on Delilah’s. She lowered the robe further.
    “More,” Delilah said again, her breathing hard, her voice husky.
    Slowly, so slowly, Fatima moved her hands to her lap. The robe fell away entirely.
    Delilah lowered her eyes to Fatima’s breasts. God, they were beautiful, rising and falling with the woman’s breathing. A tiny cry escaped Delilah’s mouth.
    Delilah set the camera on the floor. Fatima watched her, saying nothing.
    Delilah moved forward on the couch, leaned in, and paused a few inches from Fatima’s face. She looked in the woman’s dark eyes, moved by the nervousness and desire she saw in them. Then she leaned closer, closer, until their lips were touching. Fatima didn’t press forward, but nor did she pull away.
    “I want you to kiss me back,” Delilah whispered.
    “I… I don’t know,” Fatima said, her mouth still touching Delilah’s. “Delilah, are you… gay?”
    The movement of her lips against Delilah’s as she spoke was amazingly sensual, and Delilah became aware of an ache between her legs. She laughed softly. “Not before I met you, no.”
    “I don’t… I don’t know about this.”
    “Kiss me,” Delilah whispered.
    There was a pause, and then gently, tentatively, Fatima