The studio lights burned hotter now, or maybe it was just the air thickening with unspoken tension. Stiles stood there in her pathetic excuse for lingerie, body still buzzing from the solo poses, her pink nipples pebbled and exposed, thong drenched and clinging to her swollen pussy lips. Scott shifted on his stool, trying to ignore the ache in his pants—pride mixed with that nagging unease he couldn’t quite name. Liam adjusted the camera, waiting for the next cue.

Derek cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Alright. We’ve got the basics. Now for the duo shots.”