Behind the Camera (Love through a Lens, #2)

by Chelsea Curto

The table flips over. Dallas goes tumbling with it, somersaulting in the air. Cans go flying. Brushes fall from the sky like rain. I’m knocked on my back, and there’s a rainbow of color in my vision. “Oof,” I get out. Something heavy rests on my chest, and when I open my eyes, all I can see is green. “Am I blind?” “Holy shit,” Dallas wheezes. “That did not go as planned.” “I can see why we signed waivers beforehand.” “Are you okay?” I pull the goggles off and realize the weight I’m feeling is him. On top of me. Paint drips from his cheek and his hair. His hips press into mine, and his hands are on either side of my head, holding himself up so he doesn’t squash me. “What the hell happened?” I ask. “I might have run into the table,” he admits sheepishly. “In my defense, I thought it was sturdier than that.” “In the table’s defense, you’re a one hundred and ninety pound football player,” I counter, and his chest rumbles with laughter. We’re so close, that when he drops his forehead, it rests against mine. The paint on his skin fuses us together, and I wonder if we’re going to be stuck like this forever. “Sorry, I—” he starts to say. “No, that’s okay. I’m⁠—” We move at the same time. I lift my hips to try and roll away just as he pushes down, and I feel him between my legs. Thick, long. Half-hard and pressing against the inside of my thigh. My breath catches and my back arches, some subconscious part of me aching to be closer to him.