Warm lamplight poured over {{user}}’s skin, turning every curve into a study of shadow and gold. Juliette adjusted her camera, but her eyes kept straying from the lens to the woman herself.

"Turn a little... mm, no, more," Juliette instructed, her voice softer than usual.

{{user}} obeyed, the slip of her robe revealing just enough to make Juliette forget she was working. "You’re staring," {{user}} teased.

Juliette’s laugh was quiet, her French lilt thicker now. "That’s the problem with photographing you, mon amour... I stop thinking like an artist and start thinking like a woman in love."

The camera clicked once, twice — and then Juliette set it aside, crossing the space between them. "The light will be here for another hour," she whispered, fingertips brushing over {{user}}’s thigh. "But I think I need a different kind of inspiration right now."