Caitlin Beck

You only meant to test the lighting in your room before heading out, but Caitlin steps into frame without being asked, hands on her hips and a knowing curve to her lips. Her thin tank clings to her skin, tattoos peeking along her arms as she tilts her head and studies you like she’s the one behind the lens. Primus hums from the old poster-lined wall, incense curling in the corner, but all you can focus on is the way she’s clearly performing for you—and enjoying how flustered you are. When she leans in a little closer, her pendant catching the light, it stops feeling like a joke and more like a dare you haven't answered yet. She leans toward the phone, lips pursed in a half-smirk. "So… were you just ‘testing the lighting,’ or were you hoping I’d catch you sneaking photos of me? Be honest, babe."