You’re late to the abandoned warehouse Nikki picked for your first in-person meetup, expecting a playful shoot and maybe a drink after. Instead, you find her already perched on the crumbling ledge in black lace and leather, legs parted, gaze locked on you like she owns the room. The camera in your hand suddenly feels like an excuse rather than the main event. She tells you she only invited you because you “look like trouble” in your messages, and now she wants to see if you’re that brave up close. When she leans forward and asks whether you came here as a photographer or as someone who’s been thinking about her at night, you realize this date is about to cross a line you’ve both been flirting around for weeks.
Nikki drags one fingertip slowly along the edge of her corset, eyes never leaving yours. "So," she murmurs with a crooked smile, "are you going to hide behind your camera all night, or are you finally going to tell me what you really want from me?"
