The studio sat above a flower shop, the stairwell narrow and smelling faintly of lavender and dust. Paul held the door open for Nina, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back as she stepped into the warm, softly lit space. A curtain of hanging beads rattled gently behind them. The air inside smelled of incense and varnished wood.

She looked around with quiet interest, eyes sweeping over the antique chaise longue, the velvet backdrop, the tripod standing sentinel in the corner. “Swanky,” she said, tossing her coat onto a rack with a flick of the wrist.

Paul smiled, nervous already. “Thought it would be. It’s tasteful. Classy.”

Nina turned to face him, tilting her head slightly. “I can’t believe you booked me a boudoir shoot.”

He nodded, shifting his weight. “Figured it’d be a good surprise.”

At twenty-eight, Paul still moved with the same lanky uncertainty he had when they met fresh out of university, both crammed into the same graduate intake at a digital consultancy. Tall, lean, with hair that never sat quite right and the kind of pale skin that blushed easily, Paul still found it strange sometimes that Nina had picked him. She had this ease about her. A quiet confidence. Medium height, slender, with a dancer’s posture and small breasts that pressed neatly against her jumper. Her black hair was always pinned or tucked in some effortless, practical way. She didn’t speak loudly, didn’t draw attention, but there was an intensity in her green eyes that pulled people in.

They had bonded over board games during after-hours drinks at work. Settlers of Catan and awkward laughter. Shared the kind of introversion that made parties feel like effort and quiet Sunday afternoons together feel like luxury. He liked strategy games and the quiet logic of programming. She knitted on the sofa with documentaries playing in the background.

He watched her now as she pulled the hair tie from her wrist and tugged her hair back into a messy bun. She caught him staring.

“What?” she asked, amused.

“Nothing. Just, you look good.”

She raised an eyebrow, stepping closer, her voice low and playful. “Well, I hope so. You booked me in to pose in my underwear, after all.”

He felt his ears go red. “Right. Yeah.”

From the back room, footsteps approached. The curtain was pulled aside, and the photographer stepped in. She looked like someone who ran a private gallery on a quiet Parisian street. Early forties, maybe a little older. Her silver-blonde hair was cut close to the head, sharp and sculpted, drawing attention to her angular cheekbones and pale grey eyes that missed nothing. She wore a loose linen shirt the colour of wet ash, sleeves rolled up, collar open just enough to hint at the body beneath without offering anything. Her trousers hung just so, draped, not fitted, and she moved with a smooth, unhurried grace that made the room feel slower the moment she entered it.

“You must be Paul and Nina. I’m Delphine. Welcome. Everything’s ready.”

Nina gave Paul a quick squeeze on the arm. “Excited?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but Delphine was already speaking again, her tone smooth, practiced.

“Now, just to confirm, you’re booked in for the Intimate Couple package, yes? We’ll start with some semi-clothed shots and move toward more sensual compositions as you both feel comfortable. I’ll guide the process.”

Paul froze.

Nina turned to him slowly, a grin spreading. “You booked the Couple Package, the Intimate Couple Package?”

His throat went dry. “I… maybe?”

Paul’s stomach twisted as the words echoed in his head. He thought he had booked something for Nina, just Nina. He cleared his throat.

“Um just to double-check,” he said, voice a little higher than he meant, “what exactly does the Intimate Couple package include?” It didn't sound like what he had meant to book.

Delphine, entirely unfazed, smiled like she’d been asked to recite a drinks menu. “Of course. We always like to set expectations clearly.”

She moved to her notes, her voice even, patient.

“We start with guided semi-clothed poses, typically undergarments, silk robes, sheer wraps, that sort of thing. Gentle contact, lots of eye focus, natural affection.”

Paul gave a jerky nod, hoping that would be the end of it. That sounded about what he had booked, although he hadn't planned to be a part of it.

Delphine continued, calm and professional. “Then we explore erotic proximity. That includes intertwined limbs, pressing the body together, kissing, caressing, guided touch sometimes to breasts or thighs. Anything sensual, suggestive. Very atmospheric.”

He blinked. Definitely not what he had planned. 

“And,” she went on, “while we don’t capture penetration without explicit consent, couples often choose to progress to full intimacy. I’m comfortable photographing any level of physical connection, provided you’re both willing. I’ll always ask before we cross thresholds.”

There was a pause.

Paul’s mouth opened, about to protest that that's absolutely not what he had thought he was booking, Nina was going to be horrified thinking that he had booked this.

Nina turned to him sharply, green eyes wide.

“Wait,” she said slowly, a grin creeping across her face. “This is what you booked?” She stared at him. Then laughed, delighted. “You’re telling me you booked a porn shoot?”

Delphine raised an eyebrow, but Nina didn’t seem embarrassed. “You absolute bastard,” she said, grinning. “This is so unlike you.”

He was about to protest, to explain, to crawl his way out of it when she stepped close, put her arms around his waist, and kissed his cheek.

“It was a huge risk,” she murmured, “but a lovely surprise.” Paul felt her heartbeat against his chest. “I didn’t even know I’d like something like this,” she said softly. “God, I really like it. How did you know?”

He blinked. “I didn’t. Errm, I guessed”

She looked up at him, searching his eyes, mistaking his panic for modesty.

“You really wanted to do this with me?” she whispered. “Have us photographed, together?”

Paul swallowed and decided to play along. “Yeah. Sure. I mean. If you’re into it.”

Delphine, still by the lights, added smoothly, “I can guide you through every step. We begin gently. There’s no pressure.”

Nina nodded quickly, her cheeks flushed now, but not with embarrassment.

“I want everything,” she said, half under her breath.

Her hand slipped into Paul’s. Her palm was warm and slightly damp. She was practically buzzing.

“Let’s do the whole thing,” she said, turning to Delphine. “If this is what Paul booked then I'm all in.”

Delphine gave a small nod, already adjusting a lens.

Paul stood still, mind spinning. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. And yet, somehow, Nina believed this was exactly what he’d planned. And now she was looking at him now with pride. With desire.

He couldn't disappoint her.

Delphine dimmed the lights to a warm, amber glow that seemed to thicken the air. She gestured to a small rack of garments arranged with care against the wall, silk robes in soft pastels, sheer wraps that barely veiled the body, lace lingerie that invited exposure more than concealment.

“You’ll each find a few options. Robes and wraps and the like. You’ll use your own underwear, no one feels comfortable wearing borrowed pants. Choose what feels good. Take your time.”

Nina gave Paul a look over her shoulder, bright and teasing. “Come on, Mr Intimate Package,” she said, her voice dancing with excitement. “Let’s dress for your vision.”

Paul blinked, watching her move towards the rack, her hips swaying subtly, already half in character. He rubbed the back of his neck, his mouth dry. His heart pounded a nervous rhythm in his chest.

He followed her, numb with disbelief. She thought this was his plan. Thought this was some deeply buried fantasy come to life. And now she was into it. More than into it, she was bursting with anticipation. He couldn’t bring himself to correct her. Not when she was looking at him like that. Not when she seemed to be falling in love with the idea of who he might secretly be.

Minutes later, Paul stepped onto the set, dressed in his black boxer briefs and a borrowed slate-grey robe that hung loosely around his lean frame. He felt exposed, wearing nothing but tension and thin fabric. His skin was cold where the robe hung open.

And then she stepped out.

Nina was ethereal, wrapped in a smoky lavender sheer that clung to her shoulders and floated around her hips like fog. Her pale, lacy underwear hugged her slim frame. Her black hair, freed from its usual bun, fell over one shoulder in soft, inky waves. Her green eyes found his, and the heat in them nearly made him stumble.

Delphine circled with the calm precision of someone setting a stage. Lights shifted subtly. Shadows softened.

“We’ll start simple,” she said. “Paul, sit at the edge of the chaise. Nina, come in behind him, arms over his shoulders. Touch him, don’t pose. Just feel.”

Paul moved stiffly to the chaise, sitting as instructed, feet flat, hands clenched in his lap. He heard the first soft click of the shutter before Nina even touched him.

Then her hands slid over his shoulders. She leaned down, her fingers brushing over his collarbone, slow, lingering strokes that sent a shiver down his back. Her touch was light but certain, not performative.

“Like this?” she murmured.

“Perfect,” Delphine said. “Eyes on him. Paul, straight ahead. Relax.”

Paul tried. His breathing was too fast. His chest rose and fell like he’d just run a sprint. He was acutely aware of Nina’s thighs brushing his back, the scent of her, clean skin, shampoo, something floral. The heat of her body was a gravitational force.

“You’re tense,” she whispered near his ear, her lips grazing the shell. “You planned this whole thing and now you’re scared?”

“I didn’t,” he began, but she kissed his neck before he could finish.

“Shh,” she breathed, voice soft and wicked. “Just enjoy it.”

The next shutter click felt louder. More invasive.

Delphine stepped closer. “Now Nina, slide into his lap. Face him. Paul, hands on her waist.”

Paul moved like he was underwater. His fingers trembled as they found her sides, her skin warm beneath the sheer fabric. She straddled him slowly, legs folding over his, the curve of her thighs pressing close to his hips.

She settled on him, skin meeting bare skin through thin layers. Her arms wrapped around his neck.

“I didn’t know you had this in you,” she said softly, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth, her breath hot against him. “You’re full of surprises.”

His cheeks burned. But his grip on her tightened.

Delphine’s camera clicked again.

Nina leaned into him, her chest pressing against his, the fabric of her wrap slipping slightly. Her breasts brushed his robe, almost touching, the sensation maddeningly subtle.

Paul’s head swam. He could feel himself responding to her, the tightness pooling low in his stomach, the ache of arousal threading into his limbs. Every instinct told him to pull back, to hide, but Nina was shining. Her body was alive with energy, her eyes never leaving his.

“You’re doing so well,” she whispered again, her lips brushing the edge of his ear. “I love this. I don’t even know how much.”

Delphine watched from behind the camera, quiet, observant. Not judging. Not intruding. Just witnessing.

Paul’s hands slid a little lower on Nina’s waist. She arched slightly, pushing her hips forward into his lap.

He gasped. She grinned.

The lights buzzed faintly. The air felt thick with expectation.

And the camera clicked again.

Delphine clicked again. “That’s it. Stay just like that.” The warmth of Nina’s body, the camera lens fixed on them, the low hum of the studio light it was all starting to pull Paul under. He looked at her, at how much she was glowing. She was alive in this. Feeding on it. 

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear again. “You’re doing so well.” 

He breathed in slowly, and for the first time, smiled. 

Delphine’s camera clicked again.

Delphine stepped out from behind the camera, her voice low, composed. "Let’s move a little deeper now. If you're both comfortable, we’ll lose the robes. More skin, closer contact."

Paul hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly on Nina’s waist. He felt her shift in his lap, subtle, warm, and then she was looking at him with those gleaming green eyes, searching his face for a flicker of fear. She must have seen something else instead, because she smiled.

"You heard the woman," she murmured, reaching up to loosen the belt of his robe. "Time to commit to your idea."

He let her slip the fabric off his shoulders. The air was cooler now, or maybe his skin was just that much more exposed. He could feel the tension in his back, the instinct to fold in on himself, but Nina’s hands were on his chest now, and her gaze hadn’t faltered.

She shrugged off her own wrap in one fluid motion, revealing the delicate arch of her collarbones, the soft curve of her breasts framed in lace. Paul’s breath caught.

Delphine’s voice cut in gently. "Beautiful. Let’s take that intensity. Nina, bring your forehead to Paul’s. Let your hands wander. Paul, stay with her. Breathe."

The camera clicked again.

Nina leaned in until their foreheads touched, her breath warm on his lips. Her fingers traced along his jaw, down the slope of his neck, pausing over the rapid thrum of his pulse.

"You’re still nervous," she whispered, smiling. "It’s okay. I like it. You’re trying so hard."

Paul gave a breathless laugh, his hands sliding along her waist, finally touching with intent instead of caution. The feel of her skin beneath his fingers grounded him. She arched into his touch, and her breath caught.

"Now that," Delphine said softly, behind the lens, "was perfect, beautiful. Do that again."

Paul did. He let his palms glide over her sides, up along her ribs, thumbs brushing just beneath the swell of her breasts. Nina let out a low sound, quiet but resonating through Paul. That sound contained a depth of arousal he had never experienced from his wife before.

The camera clicked again.

Nina shifted in his lap, her body pressing flush to his, her breath slowing as she moved. The lace of her knickers rubbed against the thin cotton of his briefs, the friction sparking fire low in his belly.

Her lips brushed his jaw, a slow trail to the corner of his mouth. "You’re doing better than I ever imagined," she said. "You’re gorgeous like this."

Paul closed his eyes, overwhelmed and aroused. He could feel Delphine’s gaze, the weight of the lens watching everything, recording each touch, each breath.

"Paul," Delphine’s voice reached him, calm and certain, "run your fingers up her thighs. Let them settle where they want to be. Nina, guide him. Show him what you want."

Nina’s hands covered his, slowly dragging them down her hips, over the curve of her arse, then forward. She guided his fingers to the top of her thighs, just beneath the edge of her knickers.

"Touch me," she whispered. "You brought us here. Take what you want."

Paul opened his eyes and looked at her. She was open, breathing hard, waiting for him.

He let his hand slide up, fingers trembling, tracing the lace, feeling the heat of her.

Delphine didn’t speak. The camera clicked again.

And Paul, heart pounding, finally stopped thinking.

He kissed her.

Paul kissed her like he’d been holding back for years.

Her mouth parted instantly under his, soft and hungry, tasting of breathless tension and need. She moaned into him, arms tightening around his neck, pulling her chest flush to his. The thin lace of her bra scratched faintly against his skin as she shifted in his lap, the heat of her body radiating into his.

He no longer cared about the lights, the camera, or Delphine’s silent presence behind the lens. All that existed was Nina, eager and breathless in his arms, her thighs clenching around his hips, the rhythm of her breath stoking the fire roaring in his blood.

His hands, no longer hesitant, fingers dipping under the edge of her knickers. She gasped into his mouth, hips rolling into his touch. Her skin was hot and smooth under his hands, her body arching into him without hesitation, without shame.

His fingers grazing the crease where her thighs met her centre, feeling the damp heat already gathered there. Her shaven folds were soft under his fingertips, slick and sensitive. She whimpered, breaking the kiss only to suck in a sharp breath as he traced the length of her slit slowly, teasingly, learning every texture, every reaction.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice cracked and desperate, forehead pressed to his. "There, Paul, God, right there."

He kissed her again, deeper this time, tongue finding hers in a rhythm that matched the slow slide of his fingers. Her hips rocked against him, chasing his touch, her movements frantic and instinctive. His thumb brushed higher, parting her with careful pressure, finding the sensitive nub nestled at the top. She gasped into his mouth, trembling.

He knew her body, but not like this, not with her so exposed, so hungry beneath the eye of a camera, every breath and twitch caught and framed forever. And yet, instead of pulling away, she thrived in it, wrapped tighter around him, pleading for more.

Her moans were quiet but urgent, and her fingers tangled in his hair as she pressed her forehead to his. "Don’t stop," she breathed. "Please, don’t stop!"

He didn’t.

His fingers moved with growing confidence, tracing patterns, circling, dipping just inside. She was soaked now, her body clenching around the teasing press of his touch. Her thighs trembled against his, her breath coming faster, stuttering.

Delphine said nothing. The click of the camera marked time, quiet and relentless.

Paul’s other hand rose to cup her breast, thumb brushing over the stiff peak through lace. Her back arched. Her entire body vibrated against him, alive with sensation.

She came suddenly, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the cry, her body convulsing in his arms, hips jerking forward as she shuddered through it. He held her close, kissed her temple, stroked her back as she trembled and breathed out against his neck.

Through her shuddering moan the click of the camera continued, capturing everything.

Nina slid off Paul’s lap with a breathless laugh, her fingers trailing down his chest as she moved. Her knees sank into the plush cushions between his legs, her hands already tugging at the waistband of his boxers. He looked down at her, flushed and panting, caught somewhere between disbelief and desire.

She met his gaze with a wicked little smile. “Let’s see how far your plan goes.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight, his chest heaving as she slowly peeled the fabric down his thighs.

His cock sprang free, flushed and full, already slick at the tip. Nina exhaled, her eyes dark with hunger as she took him in, fingers wrapping gently around the base.

Paul groaned, his head falling back, the crown of it brushing the top edge of the chaise. The sensation of her delicate hand, warm, soft, deliberate, was dizzying. She stroked him slowly, up and down, thumb gliding across the head to spread the moisture gathered there.

Her grip firmed slightly, her rhythm unhurried. She explored every inch with fascination, watching his face as she worked. She could feel the pulse in him, the twitch of need that met every stroke.

“Jesus, Nina,” he muttered, breath ragged.

She leaned in then, her lips ghosting over the tip of his cock. Just a whisper of contact, a tease of warmth. Paul’s breath caught. Then her tongue traced a slow, deliberate line up the underside, from base to crown.

He swore, one hand gripping the arm of the chaise as his hips twitched.

Behind them, Delphine had moved closer. She knelt into position, circling them slowly, capturing every detail. Paul barely noticed. Nina didn’t flinch.

She was focused entirely on him.

Her lips brushed him again, open-mouthed kisses along the side of his shaft. She licked the head, tasting him, circling the sensitive ridge with agonising care.

Paul’s hand slid into her hair, not guiding, just needing to hold something.

Click.

Delphine crouched low, her lens inches away from the scene, catching the glint of saliva, the flush in Paul’s cheeks, the way Nina’s fingers wrapped him with such reverent confidence.

Nina took him into her mouth slowly, letting him slide over her tongue, her lips sealing around him with aching pressure. She moaned softly as she did, the sound vibrating through him.

Paul groaned aloud, his hips jerking despite himself.

She began to move, slowly at first, her head bobbing in a steady rhythm, each motion fluid and hungry. Her hand stroked what her mouth couldn’t reach, wet and warm, coaxing him higher with every second.

Paul’s eyes fluttered shut. All thought melted away. There was only her, her mouth, her hands, her sounds, and the constant, quiet click of the camera, preserving it all.

Nina eased back slowly, lips parting from his shaft with a soft, wet sound. She looked up at Paul, eyes dark and glassy, mouth slick with saliva, her breath coming fast.

He reached for her instinctively, hands sliding to her face, pulling her up to meet him. She climbed into his lap in one fluid motion, straddling him again, the damp lace of her knickers pressing into his slick length. He could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric, the way she rolled her hips instinctively, hungry for more.

Without a word, she reached between them and pulled the lace aside, just enough to bare herself. Then she shifted, guiding him to her entrance.

Paul gasped as the head of his cock pressed into her. Her body welcomed him eagerly, wet and tight, drawing him in inch by inch until she was seated fully on his lap, thighs trembling around his hips.

Nina let out a breathy moan and threw her head back, hands planted on his chest for balance. “Fuck… yes.”

Paul’s hands gripped her hips, his head lolling against the back of the chaise. The sensation of her wrapped around him, slick and pulsing, was almost enough to finish him off right then, but held strong. She began to move, slow, grinding rolls that made her body shudder and his jaw clench.

Nina reached behind and unclasped her bra, letting it fall from her shoulders and drop to the floor. Her small, perfect breasts were bared to the warm studio light, and to the unwavering eye of the camera. Paul didn’t even think, he leaned in and kissed them, lips brushing over soft skin before taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently until Nina let out a sharp, aching moan.

She arched into him, fingers tangling in his hair. “God! Yes!”

Delphine circled silently, her camera clicking softly, drawing in close to capture every detail, Nina’s parted lips, Paul’s mouth at her breast, the intimacy of the moment frozen frame by frame.

Their rhythm built quickly, bodies slapping together as she rode him harder, deeper. The room was filled with the sounds of sex: breathless gasps, soft cries, the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin.

Delphine capturing every moment with sharp, close-up precision. Paul barely registered her anymore. All he could feel was Nina—her breath on his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body rising and falling with desperate, perfect rhythm.

She leaned in and kissed him, open-mouthed and messy, biting his bottom lip before moaning into his mouth.

“I love this,” she gasped. “I love you."

Paul thrust up into her, matching her pace now, their movements wild and raw. Nearly every barrier between them was gone. This wasn’t performance. This was them, unfiltered, feral, real. But she was still wearing her knickers, they were pushed aside but getting in the way. Nina shifted again, reaching between them and tugging at her knickers. Trying to adjust them. Paul growled low in his throat, grabbed the delicate lace, and yanked hard, ripping the fabric with a sudden, satisfying tear. He pulled the ruined underwear from her without breaking rhythm, tossing it aside as he pressed his mouth to hers in a messy, desperate kiss.

Paul groaned, gripping her hips again as he thrust up into her, deep and steady, filling her slender frame with every stroke. Nina moaned with each thrust, her voice raw and sweet, rising in pitch as he hit that perfect spot again and again. Her back arched, small breasts bouncing with each movement, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she rode him with wild, urgent need.

Paul’s jaw clenched as he drove into her, faster now, the sound of their bodies slapping together echoing through the studio. Her walls gripped him tight, every pulse and tremor drawing him deeper into her heat.

Delphine moved in silence, circling, crouching, capturing the raw beauty of their motion, the sheen of sweat on their skin, the trembling of Nina’s thighs, the way Paul’s muscles flexed with every thrust. The camera clicked steadily, documenting the moment their love turned feral again.

They were lost to it. The rest of the world had vanished. There was only this, their bodies, their sounds, their rhythm.

Nina’s moans grew louder, her body starting to tremble again. “I’m close,” she choked, her voice cracked and urgent. “Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”

He didn’t. He held her tighter, drove deeper, hips colliding with hers in a feverish rhythm, gritting his teeth as her body trembled atop him.

Nina’s cry tore from her throat, raw and primal, as her orgasm consumed her. Her whole body seized, muscles clamping down around him in a series of pulsing contractions that made her legs shake and her hands claw at his back. Her slick heat clenched rhythmically around his cock, dragging desperate whimpers from her lips as her climax crashed through her in waves.

That raw, unfiltered ecstasy was too much for Paul. The way she came around him, her heat, her voice, her surrender, it shattered his control. He groaned deeply, almost a growl, burying his face in her neck as he drove into her one last time and came hard. His cock pulsed as he spilled deep into her, his entire body convulsing with release, hips jerking helplessly as pleasure ripped through him.

They clung to each other, gasping, slick with sweat and shaking, their bodies still tangled and trembling in the slow, aching echoes of climax.

Delphine lowered her camera.

The room fell quiet but for the hum of the lights and the soft hiss of cooling breath.

And Paul, dazed and spent, wrapped his arms around Nina’s back, kissed her shoulder, and whispered, “We actually did it.”

Nina laughed, exhausted and breathless. “You really need to plan more surprises like this.”

As the young couple stepped out into the fading light, Delphine watched them go with a faint, knowing smile. She had known the moment they walked through her door, nervous energy cloaked in politeness, curiosity flickering just beneath their skin, that they would respond well. So she had upgraded their package without a word, a subtle nudge toward what she sensed they already craved. And sure enough, Paul had played right into it, while his wife bloomed before the lens. Delphine was rarely wrong. She could always see the hunger people carried quietly, even when they didn’t yet know it themselves. And she was always happy to coax it free. Always happy to watch.

The kettle clicked off with a soft ping, and Paul poured the hot water into two mugs, steam curling in the morning light. The kitchen was quiet, save for the distant hum of the fridge and the slow patter of rain against the windows. Months had passed since their photoshoot and much had changed for the young couple. 

Paul slid a mug in front of Nina and sat down across the table, fingers tapping lightly against the ceramic.

“I was thinking,” he said, a little tentative, “maybe we should do a pregnancy photoshoot.”

Nina sat at the table, one hand curled around her tea, the other resting on the gentle curve of her belly. She wore one of Paul’s old university hoodies, stretched slightly around her bump, and her hair was still damp from the shower. The softness of the moment suited her, glowing, calm, utterly content.

Nina looked up from her tea, brow raised. “Oh? Not satisfied with capturing the moment of conception, you’ve got to get the follow-up too?” 

They weren't sure that they had conceived that night but the maths worked out and deep down they both just felt that it was true. They had the picture, Nina’s head thrown back, eyes closed in a moment of bliss as Paul's face was buried in her neck, tension evident in every line of his body. Looking at it they both knew, that was when they had conceived their little one.

Paul snorted into his cup. “Well, when you put it like that.”

She smirked, rubbing a slow circle on her stomach. “Just promise me you’re not planning to invite a photographer into the birthing room. I will throw something at you.”

“Noted,” he said, grinning. “Just something tasteful. Intimate. You know, soft lighting, maybe outdoors somewhere if the weather holds. It's actually pretty common now.”

He reached for his phone and tapped a few times, then turned the screen toward her. “Look, these are nice, right?”

Nina leaned over, scrolling through the images. A couple wrapped in a blanket by a lake. A woman standing barefoot in a field, her silhouette backlit by golden light. Another with a partner’s hands cradling a swollen belly from behind.

She paused.

Her eyes narrowed at the logo in the bottom corner of the screen. “Is that…?”

Paul didn’t say anything. He just smiled.

Nina cocked an eyebrow. “Delphine?”

He shrugged, still grinning. “She’s got an eye for intimacy.”

Nina shook her head, trying to suppress a smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

“But you’re considering it.”

She leaned back in her chair, her fingers absently stroking her belly again. “I’ll admit, the woman knows how to make us look good.”

Paul reached across the table and squeezed her hand gently. “We’ve got nothing to be shy about. Not after last time.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar. “Alright. But only if I get final approval on every shot.” Paul may have thought his wife was gorgeous like this but she couldn’t help feeling self conscious at her new size.  

“Deal,” he said.

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, everything felt still and glowing.

And between them, quietly growing, the future stirred.