Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

‘Shit!’

Paul turned back to the screen. It was dark. Something nasty was coming towards the two teenage girls. Emma gave a breathy little scream.

He touched Emma’s arm, gently, as if to comfort her. She didn’t move. He wondered if she’d object if he rested his hand companionably on the thick denim covering her thigh. She was cocooned in layers – a sloppy, cheap woollen sweater, and below that, a cotton garment. He wished he could take off all her clothes right now, so he could look at her, feel her skin and her warmth. But he dared not do a thing.

A gasp escaped from Emma’s mouth. She hid her face behind a cushion.

Slowly, carefully, he leaned over and put his hand on her thigh. Surprise flashed over her face. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his. Then, she turned back to the screen.

She wasn’t going to stop him. She didn’t mind. Perhaps she wanted something to happen as much as he did.

After a few minutes, he moved his hand away. Emma resumed chomping her way through the popcorn. He watched the green digits advance on the Blu-ray player’s display: 3.13pm. Time was running out. There was the drive home still to come; he had to get her back home well before six or Jane might suspect something. If he didn’t do something soon, it would be too late.

‘I’ll go and get the camera,’ he said.

Emma shrieked as he opened the door. One of the sisters had turned into a werewolf.

‘I can’t watch!’ She raised the cushion to cover her face.

He returned and put the camera on the coffee table.

‘Shit, this is so scary.’ She flopped back on the sofa, dispatching the cushion to one side.

Finally, the credits started to roll. He took the remote and pressed eject.

‘OK, Em, are you ready?’ He took off the camera’s protective case and switched on the lights. ‘We need five or six really good shots of you.’

‘Wait one minute.’ She fussed around with a compact, dabbing candyfloss-coloured goo on her lips. Her cheeks were already flushed.

He pointed to the wall behind, a perfect backdrop, white enough for good light reflection. ‘Stand over there, sweetie, and look into the camera.’

She got up immediately and posed quite naturally, one leg bent against the wall, arms loose at her sides, smiling nicely. Click.

‘Can I look?’ She skipped over to peer into the camera. The result was fine. Better than he’d expected.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘let’s have a few more. More attitude, this time. Think of Rosie whatever-her-name-is.’ What was her name, Emma’s current favourite model? ‘Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, that’s it.’

He knelt on the sofa, digging his elbows into the top of it to steady the camera, and zoomed in on her face. The modelling contests she watched on TV must have rubbed off, he thought, as she slipped with ease through a range of poses and expressions. She probably would make a good model – she had no shyness whatsoever in front of the camera.

‘Em, that’s great. Monica will love these, I’m sure. But we need a few bikini shots. You have to show them you’re nearly grown up, not some dopey twelve-year-old.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t have a bikini. Only my costume from the pool.’

‘No, that won’t do. It’s fine for swimming, but it’s not exactly fetching, is it?’ Mock despondently, he scratched his head. ‘I know. Why don’t you take off your things and I’ll take a photo of you in your underwear? That’s the same thing, pretty much. Better, in fact. It’ll add a touch of spice. That’s important, these days.’

She giggled, as if he’d told her a risqué joke. ‘OK, then.’

His heart was going like the clappers, it would burst out of him any second. Christ, she was going to do it. Pursing her lips, she pulled off the wool sweater and cotton top together, revealing a simple blue cotton bra. Padded, by the look of it. A moment’s hesitation then she quickly pulled down the zipper of her jeans and stepped out of them. She looked at him with a coquettish smile. Her panties matched the bra. They only just covered her pubic hair.

‘Will this do?’

‘You have a fabulous body,’ he said.

Her eyes fixed to his, as a shy horse inspects a stranger at the fence. It wanted the sugar in your hand, only it didn’t trust you enough to let you come near. He came around the side of the sofa, settled himself on the arm, and raised the camera. She was going to do whatever he asked. His groin strained against the tight denim.

‘Come on, give me some raunch. Pretend you’re a naughty girl. Yes, like that.’

Click, click. Click, click, click.

‘Pull the strap down a bit. Let’s see a little more – that’s it. Don’t be shy. Give me that teasing look again… perfect.’

Paul looked at his watch. ‘OK, that’s enough.’

Emma strode to the pile of clothes on the floor.

‘Hey, no need to be in such a hurry to get dressed.’ He gestured to the sofa. ‘Come and sit down for a sec and look at these. We might need to repeat one or two shots.’ She perched awkwardly on the edge of the seat beside him, clutching her cotton top in one hand. He held the camera close as the photos skipped by in the viewfinder, aware of the fascination and pleasure passing over her face. He reached the last photo. It was extra special – he would treasure that one. Her eyes shone with the knowledge of her beauty and its impact on him. Her parted lips and slightly raised eyebrows seemed to dare him to do something.

‘You’re a natural model, Em. Like the ones in Glamour magazine, but better.’

She looked pleased, but a little uncertain, one hand still holding on to the cotton top. He put the camera down on the coffee table. He had to act quickly.

‘Take your bra off, sweetie.’

‘Why? We’ve done the photos.’

‘Please. Just for me. Let me see how beautiful you are. I’d like to see what you look like underneath, that’s all.’

Stubbornness crept into her voice. ‘No, I don’t want to.’

‘Please, Em. I just want to look. You have a beautiful body.’

She stared, about to bolt.

‘Go on,’ he cajoled. ‘I won’t do anything, I promise.’

She sighed in protest but let go of the top. Then she pulled down her bra straps, dragged the fasteners to the front, and unhooked it, placing it on the seat beside her. And there, before him, were two perfect, creamy peaks, their tips darkening to a dusky mauve.

His breath drew in. Her breasts weren’t quite as small as he’d expected, just big enough for a first bra. But he hadn’t realised how lovely they were. She always kept them hidden under her baggy tops.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said.

Hardly daring to breathe, he leaned across and brushed his lips against her velvet earlobe, then the downy rim of her ear. When he touched her mouth with his lips she jerked her head away, looking at him wide-eyed, as if she’d just been kicked. Her eyes were bigger and darker than he’d ever seen them.

‘It’s alright, sweetie,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

He reached out and felt the softness of her breast. She didn’t move. Her eyes seemed so big in her pale little face.

‘Don’t be scared, Em. I’m going to give you the most wonderful feeling you’ve ever had.’ He could almost hear her murmur of delight.

‘No, I want to go home.’

She removed his hand and tried to stand up. He pushed her back down, firmly enough that she’d know he meant it. She tensed, protested. He wondered if she would yell and if he should put his hand over her mouth. He had the fleeting thought that he ought to give this up now and let her go – this could only end in disaster.

But he couldn’t stop. His need filled him, a desperate, insane need that went beyond any boundary. This time, he would do what he craved. Slowly, gently, without hurting her too much. Soon, he was certain, she would enjoy it. This dark angel would surrender to him.