There are a million posts on the internet touting tips and tricks for looking better in photographs. Photoshop and FaceTune aside, the truth is that the best way to look good in a photograph is to be photogenic. Half of that is being comfortable in front of a camera — few people are. The other half is being naturally good looking: clear, even-toned skin; lithe muscle tone; symmetrical, proportional features; bright, clear eyes; full lips, white teeth, and a gorgeous smile.

Ben Hayes has all those features. He is far and away the most photogenic person I’ve ever known. And he’s mine.

Ben pushes the glossy wooden canoe into the lake and quickly hops inside. I hand him a wooden oar and he uses it to push the boat away from the muddy bank. Once we’re about ten feet from the shore, I switch places with him, so I’m seated at the rear of the boat with my back to the forest we just hiked through to get here, and Ben sits with his back facing the center of the sparkling lake while he rows.

I watch him for a while, admiring the taut grooves in the muscles of his neck and arms. “Are we just going to fish or are we going to swim, too?” I ask, briefly lifting the front of my butter-yellow T-shirt to flash my coral-pink bikini top underneath.

Ben shakes his head and laughs. “You’re always full of surprises. And if you want to swim, we’ll swim. You know my kitten always gets what she wants.”

I lean forward and lick his cheek. “Thank you.”

He smiles. “Careful. You’ll lick off my makeup.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me put it back.” I grab his face and lay the flat of my tongue against his cheek and leave it there.

“Are you done yet?”

“Ah-oce,” I reply, without breaking contact.

“That’s cute,” Ben says, then he lets go of the oars and pulls me down so I’m lying across his lap. “Now, let me show you how momma cats lick their kittens.”

I laugh uncontrollably as he licks his way up the entire side of my face and across my forehead. “Okay, okay. Stop!” I plead as he goes for the other cheek.

He lets me go and grabs the oars again. “When are you going to understand, I always win the licking game?”

I unzip my backpack and pull out my camera as I try to catch my breath. “That’s ’cause you’re such an expert licker.”

He shakes his head. “You should probably get your shots before I toss that camera overboard and fuck you right here.”

Ben doesn’t hesitate or get shy when I begin taking pictures of the muscles rippling beneath his skin while he’s rowing. This is one of the things I love the most about him. He’s the perfect subject.

Besides being insanely gorgeous, he has incredible instincts for how to pose and emote. He never looks at the camera unless he’s asked to. He’s a natural-born model, which is why I still find it hard to believe that, after so many years together, he still loves me. I’m definitely not winning any Most Photogenic contests.

Still, with my photography skills and his stunning good looks, we make .

I lower the camera to look at him without the lens between us and I smile at how much better he looks in 3D. “Take off your shirt,” I say, and a split second of discomfort flashes across his face. Or maybe I’m just imagining it, because as quickly as the unease appears, it’s replaced by that charming smile that never gets old.

He lays the oars across his lap then beckons me. “I’ll take it off, but I require payment,” he says, then he taps the corner of his mouth. “Right there.”

I place my camera on top of my backpack and stand slowly, so as not to disturb the balance of the canoe. Stepping forward, I lean over to kiss the corner of his mouth. As usual, he turns his face at the last second so my lips land on his.

He takes my face in his hands as his tongue slides into my mouth. An involuntary moan issues from my throat, and he echoes the sound back at me. His grip on my face tightens and I chuckle as he pulls me into his lap. But my laughter quickly turns to silence when he wraps his arms around my waist and buries his face in my neck.

I curl my arms around his solid shoulders, placing my hand on the back of his head to stroke him softly as I hold him. Ben calls it “getting his me time” when he does this, and he’s been doing it a lot more often lately. He’ll take me into his arms or pull me into his lap and hold me, so tightly it aches in my body and my heart. Sometimes, we’ll stay like this so long, he’ll fall asleep in my arms.

In the past, he’s insisted he needs his “me time” when he starts to think about his mother, who died of stomach cancer when he was eight. But I question why he seems to grieve his mother’s death more with each passing year. It seems to me that he would feel less heartache as time passed.

Either way, I don’t question it. If something is bothering Ben, something he doesn’t feel comfortable sharing with me yet, I’ll have to be patient. He was patient with me for the three years we had to hide our relationship from my family. The least I can do is hold him when he needs to be held.

About ten minutes pass before Ben slowly lets go and flashes me a sexy smile as he peels off his gray T-shirt. “I fucking love you. You know that?” he says, tossing his shirt onto the bottom of the boat.

I pull off my T-shirt and nod. “I’m kinda starting to get that impression.”

He places the tip of his index finger on the hollow of my throat and traces it down to the valley of my breasts. “I don’t want you to ever doubt that. No matter what happens. Promise me, kitten. Promise you’ll never doubt that.”

I swallow hard as I once again get a sense that he may be hiding something. “Ben, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies quickly. “I’m just… Your graduation is coming up fast. And you’ll be able to start traveling with me. I… I don’t want you to think badly of me when you see me autographing tits and putting on a show for the fans. None of that means anything.”

I cock an eyebrow. “But I’ve already seen that. I’ve been to your shows. I’ve been on set for videos. I know what you do when I’m not around. It doesn’t make me think badly of you. It makes me feel lucky that, despite all that shit, you stay faithful. You are staying faithful, right?”

He narrows his ocean-blue eyes. “I would never cheat on you. You know that.”

Oddly enough, I do know that. As handsome as Ben is, he’s even more loyal.

When I was sixteen, and we were still hiding our relationship from my family, he found out that Henry Kincaid, a creep in my trigonometry class, lifted the back of my skirt as we were leaving the classroom. The next day, as school let out, eighteen-year-old Ben was waiting outside for Henry, who was too afraid to protest when Ben insisted they “take a walk.” No one but Henry and Ben know what happened on that walk, but Henry and his friends never harassed me again.

And that was just the first of many things Ben has done to prove his loyalty. When we’re out in public, he smothers me with chivalry and affection. When we’re alone, he pampers and worships my body and my heart.

When Ben is home, we do everything together. Every place we go together becomes our place. Every year we stay together is our year. And summer is our season.

Ben and I met the summer I turned eleven, when my family moved to Bodega Bay. We met on Campbell Cove Beach, and I love reminding my big brother Mason that I met Ben first. Everyone who meets Ben feels like knowing him is a privilege. Before I met Ben, summer was just another season I looked forward to for beach days and extra ice cream cones. After we met, summer became my favorite time of year. Once Ben and I got together, when I was fifteen and he was seventeen, summer became my home.

The smell of suntan lotion became the smell of my sunscreen on Ben’s skin. The bright sun in my eyes as I sunbathed became the golden halo that illuminated the spiky crown of Ben’s wet golden-brown hair as he hovered over me. The harsh, salty seawater coating my tastebuds became the invitation for Ben to slide his sweet tongue in my mouth. Ben and I go together like summer and love.

“I know you’d never cheat on me. We’re a team,” I say, staring into the dark, sparkling pools of his eyes. “But your pain scares me. I wish you’d trust me enough to tell me what’s hurting you.”

He smiles and places a soft kiss on the tip of my nose. “Baby, you’re my world and you’re perfect as you are. I don’t want to put my bullshit on you.”

“But I want you to. I want to help you carry whatever’s weighing you down.”

He kisses the corner of my lips. “I don’t want it to change us. I love us.” He skims his mouth over mine, then places another kiss on the opposite corner. “Just promise me that you’ll never doubt how much I love you or us.”

I sigh as his mouth lands on my neck. “I promise… I’ll never doubt you.”

His mouth is on mine again, kissing me the only way I’ve ever been kissed. Ben was my first everything. He taught me how to kiss. He taught me how to listen. He taught me how to love, not just him, but how to love life. And if I’m reading into the hints he’s been dropping for the past year, soon he’ll be the first man to propose marriage to me.

I nip his bottom lip tenderly and he smiles. “That. I think that’s my favorite thing.”

“What? Biting my lip or the way it gets my dick hard as a rock.”

I laugh. “Both. Those are a few of .”

He laughs harder. “Okay, Julie Andrews.”

I smile as I trace my fingertip along the beads of sweat on his neck. “Sweat drops on warm skin,” I sing softly to the tune of “My Favorite Things.”

Ben adjusts his hips as his erection grows beneath me. “Don’t stop.”

I place my fingertip in my mouth as I try to think of the next few lines. “Hmm… Okay, okay, I got it. Sweat drops on warm skin, you whisper, ‘Hey, kitten.’”

He shakes his head and whispers, “Don’t stop.”

I trace my finger along his bottom lip. “Shiny saliva on lips that I’ve bitten,” I continue, my other hand reaching down to massage his bulge. “Large, rigid packages hiding in jeans. These are a few of my favorite things.”

“Fuuuuck me,” he groans. “That’s so fucking hot.”

“I’ll fuck you after you sing a verse.”

He laughs as his hand slips down the front of my jeans. “I’ll sing a thousand verses for this,” he says, sliding two fingers inside me.

I moan as he slides them in and out. “Sing for me.”

He strokes me as he kisses my neck. His lips skate across my skin until they’re against my ear, whispering, “Pink-colored bra gets my highest approval,” he begins, his other hand reaching up to slide under the fabric of my bikini top. “Blue jeans and G-strings, all set for removal. Wild beast in my pants all ready to spring. These are a few of my favorite things.”

“Oh, my God,” I moan as my muscles contract around his fingers. “Fuck me.”

He chuckles as his teeth scrape my jaw. “Yes, kitten.”