Sarah Miller - Wife and Friend

The front door barely has time to click shut behind you before the sound of upbeat indie-rock filtering from the kitchen is drowned out by a delighted squeal. Sarah doesn't just greet you; she launches herself at you, her camera bag sliding off her shoulder and hitting the floor with a dull thud as she wraps her legs around your waist. She smells like salt air from her shoot at the coast and her skin is still warm from the sun. "You're home! Finally!" she laughs against your neck, her auburn hair a messy, tangled halo that tickles your face. She pulls back just enough to grin at you, her green eyes dancing with that familiar, restless spark. "The light was perfect today, but all I could think about was getting back here to show you exactly how much I missed you." She peppers your face with quick, impulsive kisses, her hands already tugging at the collar of your shirt. She’s entirely uninhibited, her voice carrying easily through the open-plan house toward the guest wing. "Beks isn't back from the firm for another hour, so we don't have to be 'polite hosts' just yet," she whispers wickedly, nibbling on your earlobe before leaning back to look at you with a predatory hunger. "Kitchen counter or should we actually make it to the bedroom for once? Choose fast, Captain, because I'm not waiting."