by Iris Blaire
"Probably," I say cheerfully, raising the camera to my face. "That's up to you if you want to or not. But I'm not going to stop." I grind my hips against him and snap a photo.
He shakes his head. "You're being very bad," he says darkly.
"Shut up and model for me."
He digs his fingers into my hips and holds me still as I snap another photo. I drop my camera when I see the seriousness written all over his face.
"I haven't fucked anyone since Boston, you know."
I chuckle. "You trying to make me feel guilty or something?"
My laughter is cut short when he rolls me off of him and onto my back, catching my camera before it's thrown out of my hands. He sets it gently on my nightstand. "I think we've had enough of that. I'm sure you know how well your lens works."
I make to get up but he flips me over, pressing me into the mattress. Pleasure swirls between my legs, and I can't staunch the breathy gasps escaping my mouth. "Fuck," I whisper.
"You know that the second you tell me to get out, I'll leave," he says gently, reminding me that he's grown up. He wants to pretend he has control for a moment, but it still belongs to me. Jaime never used to give power up like that. He used to be a boy, unwilling to let go of his pride.
His warm hand slides from the back of my knee to the bottom of my ass, kneading softly.
"I know," I slur, intoxicated by his touch.
"I'd like to live out my fantasy now," he says.
Oh fucking fuckity fuck.
I arch toward him as he strips off my t-shirt, and then he flips me back over. He studies my breasts before dipping his head. "I've missed these," he says, tongue darting out and gliding across my hard nipple.
I bite down on my bottom lip, my heart pounding in my chest.
"This is how I imagined it. Your skin still cold from the pool, covered in goosebumps. He kisses the bottom of my breast before his lips trail all the way down to my navel. "You writhing beneath me."
"I'm not writhing," I gasp.
"You aren't yet." He kisses my stomach before I feel him working the strings of my bikini bottom. When I'm untied, he peels the fabric away, a slow reveal, kissing my mound before he tugs my bottoms all the way off me. Kneeling between my legs, he pushes my knees apart as far as they'll go. "You're already wet for me, Britain."
I've been wet for him since he crawled through my window, but he doesn't need to know that.
I can't keep my eyes off his hard dick, wondering if he's going to use it on me. But the fantasy that Jaime told me about didn't involve him screwing me.
He slides down until he's on his stomach, and his face is right above my pussy. When he kisses the inside of my thigh, my eyes roll back, and I feel his tongue on my clit. He gives me a good, hard lick and whispers, "Jesus, I forgot how good you taste."
My fingernails scrape against his head as his tongue laps at me relentlessly, sucking and nipping. I whisper his name, the sound of it escaping my mouth giving me as much of a rush as his ministrations. "Jaime... fuck."
From somewhere down the hall, door slams. Jaime freezes.
"Cam," I mutter.
"You lock your door?" he whispers against me.
"Can't remember." Cam never bothers me when I'm in my room. The likelihood of him catching me with Jaime is next to nothing. My parents, on the other hand, don’t bother to knock. But they wouldn’t be in this end of the house so late.
His teeth scrape against my clit and I buck my hips. Two of his fingers slide into me, and he pumps them in and out of me quickly, picking up his pace, like he knows how close I am to coming. I whisper his name again, and I feel his pinkie slipping lower, the tip of it finding my asshole and circling slowly, massaging me.
He sucks hard on my clit and I bite hard on my bottom lip as I come, trying to muffle the noises escaping my throat so Cam doesn't hear me. When I've come down, Jaime crawls upward, kissing my navel, then the valley between my breasts, my neck, and finally my mouth. I can taste myself on him.
I realize this is the first time we’ve kissed since Boston, and I grip his neck and bring him to me again, deepening the kiss until my tongue fights with his.
He finally kisses my forehead, rolls from me, and starts to dress. This is the second time he's gotten me off without asking for anything back. It's like he's asking for a serious case of blue balls.
He says nothing until he's pulled on all of his clothes. Standing by the dark window, he looks at me and says, "Your dad invited me to dinner on Friday. Try not to drool all over the table."
Asshole.
CHAPTER FOUR
The weekend luncheon makes me want to gag.
It's held on a private landscaped manicured lawn. The table's centerpieces are floral and gaudy, my china plates and cup more expensive than everything I own put together. About three-hundred guests are in attendance, the women all dressed in chic sundresses from designer boutiques.
Mine doesn't fit me right, per usual.
After I've devoured my salad and tiny square of salmon, I wait for the dessert course as Cam and my parents are off mingling. I rest my elbow on the table and start texting from my lap.
"Exciting, isn't it?"
I start, glancing up. Micah Greene, son of the CEO whose company my dad is hoping to merge with, grins at me.
"Enthralling." I return to my texting.
"You know, Britain, I was hoping we could talk."
My eyes slowly flit up to find his again. Micah is grinning. He smiles a lot, and knows how to use it. I'm sure dozens of women have told him how adorable his smile is. Micah is handsome and rich and suave, so he probably thinks that wooing any girl is as easy as grinning.
"I'm a huge fan of yours,” he says, and immediately I know he's talking about the magazine.
I'm caught off guard, and accidentally laugh nervously.
"Don't be shy," he says smoothly. "I think it's insanely sexy, to be honest."
"Usually the fans are the ones calling my models insanely sexy."
He cocks his head. "Now, now, you don't give yourself enough credit."
I lean back in my chair, studying his cool demeanor. "Is that why you came to visit me at this table? To talk about my porn?"
"Sort of," he says, sliding his phone across the table. "I wanted to show you this."
I pick up his phone and stare at the screen. The photo is of a gorgeous infinity pool looking out at the ocean.
"Awesome?"
"It's my beach house."
"Are you hitting on me?"
"Keep scrolling through the pictures."
I do. The house is beautiful, modern and open and bright, with marble floors and large, spa-like bathrooms.
"A little bird told me that you needed a place to shoot in the next couple of weeks."
I nearly drop the phone is surprise. I rake my mind to try and figure out who the fuck would tell Micah that. It would be the only person drunk off mimosas at this luncheon. "Cam."
"I brought up your profession in passing, and he told me your dilemma."
"So you want to offer me your house to shoot my next storybook in. What's your agenda? You want your house featured for some reason?"
"Not really."
"You want to watch the shoots? Because that isn't going to happen."
"Please," he says.
I raise my eyebrows, and he grins again. "My father has been withholding my inheritance because I won't settle down with a girl."
"Oh, poor you."
"Poor me is right," he says defensively. "I enjoy my sex life, thank you very much. I like not being tied down. My father... well, you know his moral beliefs."
Do I ever. His father is well-known for funneling money into conservative and GOP Super PACs. Micah is one of eight children, and the only one not married.
"I'm thinking I can earn access to my inheritance by giving your father an extra push to seal the deal between the two companies." I don't get it until he winks.
I laugh. "You want me to become yo
ur girlfriend? No... you're bribing me to become your girlfriend."
"Not my girlfriend. My fake girlfriend. And then, once the deal is sealed between the companies, or I receive my inheritance, you're off the hook."
"And if neither happens?"
He shrugs. "Then we fake break up. Either way, there is no loss for me. Just a lucky chance I want to take."
I mull around his proposal, leaning in close to him. "What would being your fake girlfriend consist of?
"Attending the season's remaining dinners as my date, where we will flirt and kiss and touch. When you leave for my house to shoot, loudly tell my parents that you are going to spend time with me. And that's it."
That's it. Sure, the deal is a little dirty, but playing boyfriend-girlfriend with Micah Greene would solve so many of my problems. Not to mention the fact that I'm single.
I think of Jaime. "Since we're fake, that doesn't mean I have to be exclusive."
"As long as you don't get caught," he says seriously.
I slide my hand onto his lap, leaning in closely as my parents approach the table. "When do we start?" I whisper.
CHAPTER FIVE
I've never really been let in on family business. Dad never talks about the company with me in a serious tone, and he's never offered me an internship, even though I've always been more responsible than Cam and taken school more seriously. I love Daddy, really, I do. But sometimes he can be a subtle, misogynistic dickwad.
That's another reason why I haven't touched my inheritance. It's pride... really, it is. I'm waiting for either of my parents to look at my account and ask why I haven't spent any of the money allotted to me, or maybe even ask what I plan on doing with it. But so far, neither of them have.
And I plan on letting that money sit stagnant in that account forever. I have my own savings account to fill.
My parents have always cared more about my love life than how I'm investing my money or if I care about being a part of the company, so it isn't a surprise to me when Mom asks over dinner. "You seemed to be sidling up quite nicely to Micah Greene this afternoon."
Parents. So predictable.
"He's nice." I say, and decide to initiate the string of lies. "He asked me out next week."
Dad's chewing on his steak and staring at me intently.
"Well I think that's wonderful," says Mom. "Don't you, hun?"
"I always liked Micah," says Dad after swallowing.
This may be easier than I thought.
I make eye contact with Cam, who looks amused. It's like it's his new permanent expression when listening to Mom’s and Dad's concern with my life.
"Oh, and you won't have to worry about putting my friends up," I tell them. "They already put a non-refundable deposit on a vacation house."
Mom sighs. "Oh well. We can at least have them over for dinner."
I'm sure none of my models would complain about free food. They just better behave themselves.
After dinner, I Skype with Andrea through the early evening, trying to figure out what the hell kind of theme and storyline we're going to attempt. So far, all of our ideas have been total shit.
She sighs exasperatedly, placing her chin in her turned-up palm. "Here's the thing, Brit, maybe we should wait."
I groan and begin pacing my room as Andrea watches me from the television monitor on the wall. "I don't want to wait. I don't want to wing it! I'm already stressed out enough as it is. I don't need something else to worry about until the last minute."
"But the chemistry of the models is different every shoot. Maybe they'll inspire you. What if we half-ass a storyline and I write the entire script only for you to be inspired by something they do when they actually arrive in Malibu?"
Damn it, she's right. "Fine, fine. Keep brainstorming, okay?" I hear a ping from my phone. "Gotta run. I think I just got an email from my editor."
Andrea grins. "The model list. I've already read it. Your all-stars." And with that, she signs off.
I pick up my phone and check out the email. She's right. Evan, Dallas, Delilah, Adam, Chloe, Jaime, Miguel, and Ella.
I feel a little better.
///
By the time Friday afternoon rolls around, neither Dad nor Cam nor Mom has told me that Jaime is coming to dinner. I take it upon myself to dress in one of my nicer sun dresses and not look like a slob in the house for once this summer. I swipe on a little bit of makeup, switch out my glasses for contacts, and begin curling the strands of my long, blond hair at my vanity when there's a knock on the door. Mom enters.
I realize that my laptop is on, showing some second-string images of the Halloween shoot that I was editing this afternoon—the kinky ones of Dallas and Evan on the BDSM bed. I reach over and slam the lid shut, turning to my mother and smiling. "What's up?"
"Well, what a pleasant surprise! You actually look..."
"Decent for once?" I finish.
"Well... I was going to be nicer about it. But yes. I was just letting you know that we are having company for dinner, but it looks like you've changed out of your sweats already."
"Who’s the company?" I ask.
Her grin gets wider and strained. Mom secretly fucking hates Jaime. "Jaime Rivera. I know, I know," she says quickly. "Despite what he told you, he and Cam are no longer friends, and your father fired him, but you are right. He's trying really hard to make amends with this family, and Dad wants to have faith in him." She shrugs. "So I guess that means I'm on board."
I think about Cam and the words he was sharing with Dad a few days back. "What about Cameron?"
"I..." she sighs. "He's trying, honey."
I shake my head. "They were friends for so long. Was Cam that betrayed when Jaime was fired?"
Mom frowns. "Cam was the one who turned Jaime in."
I feel my eyes widen. Cam turned Jaime in? Even if Jaime did steal and Cam found out, I feel like Cam would try to sort the truth out with Jaime before turning him in to Dad, especially if there was no solid evidence against Jaime. Cam had a stronger relationship with Jaime than our parents.
Something seems fishy, but I don't tell Mom that. Instead, I grin. "Well, it's nice that Dad is giving him another chance."
Mom shoots me a funny look. "Really? I thought you hated Jaime."
Shit, Brit. Don't give yourself away. I shrug, trying to brush off my slip-up. "People change. People grow up."
She smiles. "That's my girl, sweet and forgiving."
I want to roll my eyes and gag, but I make due with clenching my teeth.
"Head down to the dining room when you're ready. Roasted pork tonight!" she says before leaving.
I turn back to my mirror self, blowing out air through my pursed lips.
My family really has no idea who the fuck I am.
When I'm done curling my hair, I tie a bow in it. I look gross. Cutesy and fucking gross. I actually laugh out loud at the image of myself.
"What is wrong with you, Brit?" I mutter before heading out my room.
I'm halfway down the foyer stairs when the doorbell rings. Dad rushes to answer it, swinging the door open. "Jaime! Good to see you." He gives Jaime a zealous, overly-joyful handshake, and Jaime walks inside.
He's dressed in black slacks and a rather expensive-looking button up—fuckably delicious. All I can think of is earlier this week when his head was buried between my legs.
Wow. Is this like a cheesy prom reenactment, or what?
My hands brush against the front of my dress and I try to ignore the fact that he looks like a sex god and I look like a fucking Easter egg. I clear my throat. "Jaime," I try and say smoothly.
"Brit." His eyes are heavy-lidded. It's the look he gives me when he plans on getting me off.
"Now, now," Dad chuckles and motions me down the stairs. "I know there are years of bad blood between the two of you, but I think it's time that we put all of that behind us." When I reach them, Dad places a hand on my back and pushes me toward Jaime. "Why don't the two of you hug it out?"
&
nbsp; Jaime looks like he's about ready to die from laughter, but he manages to hold it together. He holds his arms out, cocking his head to the side. "Come here, Britain."
I glare at him with I'm-going-to-spank-you-when-we're-finally-in-private eyes. Then I walk to him reluctantly. When he wraps his arms around me, I lean into his hard body.
I barely catch his whispered sentence. "I can't stop thinking about Monday."
Monday was the last time he snuck into my room. Heat spirals through my core. The next few hours are going to be torture.
I pull away from Jaime and Dad pats me on the back. "See? Not so bad. Let's get you two to the dining room. Dinner's already on the table."
Cam and Mom are already seated when we arrive. To my surprise, Cam looks really relaxed, considering how tense he sounded when talking to Dad about Jaime. He even smiles and holds out his hand when Jaime approaches. "Hey, man."
The handshake is stiff, especially considering their years of friendship. I eyeball Cam, but he doesn't seem to notice. I make a mental note to confront him about Jaime later.
Dad takes his usual spot at the head of the table, and surprise, surprise, the two spots left are right next to each other. Jaime takes a seat next to me.
"Thanks so much for having me," Jaime says, his voice like silk. It's probably the most polite sentence he has ever spoken to my parents.
"Our pleasure," says Mom. Her smile is strained again.
Cam and I glance at each other, silently relaying simultaneously how awkward this whole thing is. My food is already arranged beautifully on my plate. I wish we were like normal families and served ourselves at dinner, because at least I’d be able to occupy myself.
The table stays quiet as we all eat. I keep my head down, staring at my food like it's made of diamonds. Dad is the first to speak up, like always. I'm pretty sure my father thinks that silence is the most awkward thing of all.
"So, Jaime, tell us all what you've been up to."
Jaime and I accidentally-not-so-accidentally exchange glances, and I return my gaze to my food, feeling heat douse my face. It's like I evolved the second I entered college to become a girl more confident and comfortable with herself, and every time I come back here, I revert to timid, blushing Britain. Ugh.
