by Iris Blaire
And she acts like there’s nothing weird about this. Just another day at the office.
“Does Britain need me or something?”
I hold up my book. “I just need a quiet place to keep my sanity.”
She continues to powder her face. “This place’ll be yours in a bit. Britain wants to start my shoot soon.”
Fuck. Homework is hard enough to do in the studio in the first place, but she’s going to leave me hot and bothered? I might as well not even try.
I take a deep breath. It’s okay. Just play single in the studio.
Just play single.
“You need an audience?”
She pauses in applying her mascara, looks at me in the mirror, and laughs. “Oh, Dallas. I won’t be cruel because you’ve never been here on a mass photography day. But trust me, I’ll have an audience.”
My eyes lock onto hers. “What, a bunch of girls who’re insanely jealous of you?”
She scoffs. “Jealous of my position in EPE, maybe. But that’s all. They see my success and study my shoots so they can copy them. Trust me, most of these girls think they’re way hotter than I am and could do a better job.”
I can’t remember when I started walking toward her, but I can’t stop. My eyes don’t leave hers. “And you think they have a chance at performing better than you?”
“Even if they did, Britain would never demote me.”
I stop right behind her. Her eyes widen as I place my hands on either side of the counter surrounding her. “That’s not what I asked you.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but when no noise escapes, she bites her lip. Finally, after seconds of silence, she changes the subject by asking, “Why do you want to watch my shoot?”
I lean in close to her ear, strawberry-scented locks brushing against my nose. “To study you. I need to know how to move with you if you’re going to be writhing under me for the next month or so.”
I watch her jaw drop in the mirror. She spins around until she’s facing me, back pressed against the counter, and says, “Are you for real?”
I hunch until my face is level with hers. Her quick breath smells like spearmint. I cock an eyebrow and say, “What do you think?”
The door opens behind me, and Britain yells, “You’re up, Ry.”
Evan bites her bottom lip again, teeth sinking into plump, glossy flesh. “Then watch,” she says.
I push away from the counter and she slides from me, hips swaying as she walks toward the door. She doesn’t look back.
Damnit. Homework is so not getting done today.
I hurry after her.
^^^^
Evan wasn’t lying. The pool deck is packed with people. Britain’s barking for people to stay on one end of the patio so they don’t block her shot. I don’t listen to her, heading to the other end, to the lounge chair that Evan and I posed on the other day. Britain doesn’t say anything, maybe because she notices the herd of models with watering mouths eyeing me like prey.
And I seriously need my privacy when watching Evan.
She steps into the pool, slowly dunking her whole body beneath the surface of the water. When she climbs back onto the patio, her soaked lingerie clings to her, and I can see everything.
Ev-ery-thing.
Actually, a whole shit ton of people watching can see everything, and that doesn’t even faze her. Britain flips her blonde braid to the side and instructs Evan to lie on the ledge of the pool so her feet are facing me. As soon as Evan does so, Britain kneels and starts adjusting her lens.
Evan raises her hands above her head until her perfect tits are the fullest they can be, her nipples straining against the wet fabric of her bra. She arches the small of her back and lets her head fall back.
Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Without being too conspicuous, I place my fists in my lap and lean forward.
Evan spreads her legs just enough for me to see the way her underwear clings to the inside of her thighs, just enough so I can see the outline of her slit.
“Perfect, Rylan. Now bring more innocence to your eyes.”
I force myself to pry my eyes away from her to look at the models on the other end of the pool. Most of them stand in groups, whispering back and forth to each other, all of them in their lingerie get-ups.
None of them coming anywhere near to Evan’s sex appeal.
She flips on her stomach and raises her ass in the air, craning her head to the side so she’s staring right at the lens.
The models’ whispers flutter frantically through the air, and I hope to God they won’t be watching when I’m shooting with Evan.
I want her all to myself.
^^^^
I’m able to catch her before she heads back to change. Luckily I remember to call her Rylan. The name thing is going to be hard to get used to.
“Follow me to the dressing room,” Evan says.
“Why? What’s up?”
“I don’t like the way these models are looking at both of us. Like you’re the meat and I’m the bitch that’s hoarding it.”
I laugh until I realize she isn’t joking, letting my head drop and following her to the dressing room. When I close the door behind me, she lets the towel fall. She might as well not be wearing anything.
She crosses her arms. “Well? What do you want?”
“To study with you tonight.”
No, I just want to spend time with her when both of us aren’t being gawked at. Which isn’t something I should want. I shouldn’t want to spend time with my gorgeous coworker when I have a girlfriend, a girlfriend who told me I could only act single inside the studio.
She scoffs and turns away from me. “I told you. We can’t be seen together. I know a lot of models like the attention that EPE gives them, but I don’t, okay?” She reaches behind her and takes off her bra so I’m staring at her naked back.
My mouth goes dry. I swallow. “There’s this cool coffee shop an hour outside town in an old strip mall. There’s no chance of anyone recognizing you there.”
She slips an oversized t-shirt over her head and glances back at me. “And why the hell would I want to do that?”
I smirk. “Because I know what Professor Gates is planning to cover on the midterm.”
Chapter Five
Evan
How did I get suckered into this again? Oh yeah—Dallas bribed me.
I watch him as he orders our drinks. His shirt is buttoned all the way up and tucked into his slacks. He smiles politely at the barista—even jokes with her. On the outside, he’s like one of those adorable nerds that all the good, smart, virginal girls go for and all the skankier ones want to corrupt.
But I know what he’s really like. I know so much more.
Actually, the only thing I really don’t know is why the hell he wants to hang out with me so bad, like we’re buddies or something. Like he has a crush on me.
But he can’t have a crush on me, because he has a girlfriend.
Unless he’s one of those assholes who cheats on his girlfriends. But I don’t know. That just doesn’t seem like what I know of him.
“One soy latte,” he says when he returns to our table, setting the drink in front of me.
“Thanks.” I take a sip of it. Perfection.
He sits across from me, the only thing separating us our binders and mountains of textbooks. “So, you a vegan or something?”
“Or something,” I say, taking another sip. “Why do you ask?”
“You ordered a soy latte.”
“I could be lactose intolerant.”
“I always see you drinking those weird green shake things.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Yes, okay, I’m vegan. Does that weird you out?”
His lips shift to a coy smile. “A little.” He sips his drink. “As long as you don’t choke me out for drinking dairy in front of you.”
I shake my head. “I’m not that kind of vegan. You know, the crazy PETA kind. I’m vegan because I have to be.”
“You have to?”
I gesture toward my body. “You think this comes from eating pizza and burgers every day?”
“So, health reasons.”
“More like model reasons,” I correct.
I’d love to say that I’m one of those girls who doesn’t give two shits about society’s warped idea of beauty. Unfortunately, my job is to be naked all of the time. I get paid for giving into media’s trend. For looking “hot.”
“You must cheat though,” Dallas says, folding his hands in front of him like he’s going to spend the next few hours hounding me about my eating choices.
“Of course I cheat.” I open up my textbook. “What kind of human being would I be if I didn’t cheat?”
He just nods and opens up his own textbook, and we both start to read. About a minute later, he speaks up again. “What is your favorite cheat food?”
I glance up from my book and meet his striking eyes. He actually looks interested in my answer. I sigh and put down my pencil. “You really want to know?”
“Why else would I be asking?”
“Half-baked chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, a side of Flaming Hot Cheetos, and a nice IPA to wash it all down, preferably on the nuttier side.”
He blinks once and bursts into laughter.
“What?”
“You’ve obviously thought about this for a long time.”
“Well yeah, when you’re eating rabbit food you fantasize about the stuff you could be eating a lot. Now wipe that dumb grin off of your face and get to work.”
The fact that he listens to me is kind of thrilling. I like how I still have some kind of power over the guy who corners me in the dressing room like he wants to own me.
It’s kind of like a game. A way to make shooting naked together a little more sexy and less awkward. And I’m all for that, as long as my grades don’t drop.
And the way his eyes are on me now, I can totally see my grades dropping.
I clear my throat and focus on my biology. Surprisingly, Dallas stops asking me questions and directs me toward what chapters I should be reading for the midterm. With the lack of interruption and boost of caffeine, I’m able to get quite a bit of studying done. A lot more than if I were to stay at home.
Finally, when I’m starting to go cross-eyed from terminology, I pack up my textbooks and pull from my bag one of the romance novels that Britain wants me to read so badly. It has a pretty promiscuous cover—a pair of handcuffs on satin sheets. Subtle yet sexy. I start to read. The thing is like crack and before I know it I’m on page fifty and the two main characters have already fucked twice.
“What is your deal?” Dallas asks. “And why did you stop studying?”
“I am studying,” I say. “Just for work now.” When I sigh, I realize I’ve been sighing loudly for the past few minutes. “It’s these books, man. I can’t believe these books turn women on. Naïve virginal girls sucked into the schemes of rich playboys. Not knowing that they like being spanked until they really are spanked. It’s total bullshit.”
Dallas busts up laughing. I realize now that he laughs a lot. The baritone, husky sound of it is beautiful.
“You think it’s funny? These female authors act like they don’t even know what women really want during sex. For fuck’s sake, the narrator in this book gets off by having her nipples played with.”
Dallas’s face suddenly gets very serious. “And you don’t get off when you have your nipples played with?”
“I can’t even get off during sex.” The words escape my mouth before I even realize I’ve said too much. Way too much. I bite down on my bottom lip as punishment and pray that somehow he manages to not comprehend what I’ve just said.
I’m not so lucky.
“Wait,” he says slowly. His eyes narrow and he leans in. “Are you telling me you’ve never had an orgasm during sex?”
“Shh!” I look around to see if anyone’s looking at us.
“Are you telling me you’ve never had an orgasm during sex?” he whispers.
Heat flushes my face, and I know I must be bright red. Keep cool, Evan. You can talk about orgasms. You aren’t twelve. “I—no.”
“Who the hell are you fucking?”
“Dallas!” I hiss.
He actually looks angry, his eyes harboring the hottest kind of fire. “Are you telling me that no guy you’ve ever slept with has had the decency to get you off?” Suddenly a thought occurs to him. “Wait—are you a virgin?”
I sober up. “Dallas… I make porn for a living. Of course I’m not a virgin.”
“Then what the hell is going on with your sex life?”
I open my mouth before I have the words to answer. Actually, I hate to admit it, but EPE has kept me from having a sex life. I can never let guys get too close to me, because the second that they know about my second life, I become an object. I date sweet guys long enough to sleep with them—to have awkward sex—and then grow afraid that they’ll learn who I truly am. That they’ll be mortified by the kind of girl they’ve shared a bed with.
When I first started modeling for EPE, my old boyfriend found out. He thought it was hot, but he also thought that I was into being humiliated in the bedroom—being called a whore and having my head pushed down to his cock because that’s what girls like me enjoyed. He’d seen porn. He thought he knew.
I shake myself out of the memory. Dallas is still staring at me, waiting for an answer. I finally respond with a shrug.
He smiles, and says lowly, “If you’re not into spanking, then what are you into?”
My heart begins to race, pleasure shooting deep into my abdomen. I can’t believe this is turning me on—talking about sex in a public place with a taken man.
“I never said I wasn’t into spanking,” I say. Light dances in his eyes, like he’s drinking in my every movement, my every word. “But I don’t need some billionaire with a six-pack to tell me that. I can decide for myself if I like to be spanked or not.”
“And your decision is….”
“Yeah, sometimes it’s hot. Okay?”
“But you’re obviously not the same kind of creature as the majority of these protagonists,” he says amusedly, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “And if we’re to visually recreate their deepest, darkest desires, then what do you suppose we do?” He looks down at his cup, tracing the coffee-stained lid with the tip of his fingers.
I cross my legs to keep the pressure from building and work to keep my breath as even as possible. “I guess you’re going to have to dominate me.”
His eyes shoot to mine again, wicked and playful and startling blue. Delicious pleasure shoots through my loins and I swear I’m closer to orgasm than I’ve ever been during sex. Just from Dallas looking at me.
“I guess I’m going to have to dominate you,” he responds.
Dallas
“I’ve been emailing your photographer,” Tricia says.
We’re both lying in bed naked. It’s been over a week since I’ve had sex with Tricia, and I thought that’d mean that when we finally had the chance to sleep together, it would be like fireworks. Like it used to be.
I was wrong.
She seemed distracted the whole time, even when I went down on her. And after an hour of trying to get her off, I gave up.
I hate giving up on getting a girl off. And it’s not even a pride thing. Watching a girl come is one of the most beautiful things in the world—like an addiction—and I haven’t had my fix in a long time.
I wrap my arms around Tricia, and she relaxes into me. “What about?” I’m wondering if her suggestion of wanting me to act single was just a test, and now she’s trying to use Britain to spy on me.
Britain saw me cornering Evan the other day, my face in her hair. What if she told Tricia? My stomach twists.
“How much you’ll make from your audition shoot.”
I relax, but only a little. “You’re worried about money?” Not about my fidelity. But about money.
<
br /> She rolls over so she’s facing me. “I just know how hard you’re working in school, and I didn’t want you to be under any more strain if you didn’t have to be.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “It’s not really work. E—Rylan really knows what she’s doing and I kind of just follow her lead.”
Tricia giggles. “That’s right. Britain told me you got paired with the faux innocent one. The virgin skank.”
I push away from her. “Why would you call her that?”
“Because that’s what she is.”
“That’s what her character is,” I correct. “That’s not who she really is.”
She pushes against my chest. “Come on, she has to be a bit skanky to pose for that magazine.”
I can’t believe what she’s actually suggesting. “Trish, I pose for that magazine.”
“Yeah, but that’s different.”
“Because I’m a guy?”
“Because… Fuck, Dallas, I don’t know. Because it just is.”
It’s useless to get into an argument right now. I’m tired and irritated and have the worst case of blue balls. I can’t be in this condition if I’m going to be shooting with Evan today. I say nothing, kissing Tricia on the cheek and rolling out of bed.
If I don’t get myself off in the shower, I’m going to accidentally come during our shoot today—if it’s anything like our shoot last week.
^^^^
The studio is as busy as it was on Wednesday, except a different kind of busy. As I walk in, several women sitting on the couches go quiet, all looking up at me. Instead of lingerie, they’re all dressed in jeans and t-shirts. Britain is among them. Papers scatter the coffee table.
“Dallas,” Britain says. “Glad you’re here.” She gestures to a woman with dark skin and curly hair sitting next to her. “This is Andrea, one of our writers for this upcoming issue of EPE. She’s going to be crafting yours and Rylan’s story for the magazine.”
