“It’s completely up to you, of course, but I wouldn’t dismiss the idea too quickly. I can guarantee that you’d profit hugely from the exposure.”
Exposure was right. I had no desire to be exposed in such a way.
“In fact,” Julieta was continuing, “I have it on very good authority that you could net at least a six-figure payout upfront. And that’s just the upfront. It’s to say nothing of the name recognition. Again, you’re a beautiful girl, Zoey. You could really make a name for yourself. There’s only so far you can get reporting the gossip in this world. Eventually you need to become the thing that people gossip about. Just think about it. Well, I have to run. Have a great night! I loved your Style piece today and look forward to reading your feature tomorrow.”
Julieta hung up without letting me get in another word. I stared at my phone in disbelief. No amount of money in the world was going to be enough to turn me into a whore, even if that amount of money would actually make a huge difference in my life. A really huge difference. I could pay off my student loans…
I was tempted by the money. Anyone would be. But the thought of my mom and dad seeing me on the news, or worse, having one of their friends at church bring it up? There was just no chance. And even if I didn’t care about my own privacy, dignity, and reputation, there was no chance I’d ever hurt Nathan.
Banishing thoughts of Julieta, but extremely worked up, I followed the sound of running water, sure that I would find a very naked Nathan at the end of my journey.
Angelica Hunt Reveals Her Least Favorite Thing About Her High-Profile Life
By Zoey Atkinson, JuicyNews Style Contributor
Being heiress Angelica Hunt has its perks—and its downfalls. Just ask the Instagram star and style icon herself.
During an exclusive conversation with JuicyNews, Hunt admitted the one thing she dislikes about fame: the lack of privacy.
“When I just look like s— and want to go outside and eat a hotdog and not have anyone up my a—,” Hunt replied when prodded to name her “least favorite thing” about being a celeb. As if she ever looks less than perfect!
Yet, there are still some definite perks. When asked her “favorite thing about being Angelica Hunt,” the thirty-year old phenomenon said, “the free sh—.”
After some laughter, she elaborated, “No, the free trips. Free trips, free planes, free everything! It’s like I can do literally anything I want, any time I want, and nothing costs anything. No one ever tells me no. I do love to share, though. When I get free stuff, I give it to literally everyone: family, friends, my assistant…”
And those trips also mean an escape for Hunt.
“Trips are usually what I do for gifts now,” she shared. “Material things don’t make me happy anymore, but experiences do. I like to feel special and wanted. For my birthday, my girlfriends took me away to Utah to this spa for two days and we just hung out the entire time, Instagramming and Snapchatting. I think that was so much fun and everyone just mentally needs to take break.”
Hunt opened up about a variety of topics, also revealing the thing she’s looking forward to the most.
“My dear childhood friend, Nate Breyer is going to blast himself off into space on Friday,” she shared. “I can’t wait to watch the launch. I’m so excited to get to see it. You know, they aren’t letting as many people see this one, so it’s much more exclusive. That’s one of the things I love most about being me. I’m always a VIP.”
27
Nathan
When Zoey joined me in the bathroom, she was completely furious. I could see it on her face and feel it in her gaze. She was quivering with it.
She stripped off her dress and underwear on the opposite side of the glass shower door like it was a parka and she’d just walked into the Sahara. Naked and serious, she paused only momentarily in disbelief at my space-age shower before stepping in with me.
I was unrepentantly proud of my shower. It was approximately the same size as Zoey’s tiny apartment and possessed a profusion of body sprays and shower heads that meant it felt less like a traditional shower and more like being inside a pleasant, miniature hurricane. Anyone who has ever been in the military, let alone endured the unsatisfactory sponge baths that are required by life in zero gravity, learns to appreciate a proper shower. I made sure that mine took it to the next level with marble everything, two benches, Chroma therapy lighting (and I still wasn’t even sure what that was), and a pebbled, heated floor.
At the moment, however, all I was interested in was the beautiful woman in front of me.
Zoey had without a doubt the most perfect body I could imagine, and it looked even better dripping wet. Her creamy white skin turned a slightly rosier color in the warmth and low lighting, and the light brown hair I’d freed from its restrained style turned black under the sprays. Her curves were full and lush, with a round, firm ass and naturally bouncy, perky, round tits that practically begged to be played with. Her pale pink nipples hardened quickly when I reached out to brush them with my fingertips—she was always so responsive to my touch—and she leaned up against me, needy and eager for more.
Our lips locked onto each other with a renewed sense of urgency. Zoey’s big, chocolate brown eyes were wide open as she kissed me, while I tugged and pinched her nipples under the body sprays. She panted into my mouth as I repeatedly palmed, squeezed, and pinched at her; curious to see how she reacted and eager to discover just how much attention she could stand on those perfect stiff little peaks before it became too much for her.
She wriggled and set her back against the wall of the shower when I dipped my mouth down to suck her, her soft lips parting in pleasure as I licked, lapped, and kissed until my mouth was tired. She absorbed all the sensation like she couldn’t get enough, never asking me to slow down, let up, or go gently.
So, I didn’t. Instead, I parted her soft thighs with one hand and started stroking up into the slick warmth that I found there, earning me little moans and thrusts of her hips as she sought greater friction and intensity. Moving back to reclaim her mouth with my tired tongue, she gripped my hand with one of hers to push me more forcefully against her hot flesh until I continued at her desired pace, and then took my hard length in both hands, stroking at a matching leisurely, teasing pace. Her soft, gentle grip and movement was lovely, but not nearly enough.
Turning Zoey to face the wall away from me, I bent her over one of the shower benches like I’d wanted to do the first time I saw her. Though this was so much better than over the hood of her car. She leaned forward eagerly, bracing herself with her arms, lifting her round, gorgeous ass up and spreading her legs wide. The view of her from this angle was singularly breathtaking, and I savored it for a moment, stroking myself while she wiggled a bit back and forth impatiently.
She turned slightly to watch me with her reddened kiss-swollen lip bit between her white teeth. The intensity of her gaze on my hands as I fucked my fist while watching her provoked an involuntary noise in the back of my throat that was somewhere between a moan and a growl. She made a matching noise, her stare riveted to the tip of my cock. I needed her. I couldn’t wait any longer.
Gripping her hip with my left hand, I pushed into her hard, all at once. She shivered at the penetration, angling her torso into a tabletop and leaning submissively into me. She needed it too, I could feel it in her eyes when she looked back at me. She didn’t want it gentle. Something about that phone call earlier had set her off. She was tense. I would fix that.
I thrust into her with a quick and punishing rhythm. She took it eagerly, shoving her hot, tight body back against every stroke and urging me on with her little noises. Zoey wasn’t able to move much bent over in the slick shower, and I used my advantage of greater height, weight, and torque to keep her bent fully horizontal as I fucked her, putting a palm on the small of her back to push her back down if she tried to straighten or control the pace and depth.
She seemed more than happy to let me drive into her that way. Zoe
y moaned softly over the noise of the water as I shifted our tempo, going faster and deeper and gripping her waist to pull her against me harder with each thrust. I didn’t know if she could come this way with no pressure on her clit, but I was getting close.
“Touch yourself?” I whispered, bending over so I could nibble on her earlobe as I said it, “I want to watch you get yourself off while I fuck you.”
She flashed me an eager smile and I kissed her briefly before straightening up and continuing to move with her. Zoey enthusiastically complied with my request, using two fingers on herself and stroking in time with our thrusts.
Her noises rapidly became breather and louder, and I struggled behind her, overwhelmed by sensations as she became even tighter as her climax approached. She spiraled into her climax only moments before I followed her, bucking my hips into her as I emptied everything into her. I let go and my mind and body expended every ounce of energy and emotion in one moment of perfect pleasure and intimacy. I hoped desperately that Zoey felt some fraction of what I was feeling for her.
Before my conscious thoughts were completely eclipsed by the post-sex hormonal stupor I could sense approaching like an avalanche, I somehow managed to switch off the shower, wrap Zoey in a towel, and collapse onto the bed with her.
She looked over at me dreamily as I pulled the comforter over us both. We were still very wet, completely naked, and totally exhausted. It was blissful.
“I feel better,” she said, before yawning and snuggling into my chest.
I was glad she felt better. Whatever that call had been, it must not have been good. I smiled at her and brushed her hair from her face, too tired to reply.
As happy as I was to have Zoey curled up naked on me in my bed, a small corner of my heart had started dreading Zoey’s inevitable career success. She would get a job soon—a real newspaper job that would take her away from me. With the demise of the Philadelphia Monitor, there was no other local paper worthy of her talents. The gears in my weary mind began turning as we drifted off together. I knew there was a solution. I just had to find it.
28
Zoey
“Oh Angelica,” I crowed, “you were so right. This morning light is much more flattering.”
“I told you so,” she replied with the mixture of sass, excitement, and haughtiness that seemed to be her default, “I just knew that it would be a totally different feeling if we did this when the light was better.”
I was again lying on my belly on the tennis court, a position that was not particularly comfortable. It was beginning to get old, honestly, this whole business of groveling and sucking up to Angelica. Thankfully, I reminded myself, this was the last day of spending time with her. All I had to do was get through the next few hours. And take a picture of Marcus for Nathan.
I’d looked all through Angelica’s Instagram feed to see if I could find a photo this morning, but he was nowhere to be found. Most of Angelica’s past male accessories showed up in at least a photo or two, but not Marcus. His absence was almost significant all on its own. My journalistic spidey-sense was tingling, although Nathan seemed to think it was nothing. At least having a side objective for the morning’s photoshoot made it halfway interesting. It was like working on a real story again.
I’d made a discovery this morning when I was leaving Nathan’s. In his office, sat a framed clipping of one of the articles I’d written about him from a few years ago when I was still an intern. It had surprised me to see it there. Although I’m sure that was a low point in Nathan’s life, it had been a period of great optimism for me as I got my first taste of real journalism. I wanted that feeling of pursuing hard news back in my life, like I had when I worked for the Philadelphia Monitor. I’d felt like I was doing work that mattered. The idea that Marcus might somehow be involved in the hacking propelled me forward with new enthusiasm.
Just like yesterday, Marcus was lurking on the sidelines. He was just watching us. He didn’t seem to actually know a thing about tennis, I’d realized. I only ever played tennis in my public-school PE class in high school, and of course I learned absolutely nothing about the sport. But I had eyes.
Marcus had no tan lines on his shins from tennis socks, nor any callouses on his hands from tennis rackets. Angelica, for all her silly self-absorption, actually seemed to know quite a bit about tennis, and she had both. She was the daughter of a congressman, I supposed. While not wildly wealthy growing up, she was from Waterloo and would have been in the extreme upper edge of the middle class. She knew the Durant and Breyer families, and had mentioned before that she’d been playing on these courts since childhood.
Why then would Marcus exhibit no aptitude for tennis? Perhaps an injury had kept him off the court? I tried to reason through all the strange things about the man but couldn’t come up with a believable explanation. Obviously not being a real tennis pro wasn’t the same as being a hacker, but it did raise questions about the man’s identity.
“Alright,” I said to Angelica, “I think these action shots are just about perfect. We won’t need to even retouch them. Do you want to go ahead and do the stills now?”
I prayed she would say yes and I could finally get up. My neck and shoulders sincerely didn’t appreciate being twisted upward to wield the camera from such an awkward angle.
“Oh, let’s do another round,” Angelica begged, “just in case.”
By the time I was finally granted permission to get back up on two legs, it felt positively transcendent. I managed to engineer an angle for the portrait session that would allow me to take oblique shots of Marcus, but as soon as I got Angelica in place, he moved. So, naturally, I repositioned Angelica and got ready again. He moved again.
When I attempted to pretend to drop something to get a shot, Marcus was suddenly very interested in a bird and had turned to face the opposite way. When I spun around suddenly to scratch an itch and snap a photo of Marcus behind me, he was instantly seized with a need to stretch his hamstrings while facing the wall. He was impossible to get in the frame.
Nothing in his face or demeanor suggested he was aware of my interest in getting him on film, but his constant movement was making it impossible to get a clear photo. He made everything look so natural and normal, but it was impossible to snap a picture of his face. So, after three attempts, I changed my tactic.
“Angelica,” I exclaimed, “are you tired? Why don’t we take a short break? Surely, you’re feeling tired. I don’t want you to resent me being such a task-mistress.”
“I suppose I could use a bit of a break,” she agreed. “Tara,” she then ordered, “would you go and grab us something to drink? And a couple of rice cakes?”
Tara shuffled off obediently.
I sat down on a bench and started to shuffle through the photographs, keeping one eye on Marcus while I did. Upsettingly, as I looked through the shots I realized that Angelica was actually correct about the lighting. How frustrating. As much as I wanted to believe she was a dunce, she did have an eye for what looked good. I guess it made sense that she would become something of an expert in packaging her product (herself).
From my new vantage point, I’d expected to be able to aim the camera more easily at Marcus, but he shifted behind me immediately. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was avoiding it after thirty minutes of cat and mouse. He seemed casual enough, but every time a camera pointed in his general direction, he either turned around or disappeared. This was so much harder than I expected.
I had only one idea left. When Tara came back with Angelica’s snack, I was ready to make my final move. I stood up and casually slung the camera around my neck, having switched surreptitiously into video mode. Then I just walked past Marcus on my way to grab a water.
Point. Set. Match.
29
Nathan
Zoey’s lunch suggestion was a little hole in the wall Pho place. To my surprise it was enthusiastically endorsed by David when I texted him to make sure it wouldn’t give me food poisoning
or something. I’m not usually quite so snobby about a date’s restaurant selection, but one day before going to space is no time to take chances with my gastrointestinal tract. In fact, I was regretting the single glass of wine I’d had with dinner the night before. NASA would never let me get away with that.
“I got the picture!” Zoey said happily to me when we were seated. “It was so much harder than I thought it would be, but I got him.”
I’d almost forgotten about the Russian guy that she was suspicious of. Truth be told, I didn’t think it could be Marcus. Angelica had attracted a certain type of men in her post-marriage dating career. They were, at least as far as I’d been able to tell at the social gatherings I’d attended, all just vapid fitness models between twenty and twenty-five. He probably was a liar of one type or another if he hung around with Angelica, but that hardly made him a criminal.
The video of Marcus that Zoey played for me on her laptop showed the man I’d seen in Angelica’s mansion a few days ago. He was maybe one standard deviation away from what I expected her to pick. He had to be at least thirty-five, but he was still well within Angelica’s preferred physical type. I sent the photo off to my uncle Richard who had promised to get it to his military contractor buddies ASAP. Now there was nothing to do but wait.
Well, wait and enjoy lunch with Zoey.
“So, are you a vegetarian or what?” Zoey asked after I ordered. I’d been wondering when this was going to come up.
“It depends on your definition of vegetarian. I eat fish, dairy, and eggs, so most people would say no,” I replied, “but I don’t eat any other meat. Is that a deal breaker?”
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