Exposure

by Iris Blaire

  I think of Dallas.

  No, Dallas is different. Dallas isn’t single. I know that nothing between us is real. I know it.

  I know it.

  Heading to the dressing room, I pass Delilah in the hall, all made up for her shoot today. She sneers at me and stomps away. I call her name but she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t turn around.

  Damnit. Damnit, I fucked up.

  I head to my own set—the bedroom. Today, it’s made up with frilly white and pink, the walls decorated in posters of heart throbs and boy bands.

  This is supposed to be Rylan’s room. The sight of it makes me gag.

  Dallas sits in the plush arm chair in the corner of the room wearing nothing but boxers. His arms are crossed, and he glares at me.

  I’m really getting sick of seeing this look today.

  “And what the hell is wrong with you?” I snarl.

  “Oh, nothing, just that we were supposed to be filming—” he looks at his bare wrist dramatically, “I don’t know, an hour ago, but someone was too busy screwing all night that she couldn’t get out of bed in time.”

  Heat rips through me, broiling my insides. “You know what, Dallas? You can go fuck yourself. My sex life is none of your business, and even if it were, it’s an hour. If your day is so packed with interesting shit to do, then why don’t you just leave?”

  He jumps to his feet, hands balled into fists. For a second, I actually think that he’s going to listen to me before Britain comes into the room and shuts the door.

  Dallas opens his mouth like he’s going to say something to her, but she cuts him off. “Okay, so today’s shoot is going to be private for obvious reasons.” She walks around the room and turns on the umbrella lighting, throwing a box of condoms on the nightstand.

  Dallas nods toward the condoms and crosses his arms. “What are those for?”

  “This shoot could get a little intense.” Britain shrugs. “Adam and Delilah needed them.”

  “Of course, Adam needed one,” Dallas spits.

  “Go suck a dick, Dallas.”

  Britain snorts. “Okay, I don’t want to guess what the hell is going on with you two, but are you going to be able to manage to do this today?”

  Dallas glares at me, bright eyes boring into mine, and finally says, “I’m good.”

  I untie my bathrobe and let it fall to the floor. I wear nothing but a lacy pick push-up bra and a matching thong. Even in the heat of being pissed for whatever reason, Dallas’s eyes still rake over my body. Thrill courses through me.

  “Okay, then. Get on the bed.”

  ^^^^

  The first part of the shoot is straight-up painful. Dallas moves like a robot, and playing sexy with him is less fun than chewing on nails.

  Britain can tell.

  “Come the fuck on,” she says, dropping her camera. “Can the two of you do this or not, because you are wasting my time and yours.”

  I’m lying beneath Dallas. He’s supposed to be moving his mouth over me sexily, like he’s done in every other shoot we’ve modeled in together. But instead it’s like he’s dragging his face over my chest against his will.

  I push him away and sit up. “I can’t perform when he’s not even trying to turn me on.”

  Dallas crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow. “You want me to turn you on?”

  I shrug. “That’s how this has always worked, Dallas.”

  “If you guys don’t figure it out in thirty seconds, I’m calling it quits,” Britain threatens.

  “You think I’m supposed to magically pull a way to turn you on out of my ass?” he seethes through gritted teeth.

  It’s my turn to cross my arms. “Something like that.”

  Britain sighs. “Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen…”

  “I’ve never fucked you before, Evan. I don’t know what your kinks are.”

  “You’re telling me that, after shooting with me for a month and a half now, you have absolutely no idea what turns me on… I call total bullshit.”

  “Six, five, four…”

  The muscles in his jaw ripple, and his eyes burn with loathing. For a second, I think it’s over. We’re going to have to come back to this a different because for some reason, Dallas thinks he owns my every movement. He thinks he owns my…

  Suddenly he grabs my shoulders, pushing me down and over his lap. And then he smacks my ass. Hard.

  I scream, more out of surprise than pain. But it makes Britain drop her camera none-the-less.

  “Jesus, Evan! Are you okay?”

  I take in a few deep, shaking breaths. “Y-yes. He just shocked me.”

  “Err… is this okay?” she then asks.

  Dallas kneads the area where he smacked gently, but says nothing. I can already feel wetness soaking the apex of my thighs. Soon, he’s going to see it. He’s going to feel it.

  “Just shoot the fucking pictures,” I tell her.

  Taking the cue, Dallas raises his hand and smacks me again, and again—every connection stinging more than the last until my ass is on fire. The fingers of his other hand tangle through my hair, and then he balls his hand into a fist around my locks, tugging gently. He massages me again and I groan in relief. Bending forward, he whispers to me, “You are mine until this is over.” He raises his hand and smacks me again, the sharp crack filling the air. I cry out, balling the frilly fabric of the comforter in my fists.

  He loops his finger beneath the band of my thong and tugs downward until it slides off my legs and onto the floor. He begins to knead my ass again, fingers sinking into the flesh of my abused cheek. I relax every tense muscle in my body, my head resting on the mattress. I allow my eyes to flutter shut. Not a single part of me is acting right now. Every emotion racing through me—all of them are real.

  Dallas drags his fingers up the inside of my thigh, grazing the lips of my pussy. “So fucking wet,” he whispers loudly enough for only me to here. His hand slides back over my ass again and up my back, unhooking my bra. I lift my shoulders to shimmy out of it, and he flips me over, lifting his hand so Britain can toss him a tiny white cloth we’re going to use to separate our bodies in our faux fucking.

  I lie on my back on the bed. Dallas stands and drops his boxers, and I do my best to keep my jaw from dropping at my very first glimpse of his erection. He drapes the cloth over my hips, and I gasp as he drags me to the edge of the bed.

  His expression is furious and lustful and gorgeous.

  He grasps my knees and pulls my legs apart, situating himself in between them. “Just like at your mom’s place.”

  “What?” Britain cries.

  He glances over at her. “Hey you over there with the camera—don’t ruin the moment.”

  I giggle and his eyes fall to me again—sea foam on fire. “Just like we practiced, baby,” he rumbles, and rocks forward.

  I lift my hands over my head, arch my back, and allow my lips to part in ecstasy.

  “Fucking perfect,” Britain says. “Don’t move.”

  We remain like this for a handful of seconds until Britain gives the go-ahead, and Dallas ducks his head, tongue darting out to swirl around my nipple. I gasp when he bites down softly, rocking my hips into his. His erection rubs against my soaking slit, driving me mad.

  “Please,” I whisper when his face is right above mine.

  “What?”

  “I want you.”

  He inhales deeply through his nose and shuts his eyes, like he’s about to lose control. And I want him to. I need him to. When he opens his eyes again, they find my lips. He raises his fingers to my mouth and traces it, and when I part my lips, he pushes his index finger past. I suck it into my mouth and drag my tongue along the underside of his digit, eyes fluttering shut like it’s the best fucking thing that’s ever been in my mouth.

  Because it is.

  He groans, and when he pulls his hand from me, his finger slide from my mouth with a pop. His breathing is rapid. I reach up and cup his face, and his expression flickers
with sadness. And then fear.

  “That’s a wrap,” Britain says softly.

  ^^^^

  When Dallas dresses and leaves, I return to the living quarters side of the house and take a shower. As I wash the makeup and sweat and stickiness from my skin, I close my eyes and meditate on what it felt like to be with Dallas today, as pissed as he made me. The two of us won’t be doing this again for a while. Hell, who knows. After the way we acted today, Britain might not stick him with me again.

  Maybe it’s for the best.

  After an eternity beneath the scalding jet, I turn the shower off and step out of the tub, wrapping myself in a towel. I open the door and enter the hall, surprised to see Britain standing by my bedroom door. She stares blankly at the adjacent wall, slowly turning her phone over and over in her hand.

  “Brit?”

  She blinks and glances at me. “Dallas quit.”

  Dallas

  Britain promised me she’d mail me all my checks from here on out. I can’t go back to that studio again.

  I can’t see Evan.

  Granted, this is impossible with Evan being in my department. I practically see her every goddamn day of my life, if not only from a distance. She hasn’t texted me or called me. When she passes me in the halls, she looks away. When I hand an assignment back to her in the lecture hall, she takes it without a word.

  She knows.

  It’s that every second I’m with her, I crave her. I ache for her. And I can’t stop doing this to myself.

  To us.

  Because it’s turning me into a cheater, and a terrible person.

  The second issue in the EPE series is released the day that Tricia comes home. When she walks in the door, she squeals and races to me, jumping into my arms. “Missed you,” she says between kisses. “Missed you, missed you, my Dallas.”

  I show her my first check for four grand, more money than I’ve probably ever made in a pay period. I also show her, with reluctance, the new issue. She scans my pool photo shoot with Evan as if she were shopping for socks. “This is your calling,” she tells me. “Screw biology.”

  “I quit.”

  She drops the magazine and gapes at me, and I pull her to my chest, wrapping her in my arms. “Trust me, it’s for the better.”

  She pushes away from me. “How can you say that, Dallas? You’re obviously talented. This could be it!”

  “Because I love you and don’t want to be tempted by beautiful women every day of my life.”

  “I already told you, Dallas. I trust you.” She’s practically begging me with her eyes.

  I shake my head. How do I break it to her that I don’t trust myself? “We’ll talk about this another time.” Solid save. “I have paychecks from EPE that’ll be coming in until the end of summer, most likely. If it’s money you’re worried about…”

  “I’m… I’m not,” she says with a small sigh. “I want you to be happy, and if this decision makes you happy, then so be it.

  “Thank you,” I take her face in my hands and plant a kiss on her lips.

  ^^^^

  Now that I’ve quit EPE, my fame has become bearable.

  I still get the looks, and the whistles (from sorority girls!) and all sort of students asking me to sign their EPE copies, but somehow it’s okay. Maybe because I know now that this isn’t going to last forever—that this is only a phase in my life, I’m willing to accept it. Maybe that’s why Evan isn’t. Maybe she thinks that forever she’ll embody Rylan, and she’s not ready to merge her lives permanently.

  I could just be speculating now.

  Three weeks after I quit, I’m grading papers in my office with the usual team of grad students when the door opens. I look up to the last face in the world that I’m expecting.

  “Evan?”

  All heads in the office turn to look at her. She bites her bottom lip and hugs her binder to her chest. She’s dressed in her usual school attire—sweats and glasses, no makeup, her hair pulled up—but somehow she looks different. Smaller.

  “I just… I, umm… just wanted to let you know that you were right.”

  I furrow my eyebrows, confused.

  “I got into Harvard,” she says with a ghost of a smile.

  My mouth falls open. “Oh my God. Evan…”

  She swallows, her eyes glistening. “Yeah, I know.” Suddenly it’s like she realizes that we’re not the only two in the room. She glances around at the other students. They don’t even know her and are gawking at her success. Even Brad.

  “I gotta go,” she says. “Good to see you.”

  And before I can respond, she slips from the office, and is gone.

  “Damn, Harvard,” says someone. “Who was that?”

  “A friend,” I murmur.

  “She’s a babe,” Brad says, swiveling in his chair and tossing a Dorito in his mouth. “Kind of looks like Rylan Willow.”

  And then he freezes, and his eyes pop out of his head.

  Mother. Fucker.

  “Dude. Dude. Was that Rylan Willow?”

  I keep the straightest goddamn face I can manage. “You think that was Rylan Willow?”

  Brad turns to the rest of the grad students. “Did that not look like Rylan Willow?”

  There’s some murmuring, but not a firm consensus.

  “I can assure you, Brad, Rylan wouldn’t come visit me in the middle of the day. She likes her privacy.”

  “What did you say her name was? Evan?”

  My pulse pounds in my ears. Brad wears a massive idiotic grin. I say nothing and he drops it, but know that he hasn’t really. He has her name. He knows what she looks like. If he hunts her down and studies her face….

  “Rylan Willow…” he whispers with a chuckle.

  I pull out my phone and text beneath the desk, I think I just blew your cover.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Evan

  Whether the origin of my blown identity stemmed from my meeting with Dallas or not, I’ll never know. I knew it would happen eventually. I guess it’s best that it happened now, considering I’m leaving this place in two months.

  No one has confronted me directly yet. I’ve heard the name Rylan called from a distance as I’ve walked across campus. I’ve gotten cat called a few times, but no one has had big enough balls to be direct with me. I’m sure it will happen before I graduate. The only way I can try to prevent it is to be on campus as little as possible. Which means I never see Dallas anymore.

  I haven’t seen him in two weeks.

  Mom screamed over the phone for a solid three minutes when I told her that I got into Harvard. And then she started to cry. “I can give you nothing,” she told me. “Nothing to help you. I’m worthless.”

  “Mother, listen to me,” I begged. “I’m already getting aid. And I’ll apply for more grants. I’m fine. I promise.”

  What she doesn’t know and won’t ever find out is that, by the end of summer, I’ll have enough money from erotic modeling to pay for an entire semester at Harvard.

  It’s a start.

  Now that Dallas is gone, it’s easier to look at the first two released issues in the series and the remainder of the photosets without breaking into a hot, embarrassed sweat. I even help Britain choose the best images to work into Andrea’s story over a six pack of beer one night. Now that I’m done modeling, I’m a hell of a lot more liberal with my diet.

  “I like the one where he’s biting your nipple,” she says nonchalantly as we’re browsing through images of shoot number five. God, this business sure makes our relationship a weird one.

  “It’s not as badass as the spanking one.”

  She snorts. “Badass. I see what you did there. We’ll use both, dummy. I just think the nipple pic has merit.”

  “Fine, fine,” I say, polishing off my beer when Delilah walks in the front door. She doesn’t even look our way, walking straight up the stairs and to her bedroom.

  Britain sighs audibly.

  “I need to fix this, don’t I?”
I ask.

  “You know my response,” she says.

  I make my way on the stairs semi-reluctantly and knock on Delilah’s door. She cracks it and scowls upon seeing that it’s me. “What do you want?”

  “Can I come in? Please?”

  She rolls her eyes and walks to her bed. I push open the door to watch her flop onto her comforter, picking up her phone. I take a seat at her computer chair and wait for her to finish. When realizing that she won’t ever finish because she doesn’t want to look at me, I say, “I don’t want your forgiveness.”

  Her fingers freeze on her phone keyboard, and she glances at me.

  “I don’t deserve it. I did a horrible, inconsiderate thing, and as sorry as I can be, it won’t ever be enough.” I shrug my shoulders. “I fucked up, Delilah.”

  Her bottom lip trembles, her eyes watering. “You don’t even want to hang out with me anymore. I didn’t get it. I didn’t get why you suddenly decided to hate me so much and take him from me.”

  I bury my face in my hands. “Shit, Delilah.” When I look up, I move from the chair to the bed and wrap my arms around her. “I could never, ever hate you. I’ve been self-absorbed lately. So self-absorbed that I didn’t even realize you liked Adam. What happened between us was nothing. It was less than nothing. I was feeling lonely and vulnerable and drunk and horny and he was there. And I know that excuse will never fix things, but I just need you to know that.”

  She gives a weak smile and nods, wiping the back of her hand with her eyes. “Thanks, Evan.”

  I nod and stand, walking toward the door. I pause and look back at her. “Can I give you a bit of advice from experience?”

  She sniffs. “I guess.”

  “Things get confusing in this business. Tell him how you really feel to his face. Even if it terrifies you. Even if you’re worried that it’ll make things awkward.

  “Don’t let this series end without him knowing.”

  Dallas