Chapter Thirteen
Evan
Adam acts like there is nothing different between us when I see him in the dressing room an hour after he left my bed.
Thank God.
Not that last night was a mistake, because it wasn’t. I needed a bit of sex in my life—it’s been way too long and I’ve been way too sexually frustrated as of late. I mean, it would have been better if Adam was courteous enough to get me off….
“You.” Britain points to me and snaps her fingers. “My office. Now.”
Britain looks pretty serious. The gossip must be juicy.
She ushers me out of the dressing room and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and locking it. She spins toward me, and to my surprise, she looks pissed. “What the fuck were you thinking, sleeping with Adam?”
“I… what? Did you hear us or something?”
“Oh Christ, Evan. Everyone knows!” she spits.
I sit on the toilets. “I’m confused. Does this have to do with not sleeping with coworkers? Because I don’t remember us ever establishing that rule.”
“No, you moron. This has to do with Delilah being in love with Adam.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“But you wouldn’t know that, because you’ve been a bit self-centered over the past couple of months.”
I stand. “What the fuck, Brit? I’m sorry that wanting to get into a good grad school has made self-centered. I can’t be hanging out with you guys every fucking second.”
She steps toward me, her face solemn. “Face the facts, Evan. You didn’t know that one of your best friends had feelings for a guy you just slept with, grad school or no grad school.” And with that, she spins on her heel and leaves me alone in the bathroom, feeling like the biggest tool imaginable.
I had no idea that Delilah was into Adam, and he obviously seems to not know either. I mean, how could he, with all of the faux flirting and sexual tension?
How can he separate what’s real and what isn’t?
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.”