Chapter Six
Evan
I clench my teeth to keep my jaw from falling to the floor.
Dallas has a way of making me hate him for turning me on so much. For normal guys, this wouldn’t be a problem. I’d just flirt back and go along for the ride. But Dallas—well, first of all, he’s extraordinarily beautiful. And second of all he just got done talking about his girlfriend. Of forever. Who trusts him.
What I need to do is just accept this, and take advantage of the fact that his ever-so-trusting girlfriend wants him to act single on set. I can’t have a boyfriend. Boys are too distracting and get all weird when they find out my source of income. This will be my only thrill for a while.
Dallas.
“It’s going to be hard for me to get into the moment with this silly scenario,” I tell him honestly. “I’m going to need a little bit of help.”
“I’ll make sure to do that,” he responds huskily before leaving me alone to change.
When he’s gone, I place my hand upon my frantically beating heart. “Don’t get too excited,” I whisper to myself. “It’s only instant gratification.”
^^^^
Britain is the bravest, most shameless girl I’ve ever met in my entire life. It’s why we’re friends. It’s also why she was able to convince a university committee to approve East Park Exposed as an official East Park University publication. Britain’s argument: Hell, Harvard did it.
And it worked.
There’s a clause in the agreement stating that we can’t shoot in any East Park building except for one—an abandoned gym that hosts a set of classrooms, lockers, showers, and a drained swimming pool. We can’t do much with it, but we should be able to find an office for this shoot.
Fuck, this shoot.
The campus police gives Britain the wink when he drives up to unlock the building for us. We’ve used this building a couple times before, and he knows exactly what we’re up to. I guess he thinks we need that extra wink in order to feel sexy or something.
Luckily for me, the only ones attending this off-site shoot are me, Dallas, Britain, and Andrea. Andrea’s here in order to direct us toward the vision of the story she’s conjuring up in her head right now. Delilah really wanted to watch, and so did Adam, but I think Britain can sense how tense my nerves are right now, so she made the shoot private.
We walk down the deserted, grimy hall, and Britain leads us up the stairs. “I think the offices are on the second floor,” she says.
I swallow. Why am I so nervous? I’ve done a million and a half shoots before and I’ve rocked all of them. I’ve even done one with Dallas before. But the thought of being around him, of having him touch me for the camera again, is making me light-headed.
And sweaty. Which is the last thing I need to be.
Britain finds an office that looks like it could still be in use. There are books on the shelves and files scattered across the desk. Britain starts moving the files, and I grudgingly find a soft piece of felt in one of the drawers to start wiping away dust.
Dallas smoothes the front of his slacks and sits, crossing his legs. A nice dress shirt is tucked into his pants. He even wears a tie, his hair slicked back enough to make him seem older and professional without looking creepy. And he does look older. He looks like he could easily pull off early thirties—perfect young, hot professor age.
Heat flushes my body.
I’m dressed in incredibly low-rise jeans, a revealing, white cami, and a pink EPE zip-up sweatshirt. Exactly what Dallas told me to wear. As I stalk around the room trying to tidy the place up when he grabs my arm and pulls me to him. I gaze down into his light eyes that express concern.
“What can I do that will make this shoot as easy for you as possible?”
I want to reach out and touch his face—run my thumb along the smooth end of his jaw, but I have to be patient.
“Modeling with someone else is just going to take some time getting used to.”
The corner of his mouth turns up. “I’ll try my best to make you forget about the camera.”
Oh, God.
You should try your best to make me forget you’re not single, I want to tell him, but instead, I just nod.
After Britain sets up her lighting, she claps her hands together. “Okay, I think we’re ready to shoot. Dallas, go ahead and take a seat behind the desk.
My heart begins to pound relentlessly. I clutch my binder—which I’ve brought as a prop—to my chest.
Britain starts adjusting her camera. “Okay, Andrea, so what’s the scenario?”
Andrea inhales excitedly, and clasps her hand in front of her. “Okay, Rylan. You come into the office looking for way to make extra credit in Dallas’s class, but he obviously has bigger plans for you.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, brother.”
“Rylan,” Dallas says sternly. Darkly. I turn to see him looking up at me from his desk, eyes fierce. His palms are pressed flat against the polished wood. “I’ve noticed that you’re failing my class.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I murmur.
“Fuck yes!” Britain squeals, raising the camera and taking a few test shots of Dallas. “Come on, Rylan. Don’t be a poor sport. Play into it.”
I take a huge breath and slowly start walking toward Dallas, who is stone-still.
“Rylan, you are meek and innocent,” Andrea instructs. “This professor is ruthless toward you. You’ve never done so horribly in a class before and all you want in the world is for your GPA to not drop from a sparkling 4.0.”
Not too far from real life, I think.
“Give me dialog,” Andrea instructs. “Inspire me.”
Dallas grins wickedly. He’s having way too much fun with this. “I don’t think you can do it,” he says.
Fire ignites inside me. A challenge.
I look down, scuffing my feet timidly. “Professor, I’d like to ask if you’d make an exception and offer extra credit for me. It’s just, I’m a straight-A student and have never had such a difficult time in a class before.”
“Yes,” Britain hisses.
When I look up at Dallas, I can’t tell if he’s impressed or not by my acting. His expression lacks all amusement. He leans back in his chair. “The thing is, Rylan, I have girls coming into my office all of the time asking for extra credit. And their excuses are quite creative. So why should I give it to you and not to them?”
“Please, Professor,” I whimper. “I’ll do anything.”
Dallas can’t keep the smile from rising on his face. “Unzip your sweatshirt,” he orders me in a deep voice. “Slowly.”
“Is this okay, Andrea?” I hear Britain asking.
“Oh, I’m having the time of my life,” Andrea responds. “Keep going,” she instructs us.
Trying my hardest to keep my breathing under control, I slowly unzip my sweatshirt. Dallas’s eyes don’t leave mine the entire time.
“Take it off,” he says. I let the garment fall to the floor.
He rolls his chair back and stands. With one foot purposefully in front of the other, he walks around to the edge of the desk and motions to it.
“Take a seat,” he says, his serious expression unwavering.
I have to hop onto the desk, my feet dangling before him. Andrea remains silent, letting Dallas have the reigns.
“I don’t think that you should pass the class without some sort of punishment for failing in the first place.”
Oh. God.
My eyes widen. “What kind of punishment?”
His eyes never leave me as he places his hand on his belt buckle and begins to unfasten it.
Britain giggles.
“I hate you, Britain,” I breathe.
“Stay in character,” she barks, continuing to snap photos.
When Dallas slides his belt off, he orders, “Raise your arms over your head.”
“What are you going to do?” I whisper.
He only responds with darkening eyes that send a shiver through my whole body. Biting my bottom lip, I raise my arms over my head.
Gripping the bottom hem of my cami, he peels it upward and over my head, revealing my lace, pushup bra. For a second, his eyes flicker to my chest to drink in the sight of me.
Warmth races to the inside of my thighs, and I squeeze them together.
I make to lower my arms. His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, gripping me tightly.
“Did I say that you could put your hands down?”
“No, sir.”
Damnit, I wish this were real. I wish Britain and Andrea weren’t here and Dallas was role-playing this scenario with me solely for the sake of turning me on.
Because I am oh so turned on.
“Keep your wrists pressed together.”
I comply as he takes his belt and wraps it around my wrists, looping and fastening it so I am all tied up.
“Lie back,” he instructs.
As soon as I do so, keeping my arms raised above my head, he places his index finger on the center of my lower lip, pushing forward slightly until I taste him. Then, he drags his finger down my chin, my neck, and between the valley of my breasts. When he reaches my navel I buck my hips up, and he flattens my palm against my belly and pushes me back down. “You don’t move until I say you can move. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” I try to speak clearly but end up more in character than I mean to be when my words escape me in a whimper.
Dallas notices. I can tell by the way his lip twitches. Hooking his fingers beneath the hem of my jeans, he leans forward until his lips brush against my ear. “Are you as turned on as I am?”
A small gasp escapes me, but I don’t have time to respond before Andrea instructs Dallas to take off my pants.