Overexposed: The Complete Boxset: A Virgin Meets a Bad Boy Romance

C
opyright
© 2016 by Rae Lynn Blaise

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

W
rapped in Eric’s arms
, my bare legs resting on his lap I’m able to temporarily ignore the ache in my heart. If I had my way, Eric and I wouldn’t be spending our last moments together on the cheap, leather backseat of a New York cab, listening to the relentless stream of under-his-breath profanity from our cab driver. Instead, we would be in a familiar, chauffeured town car, privacy window fully rolled up, while giving each other a proper goodbye.

Much too soon, we’re going to arrive at JFK International Airport, and then wing our way to opposite sides of the world. Eric’s been offered a prestigious job, with the opportunity to climb the corporate ladder, in Japan. He’s determined to build a better future for us. To reclaim and rebuild some of the fortune his parents–and mine–lost in the Great Recession.

I only wish I were proud of the way I’m about to use my own skills in California.

“Have you heard back from Charlene’s cousin about your interview?” Eric asks.

“Not yet, but I was told not to expect a call for a few days,” I answer, the lie stinging my tongue, drying my mouth.

Of course I’d landed the job, especially after the Skype interview which involved me taking my clothes off. Erotic modeling is my new vocation as an anonymous persona as far away from New York City as I can get while still staying in the continental US. There’s no way I could ever explain my reasons to Eric. In fact, I’m hoping I’ll never have to.  

“We’re going to succeed, Anna. We’re going to make our parents proud, and rebuild everything we lost,” Eric assures me, lightly caressing my inner calf. His fingers graze higher and higher with each sweep of his hand.

“I never want to make a living the way they did. My father is in
jail
, because of the way they tried to make a profit,” I whisper, pulling back to meet his eyes.

“Never that, of course. But we’ll pave our own way to a better life. We’ll flourish from nothing like they did. When we have
our
children, they’ll never have to experience…this.” Eric arm sweeps to encompass the cab, before pulling me back into the safety of his chest.

“Yes, they’ll never have to be ashamed of
our
last name,” I answer quietly. I can still taste the bitterness of my former friends snubbing me and Eric in the wake of our fathers’ disgrace–especially my father, who took the fall.

In California, I’ll go by a new name. One that no one would ever be able to connect to my fallen family dynasty.

Feeling disloyal to Eric for my deceit, I focus on his eyes before hooking my arm around his neck and pulling his mouth to mine. I pour all of my emotions into that kiss; my sorrow, my hope, my apology.

Eric’s arms tighten around my waist, the firm pressure of his elegant hand on my ass causing my eyes to sting and well with tears. I’m not ready to be apart from him. He’s my safety, my love, my life. And we’re being forced to separate, to find our own way in the world–to make up for the sins of our fathers.

“Promise me again,” I murmur against his mouth. “Promise me we’ll come back to New York City. That we’ll reclaim this city of our childhood by the time we’re twenty-five. Promise me our wedding is going to be the triumphant return we’re hoping it will be.”

Eric cups my tearstained face in his hands, and kisses me gently. “I promise you, Anna. I promise that our lives are going to be perfect, and we’ll never have to feel shame again.”

I force a wobbly smile on my face, as the cab pulls up to the departure gates. “I love you, Eric.”

“And I love you, Anna.”

“
S
ierra
! I need to see more pink.” It takes me half a second to respond to my stage name, to spread my legs open a little wider on the sand so the lighting assistant can properly meter my pussy.

If it weren’t for demanding commands and the low murmur of the crew, I might have been able to completely lose myself in the gorgeous sensation of being nude on a deserted beach on St. John. Closing my eyes, I relish the warm breeze, the sun kissing my skin–I can almost pretend I’m here alone in paradise, waiting for Eric. The breeze slips through the standing curtains we’ve set up on the perimeter of our shooting site, the soft, rippling sound relaxing me. The curtains are high enough to block the sight of my body from anybody passing on the beach below, but short enough to not interfere with this glorious sunlight.

“He’s here,” one of the assistants whispers excitedly, pulling me back into the here and now.

Since the beginning of this shoot, I’ve heard nothing except how lucky I am to be shot by Devon Goode. How he’s insanely talented and professional, and how every girl on the crew would volunteer to ride his cock in a hot minute because he’s
that
gorgeous. Frankly, I’d never heard of him before now. This could be because secretly I give zero fucks about the world of photography–or the underworld, as the case is, shooting fetish photos for men’s magazines one week, straightforward nudes the next.

However, this photo shoot is actually important. It’s for
me
. A calendar featuring nothing but my carefully constructed alter-ego, Sierra, for my website subscribers. For once, I’m the top boss calling the shots and footing the bills.

My agent had nearly lost her shit when we landed the illustrious Mr. Goode. I try not to roll my eyes in annoyance over the buzz of adoration Devon Goode is already evoking from my staff. I remind myself for the billionth time, that all of this is simply a means to an end. I haven’t lived modestly in a cozy, one-bedroom apartment for the last seven years–something I never could have imagined back when I was living the high life as a privileged Upper West-side teenager–to allow this fucking photographer to knock me off my game. The thought of this payday is worth everything.  All my money–and there is an awful lot of money these days–gets socked away for the future. My future with Eric.

The familiar twinge of guilt rears its nasty head at the mention of Eric. He and my father still believe I’m working in marketing in Silicon Valley.  Only Charlene, my stepmother, knows the truth. That’s because all of this, believe it or not, was her idea.

To say that I was shocked when Charlene first approached me with the first modeling job is an understatement. I’ll probably never know her true reasons for bringing me into this life. Maybe she’d recognized familiar traits in me, but whatever her logic, it was a life I’d slipped into with ease. And, ironically enough, it was the first time I’d ever really understood my father’s trophy wife.

Charlene had invited me out for drinks about a week before I fled west to start my new life. It started out awkward, our stilted conversation centered around Dad and our latest visitation with him. Charlene downed gin martinis like she was being paid to promote them. I nursed my Chambord Sour for the last forty-five minutes.  I might have absorbed her confession a bit better if I’d been matching her drink for drink.

“Have you ever considered modeling?” Charlene asked, swaying slightly in her seat.

“Modeling? No,” I answered before taking a long pull off of my tiny stir stick straw. “I’m really not interested on having people think I’ve fallen that far, yet.”

“I’m not talking about that sort of modeling.” Charlene waved a perfectly manicured hand dismissively, her princess-cut, three-carat diamond sparkling even in the low light. “I’m referring to the type of modeling where you have a stage name. It caters to certain proclivities not often seen in our circles.”

I leaned across the small table to whisper. “Are you telling me I should get into porn? Because that would be a resounding no.”

Charlene had tossed her head back and let out a hardy chuckle. “Darling, I know how special your virginity is to you. Not that I understand your reasoning for not locking down that hunk of man by using all of your feminine wiles...but no, I’m not suggesting that you become a porn star.”

“So then what exactly are you suggesting?” I crossed my arms defensively, not willing to debate why Eric and I were saving ourselves for marriage.

It was Charlene’s turn to lean across the table. “I’m talking about erotic photography. It’s a very lucrative business, and I still have some active contacts if you’re interested.”

The epiphany dawned on me a little too quickly for me to control my facial reaction. My eyebrows shot up and my jaw dropped.

“Wait. Are you saying that you used to be an erotic model?”

Charlene lifted the glass to her lips, draining the rest of the contents before answering. “Don’t act so surprised. And since I know you’re going to ask, yes, your father is well aware of my past. There are no secrets between us.”

Then it was my turn to drain my glass. “How exactly would this work? I have no skill set, beside the society and social graces I’ve had drilled into me my entire life–and something tells me those are not going to help me in this line of work.”

Resting her chin into the palm of her hand, Charlene studied me. “Have you and Eric never done anything? Hand jobs? Have you never...you know...yourself?” She tapped the edge of the table with her fingers like she was double-clicking a mouse, her eyebrow raised suggestively.

My face had burned hot beneath her scrutiny as I lightly slapped her hand to make her stop the gesture. “We have. I have. For fuck’s sake, woman, I’m not a nun.”

“All it takes is tapping into that sensuality. It’s a fantasy, you can do and become anything you want to be.”

“Ok, for argument’s sake, let’s say I buy into this. What does that mean for Eric and me? Wouldn’t this eventually ruin us? Wouldn’t I eventually be found out?” I couldn’t believe I was even considering this, that I was asking her questions about it like I might ever do it in a million years. And yet...I really needed a job. A great job. And I craved an escape.

“I’m not promising you that any of those things couldn’t, or wouldn’t happen. Yes, the old-money elite are not forgiving. They would never forget and the gates to society could be closed to you forever. But either way, you’ll have to figure out what
you
really want to do. Whether that is Eric and the glitz, or California and a cabana boy.” Charlene waved her hand in the air carelessly, pausing only long enough to take a sip from her fresh gin martini that the ever-attentive server had just delivered.

“There are days I miss my old life. Days I miss every second of the money and power and respect I’d earned on my own. But I also always knew I wanted a better life than spreading my legs for photogs and money. After I met your father, I suppose I knew I’d be trading my freedom and power for a gilded cage. It took time and distance for me to realize that the more you have, the more confined you are. But I grew to really love your father, Anna.” She paused to scrutinize my face, as if measuring whether or not she could really trust me. “It’s why I’m not leaving him now that he’s broke. Once he’s served out his sentence, we’ll live a quieter life together–and I’ll be happy, because I’ve lived my life without regrets. Can you say the same?”

I didn’t know how to answer her, and in the end, she simply handed me a card. Leaving it up to me if I wanted to audition for her former agent or not.

The soft wisp of the makeup artist’s brush powdering my face one last time snaps me from the memory. No, I’m not about to say goodbye to my plans to return to New York with Eric. But the humor isn’t lost on me–that I’m probably worth more than Eric is–and he’s been rocketing up the corporate ladder of a Fortune 500 company.

In a few short weeks, I’m going to stick to my plans to retire. To begin anew as Mrs. Eric Underwood. I’ll be able to pay for my own fairytale wedding, which my father will be granted furlough to attend. He’ll be so proud. So happy. The life he’d worked so hard, albeit not totally legally, to give me, would be mine again. In turn, I plan to bestow a horde of beautiful grandchildren for him to devote himself to. And a quiet country home upstate for him and Charlene to grow old in.

I settle onto the velvet chaise they’ve set out for today’s shoots, a silky red robe my only costume piece for today. Since today is set to be an especially intimate photo shoot, it’s a mostly closed shoot. The lighting and equipment guys have cleared out behind the curtains to take a break during the actual photo shoot. Only my assistant, Denise, stays nearby to fetch me anything I might need. I’m squinting my eyes against the sun beating down on me, studying her familiar face to settle the nerves I always get when I’m naked in front of strangers, when I see her cheeks flush and her eyes widen. I whip my head around to see who she’s looking at, but the photographer already has his camera covering his face.

“Are you ready, Sierra?” a deep voice purrs from behind the lens. “You look ready. Now lean back. Show me your pussy.”

His language shocks me. The photographers I usually work with know better than to use vulgar terms with me. I may make money off my glorious assets, but I always expect a degree of detached professionalism from those I employ. He didn’t even introduce himself or ask about my preferences or limits before strolling in here, which is a total variation from how all my other photographers have behaved.

I bring a hand up to shade my eyes to try to catch of glimpse of the notorious Devon Goode, but it’s too bright.

“Be a good, obedient girl, and do as I say,” his voice rumbles again. “I want to see that cunt spread wide and glistening in the sun.”

A wave of heat travels from my stomach straight to my pussy, causing it to throb at his demand. I’m not sure how to react–I’m surprised, but I’ve also never had such a physical response to a command either. All I know is that if I’m going to finish the shoot with him, we need to be totally alone. I catch Denise’s eye, and jerk my head a little to the side. She mouths and gestures “I’ll wait on the other side,” and then slips away.

“If you don’t open those gorgeous legs of yours in three seconds, I’m going to be forced to put you over my knee and show you my displeasure.”

Wetness pools between my legs, and without another moment’s hesitation I lean back on my elbows and let my knees fall away from each other. I imagine the rest of the crew standing just feet away from us, on the other side of the thin fabric barricades, listening to every filthy word pouring from Devon’s mouth. It turns me on even more.

“Fuck, your pussy is so perfect and wet. If I weren’t such a professional I’d be tempted to slide right into you and fuck you until you could no longer form coherent words.”

The muscles in my stomach clench and my thighs quiver with his unexpected confession. Again I try to see his face, but his camera is blocking it. His cotton shirt is unbuttoned, the full majesty of his body on display and I can’t help but admire the long, lean tanned lines of his body. I’m sweating in the heat, and I can tell he has been too, his chest glistens. A burning heat scorches through my veins as I imagine letting my fingers play over the slick, hard ridges of his bare chest, his tight abs, and the lean V of muscle disappearing into the waistband of his low slung shorts.

And then my eyes drift lower and I soak in the sight of the thick length of his cock straining against the confines of his shorts. The sight zings through me with alarming precision, tightening my nipples into hard little peaks.
What the holy hell in going on?

“So you are a dirty, little whore,” he growls, his voice gravelly. “Show me how much you like this. Show me what you want me to touch–starting with those perfect breasts.”

My back arches off the ground, and my fingers pluck at my right nipple before gliding down the flat of my belly and drifting along the planes of my inner thighs.

“Spread that beautiful cunt apart for me. That’s right, just like that. What I wouldn’t do to run my tongue along that silken seam. I can only imagine how the exquisite heaven of sinking into you balls deep would feel. To feel you writhe beneath me as I punished you in the best of ways for affecting me so.”

My breath hitches, my body threatening to implode and burn me whole.

“You love the the thought of that don’t you? The soul-satisfying stretch of my cock thrusting into you with unbridled voracity.”

I almost laugh at his heavy-handed description of outright fucking, but I’m too turned on to do anything other than moan under my breath. The lust in his voice matches how I feel. It’s a dangerous and confusing mix to someone who is holding onto her virginity with a tight fist for a completely different man. But my body has no such qualms. It smolders and aches for this faceless man with the velvet voice and bangin’ body to teach me all the ways of his sin. I realize that his dirty mouth must be one of the reasons he’s so popular in these circles. My lips part slightly as I spread my legs and let my head fall back gracefully, then my fingers find their way between my folds as he instructed.

“I want you on your knees. I want to see that tight ass and pussy all at once.”

I’m quick to comply, heady on the power of our combined spell. So close to coming, even though neither of us have touched the other.

“Now I’m not sure which of your tight holes I want to fuck first,” he growls fiercely. “I think it’s time for you to use the anal plug.”

Despite my slight embarrassment over the fact that he wants to watch me insert the plug in front of him, something I usually do privately before a photo session, there’s part of me that wants–no,
needs
–to hear what he’ll say and do. So I grasp the  pre-lubed glass plug from the towel of props beside me. I nudge the tip against my hole, and as I take a long breath in and force myself to relax all of my muscles, I gently push it inside. Closing my eyes, it’s easy to imagine it’s him, to picture his thick crown pushing past the sensitive rim of my most private of places. My body shivers with the thought of his hot, thick cock burying into me, urgent and demanding–my pussy now so wet it’s nearly dripping onto the sand beneath me.