Overexposed: The Complete Boxset: A Virgin Meets a Bad Boy Romance (7 page)

“
Y
ou haven’t changed
at all,” Eric says, holding me at arm’s length.

I’m glad you think so, even if it isn’t true.
Guilt gnaws at my insides. He wouldn’t have thought so if he’d been there for my first nude shoot—at how the photographer had sent me off set to shave my pussy, no landing strips required. At my hundredth or my thousandth, where being naked became as natural as breathing, where touching myself while pouting for the camera was as routine as another day in the office. Over my numerous spreads, at the kink I endorsed, at the men who worshipped at Sierra’s feet. At how much that worship empowered and emboldened me.

He definitely would not have those thoughts if he’d seen the way I reacted to Devon. Over how my pussy had throbbed and glistened at the growl of his voice commanding me. At the taste of his cum in my mouth, my scent on his lips, the hard length of him inside of me.

My face flushes hot, my core clenching with want at the memory. Thankfully, Eric takes this as a sign that I’m pleased with his compliment. And I let him believe it as I purr, “I’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you.” Eric folds me back into his arms, his hard cock pressed against my thigh to back that statement.

I twine my arms around his neck, even though I want nothing more than to back away from him and his wants. In return, he smiles—that same, familiar smile—and I can’t help but think about what a terrible person I am.

Eric kisses me, parting my mouth and delving into its depths with his tongue. I never quite match his pace, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His mouth feels cooler than mine, foreign, invasive, and hard. Has kissing him always felt like this? Are we just out of practice?
Because I can’t ever remember our kisses being anything like this wet lump of clay pushing my tongue around at will. His kisses used to fuel me, make me fight against my self-imposed virginity because I wanted,
needed
him, closer. I used to crave every morsel he was willing to feed me, and now I just want it to be over.

What the actual hell is going on?

This man has done everything in his power to secure our future. And now I can’t even return his affection. I’m judging him for not finding time to work out. For overdosing on cologne so that he could smell good for me? Not everyone’s
job
is to be perfect. God knows I’m not, but I was raised to pretend I am. And I’m going to fucking excel at being perfect. If we’ve fallen out of sync, well, I’ll figure out how to smooth the edges and rediscover the passion that’s laying dormant beneath my skin. After all, we’ve been apart for seven years, and I haven’t worked hard for seven years to just throw it away.

Not even for me?
Devon’s voice echoes in my mind.
He’ll never make you come like I can.

Shut the fuck up, you maddening jerk. You left me.

But I also found you. The real you, Anna.

No.

I am certifiably insane.

I’m kissing my future husband while having an imaginary argument with a one night stand. Flowers be damned.

You know it was so much more.
Devon’s voice taunts me.

Breaking the kiss, I grab Eric’s hand and lead him to the couch. At his arched eyebrow, I place a finger on his lips before I sit on the edge. My fingers make quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing his cock from his pants.
Has it always been this small? Ok not small, but smaller than...
I refuse to finish that thought. Instead, I bump his soft tip against my bottom lip and watch as his eyes darken. “I like where this is headed, but give me a second.”

Eric crosses the room and twists the key in the door. He strides back to me, his dick now erect and slightly
crooked
?
Oh my God, stop it Anna!
“Now where were we?”

I smile shyly and grasp the firm length of him, teasing the tip of his dick with my tongue. His moan of pleasure urges me on, as I stroke the length of him with the flat of my tongue, following the motion with my hand. Eric’s thighs twitch, and he tilts forward so that I can take him fully into my mouth. “Oh baby, you are so good. Suck my cock like the good little girl you are.”

Raising my gaze to meet his eyes, I’m slightly offended when instead of watching me suck his cock he has his eyes pinched closed.
Do not criticize Eric for enjoying a blow job in any way he wants to.
It doesn’t stop me from picturing Devon’s green eyes as they bored into me, enjoying the sight of his cock buried deep into my throat. Enjoying every thrust and moan as my body dripped for him.

And now my panties are soaked.

So I do the opposite of what a good girl would do. I close my eyes and pretend I’m the dirty girl Devon craves. That it’s the hard, thick length of his dick sliding between my soft lips. It’s him that I fuck with my mouth, giving into the carnal bliss of having him inside of me. My hands matching my thrusts with a reckless abandon.

And then there is a moan, and a hot spurt of cum that brings me back to Eric. Eric who is now staring at me with a mixture of wonder and worship written across the planes of his face. “Baby, that was amazing.”

He flops down onto the couch beside me, pants and boxers pooled at his feet, his dick half limp and his belly hanging low, and I’m momentarily confused. I blink away the ghost of Devon, and focus back on Eric. “I told you that I missed you.”

“Am I allowed to return the favor?” Eric graces me with a boyish grin. “To show you how much I missed you too?”

He lays me back against the couch, gently removes my shoes and places them on the floor. His hands glide up my thighs, pushing the dress up to my waist. “Holy fuck, you are so wet.”

A demure smiles lights upon my lips, as he removes my panties. I try to keep my eyes open, but the sight of his head bending forward to taste me feels wrong. So I close them and return to Devon. Only Devon’s mouth and magic fingers never fumble. There is no switching it up the moment my body begins to purr. Devon knew every sound, every whimper, and he exploited them in the best of ways. Arching into Eric’s warm mouth, I thread my fingers into his hair as I try to encourage him to
keep doing exactly that
—only he doesn’t. It’s like he’s trying for the gold in the art of lizard tonguing. Or reciting the alphabet in Chinese.

So I do what countless women have done before in this exact moment, I fake it.

And from the grin on Eric’s face when he peeks his head up between my thighs, he has zero clue how bad he actually was.

Fuck me. Seriously. I’ve just taught him that whatever the hell he thought he was doing was the right thing to be doing. When it was so far—Jupiter far—from what he needed to have been doing.

Fuck this, I need a drink.

“
I
guess
we should go join your parents and Charlene for a drink.”

“We should.” Eric’s eyes sparkle and he tucks my underwear into his jacket pocket. “But I’m keeping these as a souvenir. I like the thought of you not wearing panties.”

If you only knew.
With Eric’s help, I stand and smooth my skirt back down into place. He then retrieves my shoes, bending to one knee so I can use his shoulder for balance as he slips the booties onto my feet. My guilt flares again over his sweet gesture, and I automatically forgive him for the atrocity he just performed on my pussy. It’s been years, and he deserves a free pass.

“Shall we go?” Eric offers me the crook of his arm, and I tuck my hand through to rest on his forearm—sliding myself uneasily back into the role of doting fiancée.

“
T
here’s the beautiful couple
, we were just about to send the search hounds after you,” Lloyd says the moment we enter the room. And then with a gag-inducing wink, he adds, “I hope you had time to get...reacquainted?”

“Lloyd,” Arabella chides. “Must you be so gauche? The children have barely seen each other in years, they deserve a moment or two to themselves.”

Eric pulls me into his side, his hand secured possessively on my hip. “Thank you, Mother. It really is of no one’s concern what Anna and I were doing in the library.”

Lloyd guffaws loudly, and throws back the remains of his scotch. “Come have a drink, my boy. It’s a relief to know the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Arabella stares icily at us all, and turns to take a seat as Charlene makes her way to my side.

If I had an ice pick in my hand, Lloyd would be crying a different story when he no longer in possession of a left eye. Instead my entire face heats and flushes, turning into consternation when Eric releases me to walk to his father’s side. And when Lloyd claps him on the back and Eric laughs, I have half a mind to knock them both upside the head.

“Poise and grace, my dear,” Charlene whispers into my ear. “Don’t ever give Lloyd the upper-hand.”

Her words work wonders, and I turn to whisper back. “I hate him.”

Charlene pats my hand. “Don’t we all. Now, let’s get you a drink.”

We head toward the bar cart and I’m taken back when I see Lloyd hand Eric a whiskey on the rocks. Eric, who never drank more than a beer. Eric, who--let’s be honest--would get drunk off of half a beer. I try not to imagine Eric of the future, to see the parallels of him and his father.
I might be sick.

Instead, I take Charlene’s advice. “Darling, I didn’t know you’d taken a liking to whiskey?”

“I’m afraid it’s a habit I picked up in Japan.” Eric says, before lifting the tumbler to his mouth. “I couldn’t stomach the sake, so I had to find something strong enough to appease the masses. Now, I’m afraid, I’m quite dependent.”

“My dear Anna, what would you like?” Lloyd asks, even as he picks up the martini shaker as if he already knows I’m going to conform to the other ladies of the room.

“I’d actually love a mai tai,” I answer in my best sickeningly sweet voice.

Arabella lets out an unladylike scoff, as Eric and Lloyd stare at me as if I’ve grown two heads. Charlene is barely hiding her amusement.
Why on earth did I just say that?
“It’s just that I’ve been missing the warm weather, and I grew quite fond of mai tai’s in my time away.”

Eric lifts his glass. “Nothing wrong with adaptation.”

Lloyd still looks perplexed, so I smile sweetly. “Do you need to know the ingredients?”

After I list the needed components, I can’t help but mentally applaud myself for flustering the whole group of them. Lloyd hands me the glass, and after a quick sip, I can’t help myself. “Thank you, this is just what I’ve been craving.

Are you sure it’s the mai tai you’ve been craving? Or is it merely that the rum reminds you of the taste of my tongue?

Go to hell.

Only if I can take you with me.

I try to ignore his voice, but the barest mention of the taste of Devon makes me wet and squirmy. Not a good combination when you’re not wearing any underpants. I wish I could wash that man right out of my hair. How is it that he still has this kind of magnetic pull over me? I’d only known him a few days, and there have been
weeks
of silence. The most frustrating thing of all was that I
knew
he was right.

I take another long sip, my mind drifting to our first kiss.
The way Devon had tilted my chin up, to claim my mouth with a tender ferocity. His lips soft and demanding, his tongue exploring with an expertise that left my body aching.
Still aching
. When he had fisted a handful of dark hair with just the right amount of force, and swallowed the moan that escaped me like he was savoring the flavor of my sound like a fine wine that had finally hit its peak age. Every square inch of my body screaming—begging—for him to discover the secrets of my skin.

Tilting my glass I drain the rest of the contents of my glass—my core now clenching and throbbing with a dull ache, one only he could fill.

T
he drive
back to Charlene’s apartment is a quiet one, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Tonight’s events keep replaying over and over in my mind, they taunt me with the life I’ve always wanted—the perfect fiancé, the luxurious house, the right last name—but now, I’m not so sure it’s still what I want. Eric doesn’t deserve to be compared to Devon, but I can’t help the fact that he keeps coming up lacking. Can I really endure a life where I’m constantly faking it? I want to think I’m a bigger person, that sex isn’t as important as a comfortable life with someone who has loved me for my entire one. But it is important. Very much so.

If anything, Eric’s dismal attempt at eating my pussy has proven that. How can you go back to subpar when you’ve had a taste of heaven? Sure, I could teach Eric in the art of making me come, but it’s not the same as someone who
knows
how to actually do it instinctually.

And now I’m completely fucking sober. I need another drink.

O
nce we’re back home
, I follow Charlene up the three flights of stairs. The moment she twists the key into the lock, the heady aroma of flowers fills the landing. I can’t even escape Devon here. Not that I’d be able to anyway, not with the way he’s been haunting my every waking moment.Who am I kidding, my every moment. Inhaling deeply, I can’t help the way my body warms with the mere thought that he’d been searching for me. Until he found me. And now that he has, what did that imply? He’d told me that to him I was Art—did he only want to admire or did he want to explore me in all the ways I wanted to be explored. In the ways I also wanted to explore him.

Charlene interrupts my musings, as if she knows I need a break from my own mind. “I have pineapple and orange juice in the fridge if you feel like making a few of those mai tai’s for the two of us.”

Laughter bubbles into the air, and I do nothing to disguise my devious grin. “You’ve read my mind.”

Charlene’s answering smile matches my own. “I really can’t decide what I loved more, Lloyd’s face or Arabella’s complete disgust over a vulgar drink being mixed in her house.”

“Probably both.”

“Most definitely both,” Charlene agrees. “Now go get the ingredients so we can indulge in some philistine drinking.”

I salute her, and wind my way towards the kitchen. And on my way there, I can’t help but notice and marvel over the differences between Charlene’s homey sense of style and that of our old brownstone. While she’d kept a few of her favorite pieces, there was something comforting in the blend of throw pillows that didn’t match-or come from Bergdorf—the lamp that I knew came from Target, because I’d owned the same one, the signature IKEA bookshelves and knickknacks and dining room table.

When I reach the fridge, I can’t help but grin at the collage of Polaroids of Charlene and her girlfriends which are tacked onto it. Somehow, this tiny apartment manages to convey more of Charlene’s personality than our entire brownstone in Manhattan ever had. As I gather the juices, I realize it shouldn’t surprise me. Especially considering she’d inherited most of the furnishings, which had been in the family for generations. She’d been smothered in someone else’s past, never getting to actually express herself and the things she adored.

The idea of that saddens me for Charlene, and also for my future self. Because that’s what I’m about to walk into with my eyes wide open. To never getting to be who I want to be, and instead being the ideal of someone else’s standards and expectations.

“Ready for some low-brow liquor?” I ask, as I lift the juices in the air triumphantly.

“More than ready,” Charlene laughs, as she unearths and takes a drag from her vapor cigarette which looks suspiciously like a USB plug.

I didn't even know that she smoked, and I find I’m excited to inquire about this new facet of Charlene. “I might have to borrow that after tonight.”

“Guilty pleasure number fifty-five,” Charlene confesses with a wave of her hand. “Your father made me quit years ago, but after the arrest I couldn’t help myself. Then I discovered this little baby, and it is fucking heaven. No offensive odor, and it tastes like creme brûlée.”

“And now you have me completely sold,” I say as I sit beside her on the couch and hand her the drink.

She in turn hands me the vapor cigarette . “Take a small drag at first, or you’ll be hacking up a lung.”

So I do, and it’s actually soothing. The slow drag and pleasant taste are the perfect accompaniment to the tropical flavors of the rum and juice. “You might have just converted me.”

Charlene winks at me. “Just don’t tell you father, or Eric, or the judgmental assholes who happen to be his parents.”

“It’s our little secret.” I cross my heart and do the sign of the cross.

“Speaking of little secrets, it’s time to spill some of yours.”

My heart thumps awkwardly in my chest, and my brain buzzes with the effort it will take to lie.

“Oh no. I know your lie face. Don’t even try it,” Charlene chides.

I force a laugh. “My lie face?”

“It’s halfway between deer caught in the headlights and dead man walking.”

“No it’s not.”

“Oh yes it is. And since neither you nor Eric even once mentioned the gorgeous bouquet of flowers that came for you today, that means they aren’t from him. So spill.”

I stare bewilderedly at Charlene’s expectant face, it’s clear of judgement and open to hearing whatever confessions I need to unburden. And just like that, I realize that I am
so
ready to talk about Devon.

“Have you ever heard of the photographer, Devon Goode?”

Charlene nods. “His name sounds familiar. Why?”

I stare down at my drink, swirling the contents as if they can divine my future. “He was the photographer from my last shoot.”

“And something happened between the two of you?”

Now it’s my turn to nod. “At first, I thought I hated him. He was arrogant and forceful and only in it for the money. He was beyond critical of the way I earned my money, and the things he said,” I pause to catch my breath and steady my pulse. “Let’s just say, I’ve never had a photographer be as graphic in his directions as Devon was.”

Charlene curls her legs up on the couch and steals back her vape. “Ooh, go on.”

“I’ve honestly never been more infuriated or turned on by any man before. And it shows in the calendar, it’s my best work ever.”

Charlene raises her finger. “Mental note, you must show me the spread.”

“Dully noted.” I steal back the vape, and take a long contemplative drag. “He’s a silver-tongued devil with a face and body designed by the gods. I didn’t know which way was up or which was down, but my body wanted more. I even went as far as Skyping Eric to have virtual sex to relieve some of the pressure, but that was a dismal failure. Eric is a whiz with numbers, but amateur porn star he is not. So I ended up masturbating to Devon instead.” I leave out the part where he was actually there, pleasuring himself while his eyes were on me.

I shiver when I see him so clearly in my mind’s eye.
The glorious sight of his fucking cock fisted in his hand—the long, thick, solid length of him that I couldn’t help but want buried deep, deep inside of me. How he’d stroked himself with purpose, and I could practically taste him on the flat of my tongue. God, I had wanted to touch him, taste him, have him do all of the lecherous things he’d promised to do. His hand had increased its speed when my moans soaked into the air and permeated his skin. I had wanted to crawl to him on hands and knees, to take him into my mouth and suckle his swollen dick while he explored my aching mound. My back had arched off the bed, the waves growing and swelling in my stomach until he thrust up into his hand, his cum spurting and dripping onto the floor all it took to send me over the edge.

“Still with me?” Charlene teases.

“Barely.” The corners of my mouth lift up in the hint of a smile. “He made me question everything. I allowed him to unravel me, to break Sierra and see Anna. I let him do things to me that I never thought I was capable of doing. Of wanting to do.”

Charlene’s mouth drops open in surprise. “He took your virginity?”

I shake my head. “But I was willing. I still am. He’s ruined Eric for me.”

She pats my hand sympathetically. “And you told him who you really are?”

“That’s the thing, I didn’t. And he’s found me anyway.”

Charlene rescues her vape from my needy hands and leans back into the couch. “And how do you feel now?”

“Confused. Guilty. Excited. And I should only be guilty and sorry, because I cheated on Eric.” I confess. And I do feel those things. Eric is my past and my future, my beginning and end.

Are you really so sure?
Devon prods again.

I’m ignoring you.
But he’s getting harder to ignore.

From your daydream it doesn’t seem that way.

Shut the fuck up. Please.

“You’re going to have to make a decision, and I can’t tell you what to do.”

“Have you ever been in this situation? Caught between two men, with the wrong one pulling ahead?”

“I have, and in the end I chose your father.” She waves a hand. “Obviously.”

“But you loved the other one?”

“I did. But it’s not that cut and dry.” Charlene fixes her gaze on me. “I made the right choice for me. And I love your father, with all of my heart.”

“You never think of him?”

Charlene places a soft hand on my cheek. “Of course I do. A part of me will always love and want him. He was special and talented and unique. Every time he would walk into a room, my entire body would come to life. He was my everything and I could have been happy if things had been different. If I would have had the faith to trust in that love, but when you’re young you ignore the obvious.”

I lean into her. “What do you mean?”

“Aaron was an up-and-coming musician. Which meant he was constantly on the road, and being the completely gorgeous hunk of man-meat he was, that also came with groupies. It just became too much. His absences, the constant fear that he would be unfaithful—I started to crave stability. I didn’t want to stifle his career by making demands, but I wanted someone to chose me. And then I met your father. He chose me, and he offered me the life of security I desperately needed. You need to figure out what you need—regardless if that is Eric and stability or Devon and the unknown.”

* * *

L
ong after Charlene
went to bed, I lay on the sofa-bed wide-awake running through our conversation over and over. The decision should be cut and dry, it’s not even only about me and what I want from life. Our families are tied together, bound by duty and obligation. My father went to prison to ensure I could still marry the man that I love, that his name would be untarnished so I could still have the position in life he thought I deserved. If I gave up my dream of Eric, the fantasy life I’d imagined from the time I was old enough to imagine, then his sacrifice would mean nothing. Charlene was right to remind me of that.

I
must
choose Eric and release the dream of Devon.

You can’t let me go.
Devon taunts me.

I’m damned well going to try.

No one will ever make your body sing like I can.

Then that will have to be my sacrifice.

Devon’s fathomless green eyes swim into view, watching and waiting. I remember with a vivid accuracy the feel of his chestnut curls between my fingers, the rough brush of his five o’clock shadow against the sensitive skin of my pussy, the hot sweep of his tongue along my seam, the slight nip of his teeth as he pulled my clit into his succulent mouth.

And then I’m touching myself. Trying to imitate the way his deft fingers had massaged, teased, and coaxed me until I was nearly undone. I imagine the feel of him sinking into me, taking the last little part of me that I had to give. The stretch of my cunt, the fullness I’d experience having enveloped him into the depths of me.

A shiver runs down my spine, when I imagine gripping his tight ass as he plunges deeper and deeper—as he not only buries himself into my pussy, but into the very fiber of my being.

This will be our only goodbye. Here with my hand and the ghost of what might have been.

A sadness creeps through my veins, it dulls the orgasm that has been threatening to undo me. My disappointment manifested in an unsatisfying conclusion.

How will I ever be able to say goodbye?

Exhausted I finally drift asleep, but there is no rest for the wicked. My dreams are filled with tortured scenes of Eric and Devon—as confused and chaotic in my subconscious as in waking. Even my sleep, I’m refused clarity.