Read Overexposed: The Complete Boxset: A Virgin Meets a Bad Boy Romance Online
Authors: Rae Lynn Blaise
“I want to fucking fuck you. I want to fucking fuck you so hard and so long that you’ll beg to be a whore for me, that you’d relish every salacious morsel I feed you.”
A low moan escapes my lips and my core and ass clench.
“Now look back at me. I want to see the huger and yearning in your eyes.”
I instantly do his bidding, and after a quick succession of clicks, Devon finally lowers the camera from his face. I almost come right there when I finally am able to see his gorgeous face. Dark curls, mossy green eyes, and the hint of a five o’clock shadow nestled among chiseled features and dimples that seem to have been sculpted by the gods themselves. His full lips quirk into a knowing smile and he graces me with a languid wink before he turns on his heel and walks away.
I’m almost bereft at the sudden end of our session. He’s left me heaving, wanting, and questioning what the actual fuck just happened.
If I’ve learned anything from our brief time together it’s this:
For the first time, I realize it might not be so easy to walk away.
I
’m ashamed
to think that I’m nervous walking into the communal dining room of the beach house we’ve rented. Usually our first night’s dinner is a wild romp full of good food, booze, endlessly recounted stories, and lots of laughter. After today’s shoot, I’m afraid that everyone’s heard the debauchery that flowed from Devon’s tongue like honey. I’m also afraid of actually seeing Devon face-to-face. I’m even more afraid that, in both of those scenarios, the whole crew might know how much I loved it. But when I enter the room, there are no knowing glances or lecherous come-ons–and the muscles of my body that I didn’t know were even tense instantly relax with a sigh of relief.
Denise has laid out a delicious fair from the little seafood shack down the road for us. While I’m glad she’s there to worry about the schedule and the countless other errands and arrangements, like food, I can’t help but add up the numbers of what this meal is costing me. Since I’m financing this shoot personally, I want to ensure that we don’t go over budget. It makes me feel even more assured when I glimpse the tablet screen in front of her with three separate spreadsheet windows which she’s toggling in and out of, adjusting the numerous things that are her responsibility.
Despite the nagging concern over money, my stomach rumbles from hunger and lingering lust. It reminds me of that old saying about eating instead of cheating, so I fill my plate with seared sea scallops, coconut-crusted shrimp, some sort of lobster roll, a conch fritter, a scoop of rice and some red snapper. Denise glances up long enough to push a glass of Pinot Noir across the table towards me. I take a gulp of wine to soothe my scattered thoughts.
Devon’s lighting and camera assistants, Sam and Zach, have a laptop positioned between them and they’re shuffling through today’s shoot while shoveling food into their mouths. I choose a seat beside them. “Do you mind if I have a quick look?”
They willingly oblige, probably happy that they can focus on their dinner– and each other if I’m reading the signals right–as I begin to scroll through. The photos blow me away: they’re probably the best I’ve ever had taken. The emotion and desire on my face is raw and–if I can be conceited enough to think it–outright beautiful. But when I hit the picture where my back is arched, hand caressing my stomach, eyes lit with a burning fire...tingling fingers of want and arousal tickle across my pussy. They spread down my thighs and drench the lace thong I changed into just minutes ago.
Even if no one else is able to read the crackling sexual tension in these photos, I
know
what brought about this change in me. How Devon Goode tempted and beckoned the wanton in me, how I ached and writhed with the very thought of his huge fucking cock buried deep inside me. He awakened this secret part of me that wants him to fuck me so hard and so long that I forgot my real self, Anna. He made me feel willing to fling away my plans, my carefully constructed future, and worst of all, the fact that there’s an Eric out there, waiting for me.
My body flames, and I can’t control the clenching of my cunt at those traitorous thoughts.
It’s only when I glance at the revelry around me–specifically Crystal, the makeup artist who seems to think I’m paying for her to be on an actual vacation based on the amount of rum she keeps pouring down her throat–that I realize Devon isn’t seated anywhere in the room. I lean across the table and interrupt Crystal, who is far too drunk to realize that her attempt to indulge her How Stella Got Her Groove Back fantasies with Sam and Zach are clearly
never
going to happen. “Have any of you seen Devon? I wanted to tell him how much I love the pictures from today.”
Zach seems relieved for the distraction. “Last time I saw him, he was headed out to the veranda.”
My head immediately swivels in that direction, and I see him sitting, his feet propped up on the hassock in front of him.
It should be a crime to be so ridiculously attractive and talented and mother-fucking sexy. Even in the loose sweatpants and fitted tee, he seems totally in control. I can’t help being fascinated by someone who is all at once aloof, yet raw. The fact that he’s been able to illicit such an immediate sexual pull from me is a wonder in and of itself. Not even Eric has come close to tempting me to cave, to give up this dream of withholding myself for my wedding day. And here I am, willing to throw that all away on a man with the face of a god and the devil’s silver tongue.
“Thanks, boys.”
“No, thank you,” Zach replies, tilting his head in Drunkface McFlirtypant’s direction, before grabbing Sam’s hand and pulling him up the stairs toward the bedrooms.
I grin, happy that someone’s getting laid tonight.
Once they’re out of sight, my focus turns back to Devon. The need to be near him is an itch that I shouldn’t scratch–but will anyway. I’m captivated and drawn to him like the proverbial moth to a flame. I abandon my food and find my way out onto the veranda. I’m trying to act casual, like I hadn’t even known he was sitting out here by himself. Leaning against the porch railing, I soak in the night sky and the balmy ocean breeze, which dances across my skin and leaves goosebumps in its wake. His presence, just knowing he’s sitting a mere five feet away, is like a live wire crackling through the air. I desperately want him to acknowledge me first. To put a voice to this unknown and not entirely unwelcome thrumming in my chest, my veins, and my cunt.
But he remains silent.
In retaliation for this slight, I mimic my last standing pose from the photo shoot–only with clothes, and sans the crystal anal plug.
Still, nothing.
My body wars between incredulous anger–
hello
, I’m supplying his paycheck–to ravenous yearning.
So, I do what many girls are want to do in my situation: I fake surprise. Feigning like I’m headed back inside, I turn and make eye contact, then jump just enough to make the surprise seem believable. “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
His lips quirk to the side as if amused by my antics. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I’m sure I’ll get over it,” I say, a bright, guileless smile forcing its way onto my lips.
“I hope so.”
I feel the rumble of his voice bounce off my swollen and slick pussy and I fight against the shiver of pleasure that wants to take over my slight frame. “I can’t say I wasn’t hoping to run into you. Sam and Zach showed me the photos from today’s shoot, and I’m amazed and impressed with the way you captured this other side of me. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and it’s a first for me to have something so raw and beautiful. Is this the way you always approach your art?”
Devon’s gaze captures mine for a long second. “Are you being fucking serious right now?”
The snarl in his tone catches me, and my back stiffens at his tone. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be serious?”
He lets out a derisive laugh. “In no terms would I classify what I did today as art. This is a paycheck. Don’t tell me you view this any differently.”
His words are like knives. It’s one thing for me to convince myself of that very thing for seven years–that this is just a paycheck, it’s not a reflection of my true self–but his scorn raises my hackles and I’m not about to stand here and listen to him belittle what I do.
Motherfucker.
“Since when is a naked woman not a piece of art? You’d better build a time machine and travel back and inform all of the greatest artists to have ever lived of your expert opinion.”
“They may be naked, but those women kept their hands off their clits.” Devon answers, his voice low and intimidating.
“Then I can only assume that you’ve never been to an art museum before. There are multiple examples that would prove you truly and utterly wrong. Picasso’s entire Erotic Collection, Titan’s Venus of Urbino, Gustav Klimpt, Gustave Courbet, and Anthony Christian to name a few.” I rattle off the names, betraying my formative years spent in an exclusive fine arts schools. Just because my situation derailed my college plans, it doesn’t mean I’m stupid or uneducated.
Who does this uncultured ass think he is?
“There is a very real difference between art and what you are doing. If Picasso were to paint you, would you get your roots touched up? Would you have hired the spray tan expert? Or a makeup artist to coat your face in powders and creams, lipstick and eyeliner? Would you wear those fake eyelashes and nails, have your pussy and ass waxed? He pointedly stares at each part of my body as his now-vile tongue spits out the words with a special brand of contempt.
Flushing with anger and embarrassment, I feel even more naked than I was earlier at the beach. It is the most exposed I’ve felt in my entire life.
“The women they painted were
real
. Viewing them is like taking a glimpse into their intimate space–their private moments meant only for themselves. They are raw and beautiful because they
aren’t
trying to impress someone. They’re not pretending to be this carefully constructed version of themselves to please the viewer. Anyone who is in
this
business,” he pauses, almost breathless, “who claims that they are making ‘art,’ is really just whoring themselves out to the highest bidder.”
My eyes burn with unshed tears. He’ll never really know how his barbed words stuck and burrowed into my heart, how close to home his opinion has struck. I can’t let him see how he’s affected me. I
won’t
let him see how he’s affected me. “I call your bullshit.”
Devon blinked, his head tilting a fraction of the inch to the side. “I wasn’t aware I was spewing bullshit.”
Straightening my spine, I fix him with my stare. “You can sit there being a self-righteous asshole and try to make yourself swallow your own crap about art and what constitutes it–but it was
you
that perpetuated today’s shoot.
You
who directed me with your words, with your wants, with your fucking raging hard-on. Maybe you should be giving this little speech to your own fucked up proclivities and to your cock that, to all outward appearances, tends to disagree with the shit you’re trying to convince everyone you’re so above.”
Devon’s face is now unreadable, and I’m boosted by his silence. “You were well aware of what type of shoot you were signing up for, so your whining is falling on deaf ears. But I’ll give you some food for thought: if what you’re doing isn’t art, then what kind of artist are you?”
I don’t wait for him to answer. Instead, I turn on my heel and head inside. I pick up my plate of now cold food and make my way to my master suite. Once the door is shut and locked behind me, I place the plate on the side table and slump to the floor. Burying my face into my hands, I finally release the hot tears his confrontation has cost me. And while I’m proud of the fact that I stood up to him, his words battered against the armor I use to protect Anna from the lifestyle of Sierra. It was torture to not shout my secret in his face and make him eat his words.
It’s an uncomfortable feeling to be judged so harshly by someone I’m so deeply attracted too. I hate this. It’s dangerous to want his approval–a need that still stings and burns even after a long, slightly too-cold shower. Even though I usually don’t look at myself in the mirror, tonight I do. Uncounted minutes tick by as I study the shade of my brown eyes, the honey gold of my hair that I’ve combed and pulled back into a tight, wet ponytail. I don’t know why I never look at myself–I’ve tried not to overanalyze it. I just don’t. I only look at myself when I’m flipping through photos from shoots, and then it’s with a calm, detached business sense as I decide which shots to feature and which to cut.
I’m not sure how to feel about who I see in the mirror before me. Does it matter if selling images of my body is just a paycheck, or if the niche I’ve built for myself is artistic in any way?
I end up climbing into bed without applying all of my anti-aging serums and potions and lotions.
I guess it’s safe to say that Devon Goode had successfully burrowed his way under my skin.
I
wake
up the next morning with a mixture of dread and anticipation for today’s shoot. I don’t know what to expect from Devon, especially after our heated debate and its awkward ending. There is nothing I wish for more than to pinpoint exactly what it is about this man that is getting to me–down through my tissue and into my very bones. Yes, he’s ridiculously attractive and talented and commanding...but I’ve been faced with that temptation before and never wavered in my convictions.
There’s something in the way he focused on me with those fathomless green eyes when I fought with him yesterday. All I can imagine is curling my fingers into his chestnut curls and guiding those full lips between my thighs...of the rough brush of his scruff against my sensitive skin, the hot sweep of his tongue along my seam, the slight nip of his teeth as he sucks my clit into his mouth.
Great. Now I need another shower, especially if I want to maintain my composure, the air of professionalism that will serve as the perfect buffer for this disastrous train of thought.
After I’ve showered and forgone all of my beauty creams, except body lotion (because
hello,
today is a shoot day) I venture down the hall and into the dining room. I make my way to the coffee maker and pour an oversized mug of coffee, adding a touch of milk and sugar. Turning, I automatically scan the room as I take a sip.
Merciful heaven that is good
. I breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t immediately see the object of my current obsession while simultaneously tamping down my unwanted disappointment.
I need to be mentally prepared for when we finally come face to face again. I glance down at my watch. Twenty minutes until I have to be down getting ready for the shoot. Twenty minutes has never seemed so long, and yet so short, a time frame.
What the actual living fuck is wrong with me?
Pulling out my phone, I send a quick text to Eric.
You wanna Skype tonight? Well, technically tonight for me and tomorrow for you.
I anxiously wait for his answer, my meticulously manicured fingers tapping against the side of the mug. My phone buzzes.
Of course. What time?
Would 8pm for me work? So that’s what 9am for you?
The phone buzzes again.
Yup, it’s a plan. I’ll be in the office, but I can definitely make it work.
Wonderful. I miss you.
Buzz.
I miss you the most.
No, I do.
I smile as I tap the message out.
Buzz.
Well I love you the most.
Not possible.
Buzz.
Fine, I let you win this one. Only b/c I need to be in a meeting in 5. Can’t wait to see your beautiful face.
Can’t wait to see yours too.
Buzz.
Love you, Babe.
Love you.
A smile flutters across my lips. I’m tired of being away from him, and seeing him tonight– regardless if it’s just through a computer screen–should help banish Devon from my thoughts. I need to get my head on straight.
“No cells are allowed on my shoot today,” says a voice beside me.
My knees go weak with the low hum of his voice against my skin, but I refuse to turn and acknowledge his presence. “It’s
my
shoot. I think you forget who’s supplying your paycheck. That is all you’re concerned with anyway, isn’t it?”
“I expect my rules to be obeyed, or I could just walk.”
This time I meet his gaze. “Then do it.”
There’s a tightening around his eyes, and I glimpse the conflict he thinks he’s hiding in their depths. He wants this to be just business? He’s going to get it.
“Exactly what I thought. You’re all talk and no action,” I say. I glance at his groin suggestively, quirking an eyebrow to make sure he gets my meaning. “Now, if you don’t mind, time is money and I waste neither on any man.”
As I walk away, I can’t help but mentally pat myself on the back. That will show him who the real boss is here. Despite what my body wants, as long as I leave my mind in control I can play whatever game this is with him...and win.
Exactly three minutes later I’m sitting in the makeup chair with Crystal hovering over me. Studying my reflection in the mirror in front of me for the second time in the last 24 hours, I’m confronted with Devon’s words from the night before. “I think I want to go in a different direction for today’s shoot. Minimal, natural makeup. No lashes, no heavy liner or blush, maybe a nude lipstick.”
“Are you sure?” Crystal asks, her tone implying I’m crazy as her gaze sweeps my face.
I want to snap
Are you being paid to question me?
but I don’t. I just smile my most winning smile and say “Absolutely!”
Crystal shakes her head, still incredulous. “Minimal and natural it is.”
I close my eyes and relax into the gentle ministrations of Crystal’s craft. I try my best not to focus on the fact that Devon is going to view this as a win. But really, I’m proving to myself and him that there is more to me than products and gimmicks. Flashes of hot and cold nervousness flood my bloodstream, I wish I had a crystal ball so I could peer into the future and find out how this day was going to end. I’m trying to be strong, but whenever Devon’s around I feel weak.
“And you’re done,” Crystal informs me, with one final swoop of her brush across my cheek.
“That was quick.”
“Natural looks usually are.”
When she moves out of my line of sight, I’m amazed at the difference between yesterday and today. Maybe Devon was a little right about toning down the fake. I actually feel beautiful without a ton of shit on my face, and that boosts my self-confidence to the
n
th degree.
You better watch out Devon Goode, because I’m about to become your wet dream. Oh for fucks sake, why is that my first thought?
Climbing out of the chair, I walk the final fifty feet to the beach. Before Devon is aware of my presence, I take a long steadying breath.
His opinion really doesn’t matter. You aren’t doing this for him. You’re doing this for your fans and for you. Remember that this is your last gig and then you’re done with this world forever.
Despite the pep talk, I can’t fight the feeling that I’m walking into a lion’s den where Devon’s the lion and I’m his unsuspecting prey, walking willingly to slaughter. To be devoured by this frustrating man and to love every minute of it.
I am so many shades of fucked up.
“Sierra, we need you over here so we can meter you,” Sam calls out, gesturing toward a large patch of twisted seaweed.
I’m intrigued until I’m upon it. The seaweed is littered with trash. “Mother fucker,” I mumble under my breath. I’m convinced this is payback. Payback for calling him a hack last night, and reminding him that he’s hired help who I could easily replace this morning.
He’s overplayed his hand, though. I will fucking own this bull and act like it’s exactly the direction I was hoping to go.
Zach comes up from behind and hands me an earpiece. We’re closer to the waves today, and when we’re in an especially loud shooting area, my photographers usually send give me my instructions over a tiny hidden earpiece rather than shouting. I shake my head and refuse to take the earpiece from Zach. “If Devon wants to give me directions, then he can do it the normal way.”
“He’s not going to like that,” he replies, trying to hand me the earpiece again.
“I give zero fucks about what Devon does or does not like.”
Zach shrugs and gives me a half smile. “Give him hell, he deserves it.”
An answering smile lights upon my mouth. “Oh, don’t you worry about that.”
Not taking the earpiece had been a spur of the moment decision, but if I wanted to remain strong and immune to his seductive charms the last thing I needed was his velvety vulgar words echoing directly into my ears.
A large hand encircles my upper arm, pulling me into a cluster of trees and out of view from the crew. I instinctively know its Devon even before I meet his mossy green eyes. His fingers bite wickedly into my flesh, spreading and burning through my veins with unspoken promises.
Stay strong, Anna.
“Sierra, what is this nonsense about not using the earpiece,” Devon practically growled. The rough sound of it zinging down my body and awakening my pussy. “That is unacceptable.”
With my free hand I flick my hair over my shoulder. “The only thing that’s unacceptable right now is your unwelcome hand on me. And maybe the fact that you keep forgetting who exactly the boss is here. Besides, earpieces irritate me. They really take me out of the moment.”
“You are infuriating,” Devon hisses as he releases me from his grasp. “And pray tell, how am I to communicate my wishes and directions during the shoot?”
“I would think the same way most photographers do: loud enough so everyone can hear you,” I answer, opening my eyes wide and feigning innocence. “But you’re the
professional,
I’d assume you’d know that better than me.”
Devon’s eyes rove over my face and down my body, and for a brief moment I swear he can see through the robe, leaving me feeling more exposed than if I were actually naked. “Fine. I’ll play this little game with you. But consider yourself warned that in the end...I always win.”
“I wasn’t aware that I was playing a game.” My chin lifts in defiance. “And even if I were, you’ll soon find out that I’m not accustomed to losing.”
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” Devon leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “But for now get ready to show me that perfect little cunt of yours,” his says, advancing on me until I can go no further due to the palm tree against my back. His hand parts the robe, his fingers playing against the soft skin of my inner thighs - brushing ever so lightly across the intimate lips, and just like that I’m soaked. “That’s right, I want to see you glistening in the sunshine.”
I swallow hard. “You’re giving yourself far too much credit.”
His mouth is still so achingly close to my ear, his hand now cupping my throbbing pussy. “Darling, stop fooling yourself. Do you think I don’t know how desperately you want me buried so fucking deep inside of you? Almost as much as I want to be buried there.” He dips a finger torturously slow into my folds, just deep enough to make it damp with my want.
My eyes glaze over, and I have to swallow the moan that threatens to escape. Devon trails my slick seam before lifting the finger to his mouth and sucking it clean. “You are delectable, and if I had my way I’d take you back to your room right the fuck now and I’d show you how a real man eats pussy.”
A sharp intake of air is the only sound that betrays me. Right now there is nothing I want–no
crave–
with every fiber of my being then for him to do such a thing. And then without warning, his plunges two fingers inside me, his thumb finding my clit with ease. He massages me, teases, coaxes me until I’m nearly undone. My eyes close and a moan escapes my lips before I panic, realizing anybody might see us. My eyelids flutter open and I’m confronted with those green eyes staring deep into mine, his lips parted...and then just as abruptly he withdraws his hand from my body.
“I’m going to carry you with me for the rest of the day. Let you simmer in the knowledge that your sweet scent is permeating the air around me,” Devon whispers against my mouth, so close I can taste my own scent upon his breath. My knees tremble, and if he weren’t helping to support me I don’t think I’d be able to keep myself standing.
Devon trails his full lips across my jawline, nipping at the thin, sensitive skin of my neck. “I bet you really wish you hadn’t turned down the earpiece now, don’t you?”
My mouth parts in surprise, but I recover quickly. “I think the real question is if you’re up for the challenge of keeping me interested without it.”
I pull the robe closer around me, ducking under his arm and heading towards the safety of the crew. Breathing slowly, I try to calm the pounding of my heart. Devon Goode spells danger, and I’ll be lucky if I escape the spell he’s casting on me.
Back at the pile of trashy seaweed I gesture to Crystal. When she reaches me, I’m quick to amend my early directions. “I’ve changed my mind. How quickly can you apply some lashes, a heavy cat-eye liner, and a bright lip?”
Crystal grins, happy to finally be allowed to work her full magic. “Give me ten and you’ll be perfect.”
“Awesome.”
As I watch Crystal race back to her station to gather the needed supplies, I gather every shred of willpower I can muster. I’ll feel better when my armor is back in place. Devon’s been drawing too much Anna out, and right now I need Sierra to protect her.
T
wenty minutes later
, I’m lying on my side–the litter-filled seaweed draped around my body– in a fuchsia, crotchless one-piece bathing suit. If you can call it a one-piece since it barely covers my hard nipples, a thin strip of stretchy fabric down my torso - the bottom half a crotchless thong. My plan isn’t working out a well as I hoped, since I refused the earpiece Devon’s taken it upon himself to hands-on direct me. He’s also ordered Crystal to scrub my face clean again. I’d tried to argue, but when his savage gaze confronted mine I’d caved.
So here I am, back arched– as if I'm performing a horizontal back-bend. He’s arranged my arms above me, spread my hair across the sand, taken his time spreading my legs apart and angling them in the warm surf. It’s an intimate gesture, his firm hands gliding along my calves. I try to distract myself by visualizing what this will look like to the camera–a beautiful, broken doll nestled in her bed of sand and seaweed and ocean.
Once he’s satisfied, he raises his fingers–
those fingers–
to his face and inhales. My heart stutters and I take a sharp breath in. And now his face is covered by the camera as he circles around me snapping pictures. His dick strains against his shorts, making me wonder if maybe I haven’t also captured him in a spell of my own.
“Next location” he snaps, not even glancing toward me before he heads down the beach.
Sam helps me to my feet, and Zach is ready with my robe. “Where are we headed next?”