Iris Blaire - Dark Frame

And that’s exactly what I need.

* * *

“I don’t know,” Britain says. She’s connected her camera wirelessly to her iPad and is looking through raw shots.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” I ask.

“The shots of you alone are gorgeous. Really elegant. I could totally see this as a full spread. But once Miguel is in the picture, it falls a bit static.”

“Well, it’s not like you were making us fake anything passionate,” I argue. “It was a kiss.”

“I know, I know,” she says. “But even something like this with you and Dallas would be way livelier.”

Impatience boils up in my chest. “You’re going to need to get over Dallas, Brit. Okay? I got over him, and now it’s your turn.”

“Alright, alright. Jeez. All I’m saying is that I might have you stick to solo shoots for the rest of this issue.”

“That’s fine.” I cross my arms.

“What? You mad at me?”

“No… do what you have to do.”

“You’re totally mad at me.”

I shoot her a quit-while-you’re-ahead look. She turns away from me and yells, “We ready to go?”

“You need me anymore today?” I ask. “I really have to study.”

“Get out of here,” she says as a bunch of models, giggling and elbowing each other, start piling into one of the weird cages lining the wall. “And thanks, Evan. For doing this one last time.”

“I’d do anything for you,” I tell her. “Even be choked out with a scarf, if you want to go that kinky.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re so dedicated.”

Britain

“Let’s get naked.”

This is obviously not the first time I’ve said this on a set, but I don’t think I’ve ever said it to so many models at once. After trying lingerie with the cage, I figured everyone crammed together in their underwear looked trashy, so I decided to go with the more artsy look of nudity.

I’m a classy girl.

Now I have eight models standing in front of me without an inch of clothing on. I’ve never seen so much dick in my life.

Interestingly enough, more guys are trying to hide their private parts than the girls. Delilah stands with her hands on her hips, waiting for my instructions.

I try not to stare at Jaime as I direct. Not because I’ve never seen him naked before. I caught him once on our parent’s couch railing some chick when my mom and dad were on vacation. I’m pretty sure I screamed, oh, gross, and ran upstairs, only to hear my brother doing the same thing in his bedroom.

“Okay, okay, crawl in the cage.”

I don’t have them pair off with each other until they’re all crammed inside, which, I admit, was a mistake. Now they have to pair off with the model of the opposite gender nearest to them. Delilah is bitching because Adam didn’t even try to reach her. Chloe looks uncomfortable—there are only girls around her.

“Don’t be homophobic,” I suggest. “Work with who’s around you. You don’t have to be raunchy. Subtly sexy is good too.”

“We’re naked,” says Adam. “You can’t be subtle when you’re naked.”

“Lose the boner, Adam. Yes, you can.”

The guys bust up laughing. Delilah scowls.

“Don’t assume we’re homophobes just because we’re straight, Britain,” Jaime says.

I cross my arms, my dangling camera resting between my elbows. I narrow my eyes at him. I know for a fact that he was extremely homophobic when he was in high school. Then again, he was in football, and that was almost a decade ago. “Alright, prove me wrong then.”

Jessica’s jaw drops to the floor and she gapes at Jaime. The rest of the boys say, “Ohh!” In unison. Except for Jaime. He keeps his eyes glued on me, as if he’s ready and waiting to except the challenge.

And then Adam slinks up from behind him and wraps his arms around Jaime’s bare waist. Jessica squeals in delight, and Delilah cries, “Damnit, damnit, I can’t see! Why do I have to be stuck all the way on the other side of the cage? Motherfucker!”

I gulp, arousal building between my thighs. “T-touché. Now pose like you mean it. In fact, everyone. Your theme isn’t that hard.”

“A giant classy orgy in a cage,” says Adam. He rests his chin on Jaime’s shoulder, his hands sliding down Jaime’s thighs. And Jaime acts entirely in his element, leaning back into Adam, staring hard at me.

Waiting for my response.

I think of what Evan told me—about not giving into embarrassment. It’s what Jaime always wants from me.

“Yeah,” I say, dropping my tone to boredom. “I can almost believe you two want to fuck each other. Almost.”

Jaime cracks a wry, dangerous smile as Adam leans into him and licks slowly up his neck. I’m quick enough to catch it with the camera, the thrum between my legs building.

“Better,” I say monotonously.

Ella gets shoved in front next to the boys, which is perfect because she has crazy-amazing, frizzy sex hair and flawless breasts. She leans her body so her back is against Adam and Jaime. Delilah presses against her, faux kissing her as she cups one of Ella’s perfect breasts.

Holy fuck. I’ve shot a million times—I thought I would be immune to this by now. Why am I so turned on?

“Okay.” I clear my throat. “Okay, keep the energy up.” I prep for the next shot, deeply distracted by the way Adam’s fingers claw the taught skin of Jaime’s abs.

* * *

After the shoot, I hurry to my room, slam the door behind me, and press my back against it.

I’ve never wanted a partner more in my life than I do now. Because if I had one I would be able to ravage him instead of standing here all torn up from sexual frustration.

UGH.

I hurry to my suitcase and dig through my clothes before I find the small, purple vibrator I packed. I stare at it, wondering if I can relax enough for a couple minutes of sexual abandon before dinner, when a knock sounds at my door.

I growl. “Just leave me alone!” I bury the vibrator and stomp back to the door, swinging it open to no one.

Just a note folded up on the ground on top of a pair of panties.

I look to my left and to my right, but the hallway is empty. I hear voices downstairs—everyone must already be changed and making their way to dinner. I stoop to pick up the note and slink back into my room, unfolding it.

The hand-writing is obviously a boy’s.

Here is the first apology:

There was that one time I snuck into your drawers and found your sexiest pair of panties and hung them on the fence.

I’m pretty sure you burned them that night in the fire pit by the pool.

So here are your replacements.

Don’t worry—they’re new. I bought them in town this morning.

And if I ever get to see you in them, I might just give you a clue as to why I enjoyed tormenting you every chance that I could.

What a narcissistic asshat.

At least he wasn’t lying about the underwear. They still have the Victoria’s Secret tag on them. They’re black lace and cheeky cut—actually pretty cute. And they’re my size.

“Damn him,” I mutter, closing the door.

I have two choices: ignore his cockiness, accept his apologies, and move on.

Or I can take Evan’s advice and play along—exactly what Jaime isn’t expecting out of sweet little Britain.

I gather myself and make my way toward the dining hall, holding my iPad in my hand. A.J. just emailed me, and he has a message that he wants me to convey to the other models. A message that is going to make Evan pissed.

Good thing she won’t be around tonight to hear it.

Surprisingly, after the smoking hot shoot that took up most of the day, the atmosphere in the dining room is very relaxed. The table is full tonight, the models congregating to one side and the staff from AA at the far end. I get the head seat, just like last night. While it’s kind of cool that everyone here expects me to be the boss, I’m also intimidated by the thought of running a show this big.

I won’t ever admit that to anyone, though.

I try to catch Jaime’s eye, but he and Adam are talking football scores dramatically, like they weren’t being sensual with each other earlier today.

Maybe I should shoot bi-curious orgies more often.

Picking my crystal glass off the table, I carefully clink my fork against it until I have everyone’s attention. Finally, the table falls into a hush right as the Veda staff begin serving the food.

“I have a message straight from Mr. Harrison that he wants me to read to all of you.”

Whispers break out across the table.

“To the wonderful crew of East Park Exposed:

I am very thankful to have acquired such an excellent magazine, and an even more excellent team.”

“We are excellenter. The most excellentest,” I hear Patrick mutter. Ella giggles.

I shoot him an evil eye and continue. “I am incredibly impressed with the sample images that Miss McCulley has sent me thus far. I hope all of you will continue to be comfortable as I ask her to increase the heat even further during your remaining time in Boston.”

This part didn’t strike me before when I read it, but it does now. What does he mean by increase the heat? Wasn’t today’s shoot scorching enough for him?

A couple of the models have similar reactions. I hear a few gasps, along with a “damn.”

“I am sending a surprise to Boston for all of you. I didn’t think that this would even be possible to attain, so I am delighted to announce…”

When I tell the models A.J.’s surprise, Delilah’s eyes bug out of her head. The rest of the girls squeal simultaneously, and Adam raises a fist into the air. “This is a testosterone victory for sure.”

Jessica scoffs. “Pulease. The girls are going to be the ones who get to climb all over—″

“But then the girls are going to be outshined by his greatness and be all butthurt.”

“Guys, guys! Settle down!” I cry, trying to get everyone’s attention back.

“Britain!” I turn to Delilah, whose expression is grave. “Does Evan know?”

I convey her the look, the one that tells her Evan doesn’t know, and that’s when Delilah says, “Oh fuck. Fuckity fuck.”

Evan

My ass is sore from sitting in one of those dreadful library chairs for five hours. My eyes are sticking to my eyelids. All I want to do is fall onto my lumpy twin-sized bed and shut my eyes.

But I don’t.

Instead, I order two hot chocolates from an on-campus coffee shop and make my way back to Perkins Hall. I don’t go to my room, but knock on the one across from my own.

Miles opens the door, looking just as delirious as I feel. He rubs at his eyes and grins. “I definitely was not expecting it to be you.”

“Who were you expecting?” I ask slyly. “Some sexy creative writer you met in your feminist theory class?”

He points a finger at me. “No, but only because I have yet to meet a sexy creative writer.”

“I’m sure biologists are more frumpy.”

“Guess again,” he says, opening the door wide enough for me to enter. I sit on his bed, handing him a hot chocolate. “Your room is as dull and empty as mine. That’s surprising.”

He shrugs. “After a while of dorm rooms, you don’t really care enough. Or have time to go and buy stuff…”

“And decorate,” I finish. “The curse of a grad student.” I take a sip of my soy hot chocolate. It’s perfect.

“So, what’s the occasion?” he asks. “Hot chocolate at ten at night—should I be looking forward to this from now on?”

“I’ve had a long day, and the studying has only begun,” I say. “So this is about as close as I can get to taking you up on that date.”

His eyes brighten. “Well then, if I can consider this a date, then I am one lucky guy.

I grin stupidly and cheers him, taking another gulp of hot chocolate.

“You know, we can always utilize the minimal space there is between us,” he tells me. “I have to finish an entire Faulkner novel by tomorrow, so I’m going to be up all night anyway. You want to study over here? I hear homework dates are the best.”

My stomach twists involuntarily. Yes, I know from experience that homework dates are the best. The wound of homework dates might be too fresh to return to. Been there, done that. Didn’t end too pleasantly.

But Miles looks so hopeful, so excited. Like I’ll break his heart if I say no.