Iris Blaire - Dark Frame

I giggle. “Jesus, way to sound like Bella Swan.”

“Are you telling me you’re a vampire?”

I make a weird hissing noise, clawing at his shoulder and leaning in to play-bite him on the neck. He chuckles deeply, and I feel the vibration in his throat against my lips. Without thinking, I allow my tongue to dart out and taste him. He moans my name softly.

“Well, just so you know,” I kiss him gently on the throat, “It isn’t because you’re a hot piece of ass. It’s because you’re a hot piece of ass and you’re smart as hell.” I kiss him again, my lips lingering longer. “And you’re the only person other than Britain and my mother who matches my sarcasm.” And again. “And you make me laugh.” Again. “And you don’t look at me like I’m meat.”

“Hot piece of ass, eh?” He pushes back my shoulders and looks me square in the eye. Even though it’s dark, I can tell he’s waiting for another snarky remark from me. Instead, I kiss him.

He rolls me over until I’m on my back, deepening the kiss. His tongue sweeps across my lower lip before he pulls away. “You know, you don’t have to stop listing off great things about me.”

“Hmmm…” I think before uttering in a breathy voice. “Every time you said the phrase ‘homologous chromosome’ when you lectured at East Park, it made me so horny.”

His lips brush against my ear. “Homologous chromosome.”

“Yes, yes, just like that.”

His voice gets deeper, huskier. “Homologous chromosome.”

“Oh, God.”

“Homologous chromosome.”

“Yes.”

“Homologous chromosome.”

“Yes!”

Suddenly, he groans and pushes away from me, and I bust up laughing. “Please don’t tell me…”

“I can’t help it! You were making orgasm noises and it gave me a hard-on.”

I crack up into the pillow, laughing until my sides hurt, until tears are pouring from my eyes. He grabs my face and kisses me hard on the mouth to shut me up, or maybe my laughing gives him a raging hard-on too.

Lying on top of me, his lips move to my jaw, and then to my neck. This time, I let out a very real, very primal moan.

And it’s nice. To not perform with him. To not expect sex by the end of the night. Like we’re going backwards in time, slipping in a moment that should have been there all along.

Britain

Today is like a bad hangover. Minus the dry mouth and the throwing up.

Everyone is rushing all over the manor, hard at work constructing sets while I’m still in the shower. Even my morning moments with Jaime are rushed as he has to be down in makeup by seven. Today, all models are getting a lesson in what’s to be expected of them over the next two days… and the rest of their time as an EPE model.

I’m supposed to be up and following the new photographers around like a kiss-ass, but truthfully, I no longer give a flying fuck.

Which is nice. And liberating. And I’d probably feel liberated if it weren’t for this dreadful sexual hangover.

My pain is momentarily lifted when I step out of Jaime’s room and see Evan leaving Dallas’s. I point a finger in her direction and cry, “YOU!”

Evan’s eyes dart around before she presses a finger to her lips and hushes me. Dallas follows her out of the room and shuts the door behind him.

“After all of that drama,” I hiss, “You two end up boning anyway?”

“We totally didn’t bone,” Evan says flatly before smirking and raising her eyebrow. “But you sure did.”

I flush.

“How do you know she had sex?” Dallas asks.

“Every time a penis touches Britain, I receive a telepathic notification.”

“Oh,” Dallas says with a straight face. “Well, that explains a lot.”

I desperately attempt to change the conversation. “What are you guys still doing up here? You should have been in hair and makeup, like, three hours ago.”

Evan shrugs. “You’re not downstairs. And I’m not even scheduled for today. I have class, or was supposed to have class.”

She doesn’t know. “Do you not check your email? A.J. sent everyone messages last night with a revamped schedule and an explanation of the situation.”

I tell her everything.

She pales. “Wait, so A.J. Harrison is conducting mine and Dallas’s shoot today? You know what he’s going to want us to do, right?”

“That’s what I’m saying. Both of you will have to slut it up. I mean, seriously. If Adam and Delilah screwing in missionary position got him sky-high, I don’t even want to imagine what he has in store for the two of you.”

“And if I say no?” she asks meekly.

I shrug. “If you say no, then technically you’re breaking contract and he won’t give you your money.”

Dallas rubs her shoulders, a sympathetic expression on his face. Somehow I find the fact that they look terrified to have sex with each other incredibly amusing.

“Okay,” she sniffs. “Okay.”

“So you’re going to go through with whatever he asks of you?”

“Hell no!” she cries. “I’m not going to give that douchebag what he wants. I’m… I’m going to get you your job back.”

Dallas and I simultaneously raise our eyebrows.

“If Dallas is okay with it, I mean.”

“Okay with what?” he asks slowly. Apparently he’s as confused as I am.

Evan sighs impatiently. “Do I have to spell it out?”

“Yes,” Dallas and I say together.

“Having sex for Britain before our scheduled shoot.”

Dallas looks like he’s been slapped in the face with a frying pan. “Uhh… can I talk to you for a sec?” he asks Evan before shooting me an apologetic look.

They walk a ways down the hall and begin to whisper heatedly to each other. I listen close, hoping to catch some of their conversation, but fail to. To my surprise, Dallas looks pissed, like the last thing that he wants to do is have sex with Evan.

Five minutes go by before they finally return to me. Dallas looks uncomfortable, and Evan unsure of herself, so I say, “Don’t do this for me.”

Dallas shakes his head. “No, Evan is right. This is your magazine, and it’s our job to help you take control again.”

“Even if it means giving up your dignity?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“Dignity is so over-rated,” Evan says dryly, and I know she’s trying desperately to lighten up the tone of our discussion. “Plus, I’d rather you watch me have sex than A.J.-fucking-Harrison.”

“Well, okay,” I say, not exactly sure how comfortable I am watching Evan have sex. Sure, I watched Delilah and Adam not that long ago, but with Evan, it’s different. I have a good feeling that sex between Evan and Dallas is a pretty damn intimate thing.

A hand falls on my shoulder and I start, only to realize it’s just Jaime.

“A.J. wants you downstairs. I guess he’s pissed you’re not on the heels of all the photographers and taking notes on their every movement.”

I throw on a fake grin. “You can tell him to kindly go fuck himself for me.”

“Do you actually want me to say that? Because I will.”

Evan’s eyes brighten. “It was totally Jaime, wasn’t it? Oh my God, after all that time you’ve known each other. That must have been some mind-blowing sex.”

I roll my eyes.

“You told her we banged?” asks Jaime.

“I didn’t tell her that we banged.”

Dallas points to his head. “Sixth Sense.”

“Oh,” says Jaime.

Evan gives an evil smirk. “You totally lived out your childhood fantasies, didn’t you?”

My face flushes hot as Jaime says, “You told her about that?”

“Just another damn good guess,” I hiss between my teeth. And then, to get back at Evan, I turn to Jaime and ask, “Do you want to watch Evan and Dallas have sex?”

Evan

I guess it’s better with Jaime the room. Not like I’m loving the fact of this being on display, but I think that Britain feels less cornered.

“I’m going to try to be as graceful as possible with this,” Britain says as she fiddles with her camera. “And hopefully I won’t catch any penetration.”

“Just do what you have to,” I respond, sitting on the edge of the bed in a robe. We chose the unused suite at the end of the third floor for this. The room is creepy enough to speak for itself, and I can tell why it wasn’t used to house any of us in.

There’s bondage shit everywhere.

Chains and ties hang low enough from the canopy frame to hold partners hostage, and the bed itself is covered in black satin sheets. Just the sight of it doesn’t help my nerves at all. I feel like I’m going to puke.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. In fact, I know this isn’t a good idea. Part of me wants to force myself to believe that I’m doing this for Britain, but I know that my motives are much more selfish than that.

Aren’t the gender roles reversed, here? Isn’t it the guy who is supposed to be throwing around trickery to get into the girl’s pants while the girl wants to wait for the right, meaningful moment? Especially considering that I broke up with Dallas because our relationship was too sexual. I should be harnessing the urge to fuck his brains out.

Dallas is still in makeup, so while Britain is fiddling with the lighting, I pace the floor in the hopes that the mild distraction will ease my twisting stomach. Jaime, who’s sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, catches me on my third time around. He stands and rubs the back of his head. “Hey, can I talk to you?”

I shrug and follow him out of the room and into the hallway. He’s incredibly attractive, I realize, but totally not Britain’s type at all. She usually goes for slender, intellectual-looking men. Jaime is two-hundred pounds of muscle.