Shut Up and Model for Me (40 page)

Why was Cam so against giving Jaime another chance? They had been best friends for years. The situation feels like I'm in another dimension. It should be Cam begging to give Jaime another chance, not Dad.

I slip away before either of them step out of the office and notice that I've been listening. But when I head out for run, I can't stop thinking about Jaime and Cam. They were practically inseparable in high school. If they worked in the same department together, maybe there was something that Jaime did that Cam isn't telling Dad.

I run around the block a couple of times and come back home sweaty and disgusting. Before I hop in the shower, I text Jaime:

Ready to play Prince Charming again? Or Romeo, or whoever the fuck sneaks into the Princess's room via the window like a creepy bastard?

Jaime: Lol. Wasn't that whoever Rapunzel was banging? Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your long hair.

Yeah, him.

Jaime: Time?

I tell Jaime not to come until late and decide to skip the shower. After a late dinner with my parents and Cam, I slip into my red bikini, the one I've had since high school—the one Jaime remembers—and head to the pool.

I swim for what feels like hours before he shows up. He hisses my name from the hedges at the far side of the pool. I wonder if that's where he watched me bang Nate. I should be totally creeped out and disgusted that Jaime was there to witness that tragedy, but he was right: I did entice him to climb up to my room. I also enticed him with this bikini.

I nod toward the bushes and make my way to the shallow end of the pool. When I walk up the steps, I am very aware of the way the water drips off of my exposed body, and the way my old bikini fits all too snugly. But I have to take a line from Evan's book. She's like my spirit animal when it comes to guys and not being bashful. Especially Jaime, who I fantasized about for the majority of my teenage years and was simultaneously terrified of his sexual advances.

I turn to face the bushes, where I know he's watching me from, gather my hair, and wring it out slowly so the water drips down my breasts. Then I pick up my towel and head inside.

It doesn't take him long to climb up to the window; he's waiting for me when I enter my bedroom. I drop my towel and saunter to the window and open it.

He's wearing jeans and a tight shirt, dirtied from scrambling up the side of the house. I tear my eyes from the ripples of his muscles beneath the fabric to his face—the face that photographs fucking perfectly. Full lips, strong jaw, high cheekbones. I can't deny that when looking through my reel after a shoot, every single one of Jaime's images are salvageable.

Even when he looks smug as all hell, which has always been his most common expression.

I say nothing and walk to my vanity, sitting and grabbing my hair brush. I watch him through the mirror as he swings his legs into my room and hops down onto the carpet.

"You rang?"

"I did."

He sits on my bed. "You know, you can't just use me for booty calls, Brit. I'm a person," he drawls amusedly. “I have feelings.”

I roll my eyes. "Get over yourself."

"Get over myself? You're the one who texted
me
, and then chose to be swimming in
that
when I showed up."

I grin. When Jaime and I were in Boston, he shared one of his fantasies with me. I used to wear this bikini my junior and senior year of high school, and he got off on the thought of peeling it from my body and eating me out.

All I want to do right now is live out that fantasy, but I've got business to tend to. Sadly.

As I work out the knots in my hair, I tell Jaime about the situation with the shoot and the ten porn stars my parents want to host at their house in a couple of weeks. By the end, he's cracking up. "I got the email from your manager for the schedule for this summer, but I didn't know you were planning on shooting it
here
,
in Malibu. Jesus, Brit. A little close for comfort."

"It's not funny," I say flatly. "You know my mom and dad."

Jaime rolls his eyes. "Give it up. They'd shit themselves if they knew a lot of things." He stands from the bed and walks over to me. When he reaches the vanity, he hunches down until his face is right next to mine, and my eyes catch his earthy ones in the mirror’s reflection. He reaches up and toys with the bikini string tied at the back of my neck. "They'd be less pissed about your job than the fact that you've fucked me."

Hearing him say those words out loud is enough to send a pulse of pleasure through my abdomen. "I think they'd be pretty pissed about both. But Evan thinks they already know about EPE. It comes up everywhere when you Google me."

"I don't know." I watch the mirror as he coils the string of my bikini around his finger and tugs. The bow loop slowly shrinks. "Your parents used to openly voice their distaste for Cameron's lifestyle every day. Didn't stop after he graduated college, either. They would tell you if they found out about EPE."

The bow unravels. He loosens the strings, and the triangles of my bikini fall down. I cock an eyebrow. "What do you think you're doing?"

I watch in the mirror as his eyes flit to my exposed breasts. "What do you think? I thought this was a..."

"Not a booty call," I say with a smirk. I reach around by and untie the bottom of my bikini top and stand, walking to the dresser and throwing on a white t-shirt I know is totally see through. Just because this isn't a booty call doesn't mean I don't want to drive him crazy. "I bought a new lens," I say nonchalantly. “Haven't been able to try it out on a body yet." I grab my camera off the dresser top and spin toward him. "I want to use you, just not for fucking."

He stands and crosses his arms over his chest. "Can't you shoot pics of your family or something to test out your lens?"

I scrunch my nose. "Eww."

Then he gets that I want him to strip. "You're using me for my naked body."

"Exactly," I say stoically. "Now take off your clothes."

He purses his lips. "All business and no fun, Miss McCulley."

"What I do best."

He grips the bottom of his tight t-shirt and slowly peels it up and away from his chest. I grit my teeth to keep my mouth from falling open. I've looked over Jaime's reels millions of times, sometimes for business and sometimes just because I want to. No matter how great those photos turned out, they don't do him justice, and they never will.

He tucks his thumbs in his pocket right when I nod toward his jeans. "Those too. And your boxers."

The corner of his lip raises. "I'm sure you don't need a total strip to figure out how good your lens is."

He's teasing. He's been teasing since he slipped into this room and started toying with my bikini strings. But two can play this game. "Yes, but I'm your boss and you'll do as I say."

He bites down on his bottom lip before popping the button of his jeans. "Yes ma'am."

He slips his jeans and boxers down at once, over his perfect ass, his legs... and everything else. I try to keep my face straight and demanding, but maybe this was a mistake. He's been naked for only two seconds and I'm already dizzy.

I nod toward the bed, and he sits. It's impossible to ignore that his cock is hard. I think of Boston and his bed and how he flipped me over and fucked me from behind before he let me ride him. I clear my throat. "Lie back."

“Guy's solo shoots are really awkward,” he says while following my instructions. "Sure you don't want to set that thing up on a tripod and join me?"

"No." Yes. Truth is, I don't really need to test my lens. I'm full of shit. I only want to tease Jaime, remind him of how much power I have. Wearing only a white t-shirt and my wet bikini bottoms, I crawl onto the bed and straddle his naked body.

I listen to his intake of breath. Now it's my turn to be smug.

As I adjust my camera, I feel his cock harden against me. I rock into him, the only thing separating us my wet bikini bottoms. He groans and grips my hips. "I'm pretty sure I could pin you for sexual harassment,
boss
."

"Probably," I say cheerfully, raising the camera to my face. "That's up to you if you want to or not. But I'm not going to stop." I grind my hips against him and snap a photo.

He shakes his head. "You're being very bad," he says darkly.

"Shut up and model for me."

He digs his fingers into my hips and holds me still as I snap another photo. I drop my camera when I see the seriousness written all over his face.

"I haven't fucked anyone since Boston, you know."

I chuckle. "You trying to make me feel guilty or something?"

My laughter is cut short when he rolls me off of him and onto my back, catching my camera before it's thrown out of my hands. He sets it gently on my nightstand. "I think we've had enough of that. I'm sure you know how well your lens works."

I make to get up but he flips me over, pressing me into the mattress. Pleasure swirls between my legs, and I can't staunch the breathy gasps escaping my mouth. "Fuck," I whisper.

"You know that the second you tell me to get out, I'll leave," he says gently, reminding me that he's grown up. He wants to pretend he has control for a moment, but it still belongs to me. Jaime never used to give power up like that. He used to be a boy, unwilling to let go of his pride.

His warm hand slides from the back of my knee to the bottom of my ass, kneading softly.

"I know," I slur, intoxicated by his touch.

"I'd like to live out my fantasy now," he says.

Oh fucking fuckity fuck.

I arch toward him as he strips off my t-shirt, and then he flips me back over. He studies my breasts before dipping his head. "I've missed these," he says, tongue darting out and gliding across my hard nipple.

I bite down on my bottom lip, my heart pounding in my chest.

"This is how I imagined it. Your skin still cold from the pool, covered in goosebumps. He kisses the bottom of my breast before his lips trail all the way down to my navel. "You writhing beneath me."

"I'm not writhing," I gasp.

"You aren't yet." He kisses my stomach before I feel him working the strings of my bikini bottom. When I'm untied, he peels the fabric away, a slow reveal, kissing my mound before he tugs my bottoms all the way off me. Kneeling between my legs, he pushes my knees apart as far as they'll go. "You're already wet for me, Britain."

I've been wet for him since he crawled through my window, but he doesn't need to know that.

I can't keep my eyes off his hard dick, wondering if he's going to use it on me. But the fantasy that Jaime told me about didn't involve him screwing me.

He slides down until he's on his stomach, and his face is right above my pussy. When he kisses the inside of my thigh, my eyes roll back, and I feel his tongue on my clit. He gives me a good, hard lick and whispers, "Jesus, I forgot how good you taste."

My fingernails scrape against his head as his tongue laps at me relentlessly, sucking and nipping. I whisper his name, the sound of it escaping my mouth giving me as much of a rush as his ministrations. "Jaime... fuck."

From somewhere down the hall, door slams. Jaime freezes.

"Cam," I mutter.

"You lock your door?" he whispers against me.

"Can't remember." Cam never bothers me when I'm in my room. The likelihood of him catching me with Jaime is next to nothing. My parents, on the other hand, don’t bother to knock. But they wouldn’t be in this end of the house so late.

His teeth scrape against my clit and I buck my hips. Two of his fingers slide into me, and he pumps them in and out of me quickly, picking up his pace, like he knows how close I am to coming. I whisper his name again, and I feel his pinkie slipping lower, the tip of it finding my asshole and circling slowly, massaging me.

He sucks hard on my clit and I bite hard on my bottom lip as I come, trying to muffle the noises escaping my throat so Cam doesn't hear me. When I've come down, Jaime crawls upward, kissing my navel, then the valley between my breasts, my neck, and finally my mouth. I can taste myself on him.

I realize this is the first time we’ve kissed since Boston, and I grip his neck and bring him to me again, deepening the kiss until my tongue fights with his.

He finally kisses my forehead, rolls from me, and starts to dress. This is the second time he's gotten me off without asking for anything back. It's like he's asking for a serious case of blue balls.

He says nothing until he's pulled on all of his clothes. Standing by the dark window, he looks at me and says, "Your dad invited me to dinner on Friday. Try not to drool all over the table."

Asshole.

CHAPTER FOUR

The weekend luncheon makes me want to gag.

It's held on a private landscaped manicured lawn. The table's centerpieces are floral and gaudy, my china plates and cup more expensive than everything I own put together. About three-hundred guests are in attendance, the women all dressed in chic sundresses from designer boutiques.

Mine doesn't fit me right, per usual.

After I've devoured my salad and tiny square of salmon, I wait for the dessert course as Cam and my parents are off mingling. I rest my elbow on the table and start texting from my lap.

"Exciting, isn't it?"

I start, glancing up. Micah Greene, son of the CEO whose company my dad is hoping to merge with, grins at me.

"Enthralling." I return to my texting.

"You know, Britain, I was hoping we could talk."

My eyes slowly flit up to find his again. Micah is grinning. He smiles a lot, and knows how to use it. I'm sure dozens of women have told him how adorable his smile is. Micah is handsome and rich and suave, so he probably thinks that wooing any girl is as easy as grinning.

"I'm a huge fan of yours,” he says, and immediately I know he's talking about the magazine.

I'm caught off guard, and accidentally laugh nervously.

"Don't be shy," he says smoothly. "I think it's insanely sexy, to be honest."

"Usually the fans are the ones calling my models insanely sexy."

He cocks his head. "Now, now, you don't give yourself enough credit."