Shut Up and Model for Me (52 page)

“Ugh. Eww. I love you, but no thanks.” I drape an arm over her back, and she giggles. “Wanna do it?” I say again.

“Yeah,” she slurs.

The next thing I know, it’s 6:00am and our clothes are still on.

And we’re late.

“Sexiest night ever,” I mutter sarcastically as Evan ninja-rolls away from me and stumbles toward the shower.

“Hey!” I crawl off the bed and nearly fall on my face. “I need to get in that.”

“The same way you got
in me
last night?” she strips off her tank top.

“Like you weren’t asleep the second your face hit the pillow.” I stall, staring at her as she slowly slips out of her underwear. The sight of Evan naked will never get old. I think of throwing her back on the bed and crawling on top of her, rolling my tongue over one of her hard, pink nipples before kissing lower, and lower, and…

“Well, hello there.” Evan grins and pops her hip, nodding to my hardening cock.

“Morning wood.”

She spins around. “Yeah, sure.” I watch her ass sway back and forth as she walks out of the room.

“I’m joining you,” I say, sliding off my t-shirt. “I don’t have time to wait for you to get out.”

“Fine,” she says.
Little do I know that showering together isn’t as sexy when you’re in a rush.

Evan and I knock heads
twice
trying to dive for the soap that keeps slipping away. Shampoo ends up in her eyes and her ass ends up pushed right against my dick as she bends down to shave her legs.

“Why do you have to shave your legs?” I groan as she wiggles against me, trying to gain her balance. “It’s December in fucking New England.”

“I always shave my legs.”

“No one is going to notice your hairy legs.”

“I’m going to notice them. Call it a Californian curse. Whoops!” she slips and I grab her hips, pulling her to me.

“Sure this whole shower together thing was a good idea?” she says in that sultry voice of hers, the one she uses when she wants to toy with me. She grinds her ass into me—on purpose this time—and my eyes roll to the back of my head.

“Succubus.”

“Pervert.”

I spin her around and hold her against me. She’s grinning. I lean forward and lick the water off her lips.

“I have to get ready for work,” she whispers, throwing open the shower curtain. In one quick movement, she reaches around me and twists the faucet handle all the way to cold and jumps out of the shower. “You’ll need that.”

The water turns to ice and I pretty much scream like a little girl. Evan laughs maniacally from behind the shower curtain.

///

The cold shower doesn’t help. I think about my girlfriend for the whole fucking day. Usually I have a pretty good off switch when it comes to work. I had to have one when I student-taught and posed for
East Park Exposed
at the same time. Evan was off-limits and the epitome of sex, and I had to endure our erotic photography shoots, composed of all kind of scenarios where Evan and I had to grind against each other with our clothes off.

I’ve never jacked-off so frequently as I did during those few months.

But it’s gotten pretty bad now. Even though we’re together, we’re busy, and sex—unfortunately—is second to our careers. During all three of my lectures in the morning, I’m only thinking of tearing off her panties with my teeth. Unfortunately for me, I’m lecturing on evolutionism today. My students are starting to catch onto my constant “evanlutionism” slip-ups.

I know she plans on visiting me in my office during lunch break. When I start my office hours, I wonder if she’ll be down for a quickie. Shouldn’t be too hard. Leave a Post-It note on my office door that says
back in fifteen
. Swipe all of my desk papers to the ground and lay her on top of it. Bunch her skirt up, pull her tights down. I love the face Evan makes when I fuck her and she’s trying to keep quiet, the way she arches her back and bites down hard on her bottom lip…

“Professor Whitley?”

I glance up from my stack of terms papers, which I haven’t been reading for obvious reasons. Heather Agnes stands in my office doorway. Ugh. Heather. I’ve had to deal with several student crushes—both girls
and
boys—but Heather has been the worst. She twirls a lock of her brown hair around her finger and smiles at me. Her lips are shellacked with this horrendous, gooey-looking pink lip gloss. She visits my office at least three times a week. She sits in the front row of the lecture hall during class. You would think a girl with that kind of dedication would be getting As in an intro biology course, but no. She’ll be lucky to pull a C. Which is why she needs
oh so much help
.

“Can I help you, Heather?” I flick my wrist up to check my watch. Evan’s supposed to arrive any minute now. My dream of a mid-day quickie has been squashed by an obnoxious eighteen-year-old who smells like bubble gum and… apples?

Heather sits down and crosses her legs, flipping back her hair. I’m surprised she doesn’t bat her eyelashes. “I saw that you posted my term paper grade last night. I wasn’t happy with the score. I was hoping you could walk me through what I could have done better.”

She bends forward and squeezes her boobs together with her biceps, and I want to roll my eyes. She’s obviously taking flirting lessons from every teen movie ever made.

“Term paper, right.” I dig through my stack, finding Heather’s paper in the middle of my finished pile. “Got a pen?”

She blinks. “Pen?”

“Pen? Paper? If you want to go over this, you should be taking notes.”

“Oh…” Heather bends forward more as she scrounges through her bag. I make a point to lean back in my chair, cross my arms, and look away from her until she’s sitting up straight again. Lucky for me, I have a perfect distraction, because Evan’s leaning against the door of my office and holding a white deli bag.

Pastrami?
I mouth.

She nods.

I fucking love you
.

She grins.
I know
.

When I glance back at Heather, she’s staring at me wide-eyed, and I realize she probably saw me mouth that last phrase to Evan. She turns around in her chair. “Oh,” she says. It’s an
oh
if I ever heard one. An
oh
full of mistrust and sizing up. “Do you have another appointment?” I can tell she’s trying very hard to sound nonchalant.

“You can call it that,” Evan says cheerfully, strutting into the office. She’s dressed in a modest outfit that’s secretly an element of every straight man’s fantasies: a white, button-up blouse, plaid pencil skirt that hugs her hips and ass, black tights, and heels. And while the outfit is an element of every straight man’s fantasies, Evan takes shit from no one when she wears it. Not even me. “The sandwich will be here when you’re finished with your student, Mr. Whitley,” she drawls.

“So you’re a teacher,” says Heather.

“Of sorts,” says Evan, pulling her sandwich from the bag.

I need to get Heather out of my office.
Now
.

I harshly list off all of the things wrong with her paper. Weak thesis. No synthesis. Hastily made conclusion. I tell her that if she can get me a second draft by the end of the week, I’ll allow her to resubmit it. Because I’m nice like that.

The entire time I’m speaking, Evan is eating. I know her sandwich by heart: spinach, sprouts, tomatoes, onions, olives, and banana peppers on multigrain. I catch her licking guacamole off her finger.

When I
finally
shoo Heather out of my office, Evan clucks her tongue. “That’s no way to nurture a student, Mr. Whitley. You’re supposed to
invest
in them. Have
them
do the talking as you gently guide them along the path of biological understanding.”

“That’s Heather.”

Her eyes widen. Evan knows all about Heather. “Then please don’t guide her down the path of biological understanding. Stay far, far away from the path of biological understanding.”

I smirk. “Jealous?”

She thinks for a moment. “I’m only jealous of the fact that she smells like a cotton candy vendor.”

“It’s a hard scent to perfect.”

“Quite. Pastrami?” she hands me my sandwich.

I begin to unwrap it. “I see you got guac.”

“Guac I did get.” She makes a point to roll her finger along the edge of her toasted bread. She brings her hand to her mouth, sucking the avocado from her knuckle.

“Avocados. In Cambridge, Massachusetts. In winter.”

“Yes, yes, it cost me like four extra dollars, okay?”

I chuckle. “Only you.”

“I miss avocados. I
need
avocados. I’m to the point where I might start whoring myself out for avocados. I mean, I love you and all, but a girl has her priorities.” She takes a huge bite of her sandwich. “I mern cohmon, dis is so fugging good.”

“Gross.” I sigh and check my watch again. “I was hoping to corner you for a quickie.”

She swallows. “Oooh, in your office. Someone wants to reminisce about the EPE glory days.”

“Maybe…”

“I have to start heading back to school like three minutes ago.” She crumples the deli paper and chucks it in the trash can next to my desk. “But tonight isn’t a total loss.”

“Yeah, sure.” She stands, and I stand. “We say that every Friday.”

“But this Friday is different from other Fridays.” She saunters over to me. “Talked to Britain. She wants us to work.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That so? What is she going to do? Shoot us over her web camera?”

“Better,” Evan says, pecking me on the lips before spinning on her heel. “I’ll leave you guessing though. That pastrami is looking lonely and if I’m late to lab, my instructor will murder me.” She grabs her coat. “Love you!” she cries, hurrying out of my office and leaving me dumbfounded.

I sit down in my office chair and begin unwrapping my sandwich. Britain wants us to work tonight? I can’t even begin guessing how the hell we’re going to work tonight when she’s three-thousand miles away, but that doesn’t mean not I’m getting excited over it. Don’t get me wrong—sex with Evan is always fucking phenomenal, but something happens when we’re in front of the camera. Maybe because it’s taboo, or because my girlfriend is an exhibitionist (albeit a damn classy one). Something magical happens when Evan and I pose together.

And I’m not talking the unicorns and rainbows kind of magical.

///

One of my peers keeps me late. For some reason she chooses tonight to ask for an in-depth recount of all the questions I’m putting on my final exam. I want to be polite, but I’m fucking cranky. It’s cold and dark outside, and all I’m thinking about is Evan and our warm shoebox of an apartment, and whatever surprise Britain has in store for us.

I take the train to our neighborhood and walk the couple of blocks home. It’s snowing, cold, tiny flakes relentlessly pelting me the whole way. I groan when I slip inside our apartment, shrugging off my coat. Evan has the heater cranked up. I’m in the middle of untying the scarf around my neck when she walks down the hall and into the living room, dressed in a silk robe and black lace lingerie.

I freeze, caught off-guard. She smirks, hips swaying as she slowly walks to me and unties my scarf.

“You know, not many men can pull off a scarf.” She uses it to tug me close before sliding it from my neck. I kiss her, my tongue flicking against her cherry-flavored lips.

My cock strains against my dress pants. I need to get out of these clothes.

Evan takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom. On top of our made bed rests an open box.

“Britain sent us something in the mail today.” Evan walks to the bed and reaches into the box. She pulls from it several black objects, all cylinder shaped and roughly the size of tangerines.

My mouth drops. “
No.
”

Evan cocks and eyebrow. “Oh yeah.”

“Nooooooooo.”

“Yeeeeaaahhhhhh.”

“Evan, even I have my limits.”

Evan pouts dramatically. “What… is Dallas Whitley afraid of a few video cameras?”

I run my hand through my hair. Not that the thought of filming a sex tape with Evan isn’t appealing, because hell… I’d do a ton of weird, kinky shit if it got her off. But for my job? “Shooting erotica is a whole lot different than—”

“What? Filming porn?” The voice comes from Evan’s computer. I turn to find Britain staring at us from the screen, her chin resting in her turned-up palm. “What’s up, lover boy?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “I’m not filming porn for you.”

“Never asked you too,” she says. “Well, not really. I guess it’s more complicated than that.”

“More complicated than sending a box filled with video cameras to put around our bedroom?”

Evan pushes me toward the desk chair. “Sit.”

“Yes, sit, and Auntie Britain will explain everything to you.”

And Britain does explain everything.

Britain has an all-star cast of models back in California, and she’s looking to expand her line of storybooks with tie-ins. Online tie-ins. A full-blown website with extra content. She already took a survey of which models readers wanted paired up. Now that she has the couples ready to go, she wants someone to do a test run.

“And considering my fortune with the two of you, you’re my best bet,” she says. “You’ll be paid, of course.”

“So let me get this straight,” I say slowly. “You want us to film ourselves having sex so we can help you test out the responsiveness of your GIF-porn idea?”

She nods. “GIF-porn. Yes, exactly.”

I look to Evan. Her eyes are almost feverish. She bumps her hip against my shoulder. “Oh come on, spoil-sport. It’ll be fun.”

“The thing is,” says Britain, “it’s not like filming a sex tape. And it’s not like filming your typical trashy, money shot, sloppy blowjob, pussy-pummeling porn either.”

“Lovely description,” I say flatly.

“Thank you. Anyway, you have to take your time with this. We’re still trying to attract a wide audience and romance industry sponsors that will pay for advertising on the site. Money is the goal here. Women like that romantic stuff. Women will reblog the shit out of romantic GIF-porn. And so will men, because Evan brings all the boys to the yard.”