Exrated Read online

  “I appreciate that, Heather.” Smiling, I open the door to my room. “But I’m not gonna fuck him. There is no way I would have sex with a porn star. Really.”

  “Well, like I said, just be careful.” She flicks my hair behind my shoulder. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “I won’t.”

  She stumbles down the hall to her room. I shut my door, pull my clothes off, and lie down on the bed. I’m tired as shit, but I can’t go to sleep because I can still smell Dolce and Gabbana. No matter how hard I try to think about anything else, all I can think about is him…and me. And how things used to be.

  After trying to shove him out of my thoughts for half an hour, my mind falls to the gutter. I sit up, grab my laptop, place it on my lap, and type in Johnny Depth in the search bar. Why? Because I can’t get him out of my head and this is going to be my life for a while, so I may as well get used to it. I’m training myself to have no reaction the next time I watch him fuck the shit out of some blonde with big boobs.

  I click on one of the website links and swallow. There is a still frame of Tyler fisting his cock. My heart bangs against my ribs. I have that feeling I’m doing something dirty, and I guess I kind of am, I mean it is porn of my ex. Shaking my head, I click play.

  Tyler is sitting behind a desk, shuffling through papers. The door swings open and a girl dressed in a Catholic school girl outfit saunters over to him.

  “Professor Depth,” she says in a breathy moan. “I need some help with this assignment…” The camera lens zooms in on her enormous breasts straining against the material of that white, cotton shirt.

  “What kind of help, Mindy.”

  Oh, I can’t take the way his voice sounds. I mute the volume and shift under the comforter. He walks around the desk, grabs her by the shoulders and bends her over, rubbing his palm over her ass. She glances over her shoulder and bites down on her lip just as he works her red, lace thong down her thighs. Tyler kneels, spreads her ass cheeks apart, and then slowly flicks his tongue over her pussy. My stomach kinks a little. This is so fucking weird.

  Minutes later, she’s been flipped back around on the desk, with her skirt hiked up around her waist, legs bent back by her ears. Her tits have popped out and he’s sucking on one. The screen goes to a close-up of his dick thrusting into her. Over and over. And fuck, it’s hot. It shouldn’t be, and if I really let myself think about who it is, it bothers me, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t turning me on.

  My eyes stray over to my bedside table, stopping on the top drawer. I bite down on my lip then glance back at the screen. Shit. Reaching over to the table, I tell myself it’s normal to do this. It’s completely normal to watch porn and then feel this overwhelming urge to masturbate. That’s why people watch it—to get turned on. And what do you do when you get turned on? You spank one out. It’s just that, I’ve now got this dildo buried to the hilt, and tomorrow I’m going to be face to face with the guy whose dick has made me desperate to ram this piece of silicone inside me, and he’s my fucking ex.

  “Anal beads?”

  I shuffle through the box. “Yep. A lot of anal beads. All purple and pink.”

  “Lube?”

  “Lots of lube.”

  “Johnnies?”

  “What?” I glance up at Hudson.

  “Johnnies, you know, condoms, rubbers…”

  “Oh,” I glance down in the box again. “We’ve got studded, ribbed, latex-free, and glow in the dark.”

  “Good.”

  “And clit vibrators?”

  “Galore.”

  “Are you bringing your friend to the party tomorrow?” he asks.

  “Yeah, she’s excited. She’s a porn fanatic.”

  “Sounds like my kind of girl,” Hudson smiles and points to the coffee table. “Just put the box there. You can sit over here and stuff the goody bags while we do this shoot. If I need you to mist Benson or anything, I’ll just yell at you.”

  Dropping the box on the table, I nod. “Okay, but do you really have to call them goody bags, Hud?”

  “That’s what they are. What else would you suggest I call them?”

  “I don’t know, but goody bag makes me think of a kid’s birthday party and it’s creepy.”

  “You have issues,” he says before walking off.

  Seconds later I hear him sigh. “Benson! Ricardo! Would you two stop sword fighting with your dicks? We aren’t filming Peter-fucking-Pan.”

  And I have issues…

  I dump out the box of cellophane bags and twist ties and rummage through the box of sexual wonders. I pull out a string of anal beads, some lube, the clit vibrator, and a condom then cram them inside the bag. I don’t know why I find this strange. I mean, Hud is a porn director, so why wouldn’t he pass out sex toys as his party favors?

  Setting the bag to the side, I look across the room. Benson and Ricardo are kissing. Naked. They are naked and kissing. Two hot men with chiseled abs and thigh muscles the size of an anaconda—naked and kissing. Ricardo falls to his knees, grabs Benson’s dick, and damn near chokes on it. The thing that boggles my mind is that Benson is straight. He swears he’s straight. At the bar the other night, he took a girl home—not a guy, yet, there he stands, his dick hard as fucking concrete while Ricardo rams it down his throat. Groaning, Benson fists Ricardo’s dark hair and basically skull-fucks him. “Choke on my fucking cock,” he says with a slight growl as he tosses his head back.

  How, if he’s not gay, can his dick be that hard? He didn’t take a Viagra, and they were sword fighting with their dicks earlier? What the fuck? I fill another bag with the party favors and then the unmistakable sound of skin slapping against skin breaks the silence.

  Holy fucking shit. Benson is bowed up on the bed, ass in the air, fisting the edge of the mattress as Ricardo pounds into his butthole. And I mean, he is banging into it. Balls smacking against thighs. Buried to the hilt.

  This is too much for me to experience alone. I grab my phone from my purse and text Heather.

  So, today’s feature is guy on guy.

  OMG. You are watching this. Right now?

  Yep. Dick in asshole. Balls a swinging.

  I hate you. That’s so hot.

  It’s weirdly hot.

  Send me a picture.

  No.

  Please?!

  No. So one guy is straight, but he’s the one getting pounded in the backdoor right now. And his dick is hard. Is that possible?

  Sure. I mean, I’m not a lesbian, but give me the right girl and I could swing from the lesbian branch for a day or two.

  You’re not right.

  Send me a picture.

  No. Google Ricardo Dong and Benson Long.

  Long Dong…whose last name is Silver?

  You are special, you know it?

  Yep. Enjoy your assporn.

  I drop my phone into my purse and go back to stuffing the bags, and the longer they go at it, I can’t help but stuff along with their rhythm.

  Hudson’s living room is filled with people. A lot of drunk people. Brandi’s been on my ass since I set foot in the door an hour ago.

  “Smile!” Brandi says, holding her camera in front of our faces. I don’t smile. I sit here. Not smiling.

  There’s a click followed by a flash, and now I see spots.

  “Oh, you look so serious, Tyler.” She giggles as she searches for the right filter.

  “Hey, don’t call me Tyler. It’s…weird.”

  “Oh, okay.” She keeps fiddling with her phone. “Hudson said we may be the next big thing, and you know what that means?”

  I don’t say a word because I don’t care.

  “We’ll be working together a lot.” She lets out some weird, annoying squeal. “I’ve always wanted to be paired off with someone.”

  “Great. Just fucking great,” I mumble.

  Jake stumbles through the crowded living room with a beer. “Man, this is cool as shit. Those chicks over there are making out.”


  “Yeah…” I mumble, dragging my hand over my face. “Cool.”

  “You think I could fuck one of them?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  “Dude…” he slaps me on the side of the head.

  “What?”

  “The day two chicks fondling each other doesn’t get your pimp juice flowing…” He shakes his head. “Your dick just disowned you basically.”

  “Man, shut the fuck up. Go try to get laid or some shit.” I nod toward Brandi. “She’d fuck you.”

  “What?” she whines. “I would not.”

  Jake arches a brow and slyly—well, as slyly as a drunk guy can—places his arm around her. “That’s what they all say, but they change their mind.” He shoves the bottle in her face. “Beer?”

  Laughing, I stand and cross the room, and as I do, Jemma and her friend walk in from the foyer. Jemma’s in this short purple dress. A tight—skin-fucking-tight—purple dress. It clings to every goddamn curve, leaving just enough for me to imagine ripping it off of her before slamming her down on a bed. Fuck. Wanting her is about to kill me.

  Her eyes lock with mine, and I immediately walk over to her like a sick fucking puppy. I could have any girl in this room…except this one. Except the one fucking woman I want.

  I grab onto her, pulling her in for a hug. “You look pretty, titch.”

  “Thanks.” Placing her palms flat against my chest, she pushes away from me. “You look nice.”

  “Did you just call her a bitch?” Her friend says, glaring at me.

  “No. Titch.”

  “Titch,” she says, arching an eyebrow. “What the hell is a titch?”

  “A short person.”

  Snarling, she glances between Jemma and me. “I don’t like it.”

  “Well, good thing it’s not your nickname then, huh?”

  I can see hate burning behind her eyes, and I can appreciate that.

  “Uh,” Jemma steps between us. “You remember Heather, Heather, this is Tyler.”

  “Yep,” she says. “The porn star. That didn’t tell you he was a porn star.”

  “And you are the girl that fucked my roommate. Nice to see you again.”

  “I want to punch you,” Heather says with a growl.

  “Heather!” Jemma says. “Stop.”

  Heather’s gaze flicks over to Jemma for a split-second before honing back in on me. She doesn’t say a word, but I know that look all too well. She’s giving me the look that says: you hurt my best friend, and I’ll bring you close to death. I nod at her as they both walk off.

  Two hours later, I’m drunk. Well, pretty much everyone is shitfaced. Jake’s in the bathroom hugging the toilet. And I have only seen Jemma in passing. Benson’s had her and Heather cornered most of the night. I swear to God if he is trying to hook up with her, I’ll fucking kill him.

  Rave music blares through the sound system as I make my way through the room. I spot that purple dress, my eyes straying down to Jemma’s perky ass. She’s dancing with Ricardo and Heather’s dancing with Benson. Thank fucking God. I step up behind her, placing my hands on the small of her waist and following the sway of her hips. She spins around, a slight look of relief when she sees it’s me.

  “Well, at least this time you didn’t run off,” I say with a smirk.

  She rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

  “You really need a better come back than that.”

  Shaking her head, she turns back around and presses her perfect little ass on me. My dick automatically swells. The beat to the song picks up and she grinds over me harder. I grip her hips, slowly sliding my hands down to the top of her thighs, stopping at the hem of her dress. Her warm skin under my palms feels damn good. The song cuts off and Take Your Time by Sam Hunt flows through the speakers. After the first line, Jemma leans against me more, resting the back of her head against my chest. She closes her eyes and sways in beat with the song as though this is how things between us should be. And really it is. I forget where we are. Who we’re with. It’s just us. And I like that. I brush her hair to the side, exposing her neck as I lean down, blowing a soft breath over her skin. I watch chill bumps race over her skin as her head lulls to the side. She reaches up, her eyes still closed, and drags her fingers over my jaw. I grab her hand, slip my fingers between hers, and pull her through the packed living room to the sliding glass door that leads to the pool deck.

  As soon as I shut the door behind me, all the music, all that noise is blocked out. She stops and stares at me. “What are we doing out here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Tyler?”

  The soft light from the pool casts a blue haze over her, and goddamn she looks like a goddess. My eyes drift over her body—over every fucking curve of that woman—until they reach her legs. All I can think about is tearing that dress off of her and fucking her senseless. I’m fucking tense. My pulse is thrumming in my neck. My skin heating. My dick is so damn hard it’s throbbing.

  “This is stupid, you know it?” I say, laughing. “It’s fucking dumb.”

  She takes her heels off, crosses the patio, and falls back onto a lounge chair. “What are you talking about? God, I’m too drunk for a conversation.”

  “You’re not that drunk.”

  “No, but I am too drunk to be talking to you about…anything.”

  I walk to the lounge and sit on the edge. “We can’t be friends.”

  She stares at me without a word.

  “You know we can’t be friends,” I say. I wet my lips with the edge of my tongue. “Because all I can think about when I’m around you is fucking you.”

  Her eyes widen as she drags in an uneven breath.

  “Tell me you don’t do the same thing,” I say.

  “Tyler, I—”

  “Look, stop. Fucking admit it.”

  “There’s nothing to admit.”

  My eyes lock on her red lips. “Bullshit. The way your breathing tells me you’re fucking turned on, and I bet if I were to run my finger over your pussy, it’d be soaking fucking wet.”

  She glares at me, her nostrils flaring.

  “Damn, you’re so hot when you’re pissy,” I whisper.

  Groaning, she hops up from the chair and crosses the patio. “Have you always been so arrogant?”

  “No. Only with you.”

  “It’s a turn off.”

  “The thing you forget, titch, I know you. I spent thirteen fucking years learning what you liked, what got to you. You say you don’t like it, but you fucking do. You like me, you just don’t like that I hurt you. You don’t like what I do for a living, but the thing is…logic rarely wins.” She keeps walking toward the door. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I don’t know what she likes any more.

  “Jemma,” I say, “wait.” She stops but doesn’t turn around. And at this moment, I realize how fucked I am. I’m still in love with her.

  I’m still in fucking love with her.

  Stopping in front of the door, I turn around. Tyler’s staring at me with a look I can’t quite place, and I don’t know that I want to because I don’t need to get any more involved with him. Spinning around, I reach for the door but hesitate.

  “You and I both know you aren’t going inside,” he says, and I swear I can hear the smile on his lips.

  “I don’t know what the fuck you want from me, Tyler!” My voice echoes across the empty pool deck, and I cringe. That statement came out much louder than I meant for it to.

  He walks toward me much like a predator stalking its prey. My heart slams against my ribs. My breath falls ragged.

  “Simple.” He grabs me by the waist, his fingers digging into my side. “Stop lying to yourself.”

  “I’m not.” My pulse is thrumming. He’s right in my face, and all I can smell is his Dolce and Gabbana.

  One corner of his mouth lifts to a smirk. “Really? How sure are you about that?” He backs me toward the water and within a few steps, I feel the concrete beneath my bare feet turn into the slick edges of the ti
led pool.

  I swallow. “Tyler…”

  His eyes drop to my lips before he pushes me backward. My back hits the cold water with a splash, and I sink to the bottom. Seconds later, I hear the muffled gurgle of him jumping in after me. When I surface, he’s right beside me, smiling.

  “I hate you,” I say.

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  “This dress is dry clean only…”

  There’s a flash in his eyes as he backs me toward the pool wall. My shoulders hit the rough concrete. His hands are on my waist again, slowly sliding up my sides. “That’s what you get for lying.”

  “Tyler, I’m not—”

  “One kiss, that’s all I want. One fucking kiss to prove that you’re not lying, titch.”

  And before I can form words, his lips are on mine. Something inside tells me not to kiss him back, that this is bad. This is very, very bad, but don’t we all like to feel like a dirty little whore sometimes? His large hands cup my face, and the way he touches me—I can’t not kiss him. I tilt my head, parting my lips to allow his tongue to dip inside my mouth. His wet chest presses against mine, his hold on my face tightens and the kiss grows more desperate, needier.

  When Tyler kisses me, I swear it’s as though the boundaries between our bodies melt away, and we become one person. It’s always been like that, and only with him. My very soul bleeds into his with this kiss, my body betrays me because as much as I want to say I don’t want him, he’s right. It’s a damn lie. His lips press over my throat and with each hard breath he releases, chill bumps race over my wet skin. Teeth rake over my neck, forcing a slutty moan from my lips as he glides his hands over the soaked material of my dress and groans. Before I know it, he’s ripped the straps down and is squeezing my exposed breasts while pressing his hard dick against me.

  “You fucking liar,” he says in a growl before grabbing the back of my thighs to lift me up. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist. “I hate when you lie to me.”

  Fisting my hair, he kisses me with a refined brutality, in a way that would leave any woman weak and at his mercy. My hands fall beneath the water, rubbing over the defined ridges of his stomach on the way to the waist of his jeans. The whirring of the pool pump drowns out the noise from the party as Tyler walks us away from the lights of the house, wading deeper into the pool. His hand slides down the small of my back and across the top of my thigh, every last inch of my skin heating beneath his touch. His finger brushes the lace of my thong. Even in the water, I can feel how wet I am.