Exrated Read online

  Hudson drops to a knee and inspects her. “Nah, I think it’s fine.”

  This has to be the strangest shit that has ever happened. I just got introduced to a random chick I’m about to bang in front of a camera. Dildos, butt plugs, condoms, lube. My heart pounds in my chest because, again, what the actual fuck am I doing here?

  “Johnny.”

  I try to keep my eyes off Vee’s ass, fighting the erection growing in my jeans because I’m not certain whether getting a hard-on like this is considered professional or amateur.

  “Johnny!” Hudson taps me on the shoulder. “Johnny!”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry, the name and all, you know?”

  He reaches to the counter and picks up a string of beads. “Anal beads.” He places them in my hand. “Ever used them before?”

  Vee looks at me and grins.

  “Uh, yeah, no…”

  “Well, it’s easy. We’ll just put some lube on it and you just—” he makes a circle with one hand and forces his other hand through it, “shove it up in there.”

  This is insane. I stare at the pink balls in my hand, heat drowning me when I glance up at Vee.

  She shrugs. “Yep, just shove it up in there.”

  I swallow. I’m a fucking guy. This should not make me uncomfortable. I should be all for shoving some shit up a hot girl’s ass, right?

  “Alright,” Hudson claps his hand. “Let’s get this show on the road. Vee, go easy on pretty boy, would you?”

  A slight smirk plays over her red lips as she grabs a condom from the table. “Sure thing.” She holds her hand out, and I take it, letting her lead me across the room to the couch with lights and cameras set up all around it.

  “You nervous?” she asks as she sits down and spreads her legs open. Shit, am I supposed to look at her pussy or not? I fight to keep my eyes on her face.

  “Yeah, a little.” I shake my head. “This is just…”

  “I know, you think it’s easy, but it’s not, especially not the first time. It’s good money. It’s fun. Hud’s a great guy. It’ll be fine. I promise.”

  She reaches for my fly and unfastens it. I can actually hear my heart banging in my ears. Hudson’s staring and fuck, the little red light on the camera is already on.

  “You’re so hot,” she whispers before placing her lips to my lower stomach. Kissing over me, she shoves my jeans and boxers down.

  Fuck. I need to say something, but what? I close my eyes and take a breath. Fisting her hair, I stare into her green eyes and stroke my thumb over her cheek. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  I swear her breath catches right before her tongue traces over my cock. My grip on her hair tightens when her lips sink down around me. I’ve always been certain about my ability to fuck a girl, but this really puts the pressure on. My stomach stays in knots while she sucks me off. And then, my adrenaline kicks in. I think about the figure on that piece of paper, and I push her down on the couch, bending her legs back

  Minutes later, I’m naked in front of the cameras, slamming into this chick and doing math in my head to keep from getting off. I am pretty sure this is my dissension into the abyss of hell, but shit, money’s money. I’m single. I’m young. I dropped out of college, and I know damn well I will never get an offer like this again.

  Three months later

  Heather’s hand is plastered over her mouth, tears streaming down her face from how hard she’s been laughing. Shaking my head, I throw my apron down on the coffee table and pace.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Heather says, attempting to restrain a laugh. “Back up.”

  “Fired,” I say. “From a restaurant. That video has ruined my life.”

  “You’d think since you dyed your hair back to brown, people wouldn’t think Elsa anymore.”

  “You’d think…”

  “But…” she smiles from ear to ear, “for the love of all things holy. Tell me this story again, and I’m sorry, but I am going to laugh.”

  Dragging my hands down my face, I groan. “More adults than you’d think watch that damn show—”

  “Or, maybe that tape made more adults watch it.” She shrugs when I glare at her.

  “Anyway, every-fucking-day, some smartass says something because they recognize me.”

  “Yep. Got that.”

  “And today it was just too much.”

  “Um-hmm. Now, tell me again, what did he sing to you?”

  Just thinking about the smirk on that dick’s face makes my blood boil all over again. “Do you want to suck a big dick…to the tune of Do You Want to Build a Snowman.”

  Heather burst into laughter. “Amazing!”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “And you seriously dumped water on him?”

  “The entire pitcher.”

  She laughs even harder, and I can’t help but laugh as well.

  “Oh. God. I love you,” she says, wiping tears from her face. “Me? I would have slapped him, you—” she shakes her head. “You just dump water on him.”

  I shrug. “I’m not violent like you Heather.” I fall back onto the sofa and stare up at the ceiling. “So now what the fuck am I gonna do? I don’t have any money. I’ve gone through my savings, and you barely make enough to support your Sephora habit…”

  Heather sighs and kicks her feet up onto the coffee table. “Well, isn’t going completely broke some rite of passage or some shit? Wouldn’t being homeless and panhandling for money teach us some deep, life lesson?”

  “No.”

  “Hmmm. Well, shit. I guess we’re fucked.”

  We sit on the couch in silence for a few moments. David hasn’t had one call from a network. The family networks won’t touch me; the other networks think I don’t have the right look. I’m beyond fucked right now. Other than a few offers to do porn, the phone hasn’t rung. And I am not doing porn. I mean, to each their own, but showing my bleached asshole to the world is not something on my bucket list.

  “Well,” Heather groans as she stands up and stretches. “There is only one thing to do when you are about to be broke as shit.”

  I glare up at her. “Do I evenwant to know?”

  She wriggles her eyebrows at me. “Go to the Lotus Club and get drunk.”

  “Because spending the last bit of money I have on drinks is smart in what way?”

  Heather shrugs. “I didn’t say it was smart. Just think of it as a final hurrah. And besides…” she reaches down, grabs my hand, and jerks me up. “Dress like a slut-faced hooker and you won’t be spending any money. Guys will buy our drinks, and we can get drunk and drown our sorrows.”

  “Slut-faced hooker you say?”

  “Yep, slut-faced hooker.”

  I nod.

  “Tonight…” she smiles. “…we ride.”

  I wrinkle my brow. “That makes no sense.”

  “It just made it sound more epic or something. Just go with it, Jemma.” She walks toward the hall. “Now, go wash the smell of fried food out of your hair and get dressed. T-minus five hours before we slut drop like it’s our job.”

  Empty moving boxes are scattered all over the living room floor. We’ve been moving all day, and I’m fucking tired.

  “Dude,” Jake says, flopping back on the sofa and popping a beer. “Why do you have so much shit?”

  “Fuck if I know.” You never realize how much shit you have until you move. And half of this stuff has been holed up in storage since I moved to California. I grab one of the last boxes and stand, looking around the large living room. “Man, whoever would have thought porn and stripping would make enough money for a house like this,” I laugh.

  “And to think we were going to bother with law school.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh. “Right…”

  I kick the door to the bedroom open, drop the box to the floor, and sit on the edge of the mattress. Taking a pair of scissors, I cut the tape and lift the box flap. On the very top of a pile of books, lays my Junior yearbook. I open it and read over the messages left
by classmates, and then I come to the note Jemma left.

  Tyler,

  I love you. I’ve loved you since we were six. I’ll love you until I’m ninety-six.

  Jemma

  I can still hear her voice when I read that, and I smile because I loved her. I really fucking loved her. What we had, it wasn’t that high school bullshit. I can honestly say it was something real. We grew up next door to each other, she was the first girl I’d ever had a crush on, and when I was six, I vowed she would be my first kiss, and she was, even if it wasn’t until we were thirteen.

  I let my mind wander back to one of those memories I can’t seem to let go of:

  I finally catch her and snatch the rubber band free from her hair, laughing as one of her pigtails falls loose. “I’m telling,” she whines before taking off in a sprint across the room. I, of course, go after her. “Stop chasing me, Tyler,” she shouts as I run around the couch, nearly tripping on that dumb pink Barbie car she was trying to make me play with. “Stop it!” She hops onto the sofa and bounces across the cushions.

  “Nope.” I shake my head and laugh as I jump on the couch after her. For some reason, I want to kiss her, even though it’s gross. I just want to kiss her.

  She squeals and tumbles off the sofa before running to the corner of the room.

  “Tyler!” I freeze at the sound of my dad’s voice. Jemma stops running as well, attempting to catch her breath. Footsteps fall on the stairs, and soon enough, Dad’s large frame appears at the bottom of the steps. “Come on, buddy. Time to go.”

  I groan and glare at him. “Thanks a lot, Dad,” I say. “You just ruined what could’ve been the best day of my life!”

  Jemma narrows her eyes at me.

  “What?” Dad asks.

  “I was gonna kiss her,” I say as I angrily snatch my backpack from the floor. “I almost had her.”

  “Ewww! Gross,” Jemma says, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Son,” Dad looks down at me. “You’re seven.”

  “But she’s pretty…” I look back over at Jemma, and she has a small smile on her face. “One day, Jemma, I’m gonna kiss you.”

  I shake that memory from my mind. That relationship is one of those what could have been deals. First love. First heartbreak, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Sometimes I think had I not gotten that scholarship to NYU and moved off that I would have ended up marrying her because, let’s be honest, when you’re eighteen, long distance relationships don’t work.

  We grew apart, I dropped out and became a stripper. She ended up being an actress. A legit actress, just like she said she would ever since we were kids. To be honest, it sucks because I’ll be flipping through the channels late at night after a shift, and I’ll catch her on screen. It’s a kids show, which makes me feel like a fucking perv because there’s something about Jemma dressed up like Elsa that would make any man’s dick hard. She looks all wholesome, and doesn’t that just do it? So it’s no surprise that I’ve beat off to it a time or two, right? I can’t help but laugh at myself. Here I am jacking off to her TV series and shooting porn, and she probably donates to charities for blind, three-legged dogs. I need a fucking beer. I toss the yearbook down and head into the hall.

  When I walk into the living room, Jake is fooling with the new TV. “Fucking shit, man.” He backs away from the wall, turns the TV on, and waits.

  “What are you doing, dipshit?”

  “I can cast from my phone,” he says. “Do you know what this means?”

  I go into the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge. “Yeah, that you can cast from your phone?”

  “Man, give me a second…”

  I pop the tab and tip the cold beer back. And then, on my second sip, a smacking noise echoes around the living room followed by a high-pitched moan.

  “Fuck yeah, man,” Jake says, pointing at the large flat screen mounted on the wall. “Porn in HD.”

  “Don’t be beating your shit off in here,” I say before glancing up at the screen. “I swear to God…” I trail off and my jaw fucking drops. “What. The. Fuck?”

  “What?” Jake says.

  “Where did you find that?”

  “This?” he asks, pointing back at the plasma screen.

  “Yeah.”

  “Pornhub.”

  “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  I stare at the screen. Big round eyes. Full suck me lips. High cheekbones. And I can see just a hint of her dark roots in that platinum blonde hair. “That’s—” I have to laugh for a second, “my ex.”

  “What!”

  I step closer to the TV. “And…Stone Steele from Pandemic Sorrow! Jesus-fucking-Christ.” I shake my head.

  “Dude…” he glances back at me. “You dated Elsa?”

  I stand, watching her get pounded and the thought that she’s all wholesome just went out the damn window.

  The club lights flicker. The deep bass of the music pounds through my body and sweat trickles between my breasts as I sway my hips in rhythm with the beats. I feel hands grab onto my waist. When I look up at Heather, she shakes her head to tell me no. I spin around and come face to face with a guy sporting spikey brown hair, a spray tan, and a sideways visor, attempting to ram his crotch against my ass. Scooting away from him, I grab onto Heather and dance with her. Her hands go to my ass, and she squeezes it so hard I’m certain I’ll have a bruise.

  “My girlfriend,” she yells over the music. “Leave her alone or I’ll cut your dick off, and no—we don’t share, so fuck off.”

  The guy swats his hand through the air before stumbling over to another random girl and grinding on her. Dance clubs—a phenomenon all in their own. A place where you come to get shitfaced and basically dry hump strangers. Every one-night stand I’ve had was the direct result of a dance club, and most of them—terrible decisions.

  “Thanks, babe,” I say, kissing her cheek.

  “It’s what I’m here for. We are not going to have a repeat of the Ronald incident.”

  “Oh, hell no.”

  Ronald was the last one-night stand I had. I woke up the morning after to him, his retainer, and about fifteen cats laid on his bed. Oh, and let’s not forget the Iron Man posters on his bedroom wall. From what I can recall, I actually passed out while we were having sex, but evidently gave him my number because he kept calling me over and over. It makes me shudder just thinking about it.

  A cute blond guy comes up behind Heather as the song ends. His hands go to her waist. She glances over her shoulder, takes a quick look, then turns back to me and smiles.

  The song “My Pony” comes on and Heather squeals and claps her hands. The next thing I know, fingers are digging into my hips, and some guy is grinding against me like he’s Channing Tatum in Magic Mike. His hands slide up my waist, then down the front of my thighs, pulling my skirt up.

  Heather has literally stopped moving and is staring at him. “Oh, my fucking God. He’s hot,” she mouths as she nods. “Fuck him. FUCK him.”

  There’s a hard thrust against my ass, and I can seriously feel an erection pressing into my crack. His pecs press against my exposed back, his hot breath fans over my neck, and he smells like expensive cologne. He moves my hips in rhythm with his and fuck—he can dance.

  The longer we dance, the more heated it becomes. His hands are roaming all over my body, pulling the hem of my shirt up as they move over to palm my breasts. The way this guy is touching me is ungodly, and although I should probably at least turn around and see what he looks like, I kind of like the fact that I can’t see him. Taking one hand away from my hips, he sweeps my hair to the side as his other hand glides over my thigh. A low groan rumbles from his throat as his warm thumb skims the lace of my thong, sending a jolt of arousal throughout my body. In one fluid movement, he spins me around to face him. And I almost stop breathing.

  Honey-brown eyes. Distinct jawline covered in a slight five o’clock shadow. My gaze drops to those full, full lips. And I think for a second I may hav
e a fucking heart attack. I have literally been dry humping my ex for the past five minutes. Like a fucking slut.

  “Holy. Fucking. Shit.” Tyler says, backing away from me.

  My pulse kicks up. Adrenaline floods my system. And I do the only thing one can do in a situation such as this: I spin around so fast I nearly get whiplash and bail, shouldering my way through the crowded dance floor and straight to the bar because I need a shot, or two, or ten. I make a beeline to an open spot and lean over the counter, my elbows slipping in spilled beer when I go to grab my head. “This is not happening,” I say under my breath.

  The guy next to me takes his drink and moves on, then, I feel a shoulder bump against mine. “Jemma…” Tyler’s voice is deeper than I remember, but then again, I haven’t talked to him since he was nineteen.

  Exhaling, I turn to face him, and well, I can’t form words. Now that we’re off the dancefloor and in the light of the bar, I can really see him, and he’s somehow even more fucking gorgeous than I remember. Half Lebanese and American—that mixture is nothing short of exotic. He was that guy in high school that all the girls fawned over, but I don’t even know that he noticed because he was always mine. Always. I swallow in an attempt to force my heart out of my throat. I don’t know what’s worse right now, the fact that I was slut dropping on him like that, or the fact that it felt so damn good.

  “What…” I shake my head and shrug. “I mean, what are you doing here?”

  “Uh, well I live here…”

  “In LA?” I pause. He bites down on his lip, and I notice a glint. He got his lip pierced? “You live in California? In LA?” I ask.

  “Yeah…” he laughs and fuck him for those dimples that just popped out and those eyelashes that are so thick they mimic eyeliner.

  Shocked doesn’t cover this. The last time I spoke to Tyler, he was in New York. Hell, the last time I stalked his Facebook—because yes I do that every so often—he was still there. And here I stand, staring into the eyes of the boy who used to be my world. We grew up next door to each other. He was my first crush, my first kiss, and as cliché as it is, we lost our virginity to each other. And out of all the firsts I had with Tyler, the one that is the most salient in my mind is that he was my first broken heart. He crushed me. He had a full paid scholarship to NYU, so I can’t fault him for moving, but what we had wasn’t just some normal love—it was an epic love. And epic loves should stand the test of time, but ours didn’t. We didn’t fight for it, we just let it go because six months after he left we broke up and shortly after that he had a new girlfriend while I was still trying to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart. The hardest part of it all was that throughout my life, if nothing else, I had him, and then one day, I didn’t.