EXPOSURE BY IRIS BLAIRE PDF

Hell, these shoots nearly border on porn. I mean, classy porn to say the least. Artistic porn. I park outside of a large home on the outskirts of the suburbs. Nothing surrounds this house other than a cal-de-sac and some open fields.

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Dallas has a way of making me hate him for turning me on so much. And second of all he just got done talking about his girlfriend. Of forever. Who trusts him. What I need to do is just accept this, and take advantage of the fact that his ever-so-trusting girlfriend wants him to act single on set. Boys are too distracting and get all weird when they find out my source of income.

This will be my only thrill for a while. And it worked. Fuck, this shoot. The campus police gives Britain the wink when he drives up to unlock the building for us. I guess he thinks we need that extra wink in order to feel sexy or something.

Luckily for me, the only ones attending this off-site shoot are me, Dallas, Britain, and Andrea. Delilah really wanted to watch, and so did Adam, but I think Britain can sense how tense my nerves are right now, so she made the shoot private. We walk down the deserted, grimy hall, and Britain leads us up the stairs. I swallow. Why am I so nervous? But the thought of being around him, of having him touch me for the camera again, is making me light-headed.

And sweaty. Which is the last thing I need to be. Britain finds an office that looks like it could still be in use. There are books on the shelves and files scattered across the desk. Britain starts moving the files, and I grudgingly find a soft piece of felt in one of the drawers to start wiping away dust. Dallas smoothes the front of his slacks and sits, crossing his legs.

A nice dress shirt is tucked into his pants. He even wears a tie, his hair slicked back enough to make him seem older and professional without looking creepy. And he does look older. He looks like he could easily pull off early thirties—perfect young, hot professor age. Heat flushes my body. Exactly what Dallas told me to wear. As I stalk around the room trying to tidy the place up when he grabs my arm and pulls me to him.

I gaze down into his light eyes that express concern. After Britain sets up her lighting, she claps her hands together. Dallas, go ahead and take a seat behind the desk. My heart begins to pound relentlessly.

Britain starts adjusting her camera. I turn to see him looking up at me from his desk, eyes fierce. His palms are pressed flat against the polished wood. Play into it. Fire ignites inside me. A challenge. I look down, scuffing my feet timidly. His expression lacks all amusement. He leans back in his chair. And their excuses are quite creative.

So why should I give it to you and not to them? Trying my hardest to keep my breathing under control, I slowly unzip my sweatshirt.

I let the garment fall to the floor. He rolls his chair back and stands. With one foot purposefully in front of the other, he walks around to the edge of the desk and motions to it. I have to hop onto the desk, my feet dangling before him. Andrea remains silent, letting Dallas have the reigns. My eyes widen. Britain giggles. He only responds with darkening eyes that send a shiver through my whole body.

Biting my bottom lip, I raise my arms over my head. Gripping the bottom hem of my cami, he peels it upward and over my head, revealing my lace, pushup bra. For a second, his eyes flicker to my chest to drink in the sight of me. Warmth races to the inside of my thighs, and I squeeze them together.

I make to lower my arms. His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, gripping me tightly. Because I am oh so turned on. As soon as I do so, keeping my arms raised above my head, he places his index finger on the center of my lower lip, pushing forward slightly until I taste him. Then, he drags his finger down my chin, my neck, and between the valley of my breasts. When he reaches my navel I buck my hips up, and he flattens my palm against my belly and pushes me back down.

Dallas notices. I can tell by the way his lip twitches. Hooking his fingers beneath the hem of my jeans, he leans forward until his lips brush against my ear.

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Dallas is kissing me. Really kissing me. Not some sloppy, exhibitionist kiss we might have to do for EPE one day. A real kiss. A chaste, Disney kiss.

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There are enough people in the hall to dart around and get away from Dallas. Night class must just be starting. And then it dawns on him. People rush out of classrooms and down to the auditorium. I really would rather not discuss this in the middle of an East Park hallway.

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