Aberration

  ABERRATION

  By

  Iris Blaire

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2014 by Iris Blaire

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieving system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the author.

  Cover Image Copyright © 2014 by Vlasov Pavel/Shutterstock

  Read the complete East Park Series:

  EXPOSURE (East Park #1)

  DARK FRAME (East Park #2)

  ABERRATION (East Park #3)

  CHAPTER ONE

  There are many things that aren't as sexy as they claim to be. G-strings, for example. G-strings are the most god-awful, hideous contraptions man has ever created. Pay-per-view porn. Tequila. Bubble gum lip gloss.

  And pool sex.

  Of course, I’m four shots of tequila in and wearing bubble gum lip gloss when I decide that pool sex would be a fabulous idea, so tonight is definitely a three-strikes kind of night. Not that Nate didn't enjoy himself, because boy, did he have an insta-boner the second I undid my bikini top. Of course, five minutes of lubeless, uncomfortable intercourse later, Nate came... right in my parents' pool.

  They'll never find out. Mom and Dad like to think they know everything, but they're clueless most of the time. That's why I've gotten away with my erotic photography career for so long.

  As we towel off, Nate says with a goofy grin on his face, "That was awesome."

  Awesome. Yes, he uses the word Awesome, like I-am-in-seventh-grade-and-just-saw-boobs-for-the-first-time-on-HBO Awesome.

  I manage to fake a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. "It was fun."

  He raises an eyebrow and swaggers toward me, like he's trying really hard to be sexy. Tack Nate's swagger onto the list of things that aren't as sexy as they claim to be. He reaches up and brushes his knuckles against my jaw, and says coyly, "If you're staying all summer, we should definitely make this our regular Friday night." He winks at me and it takes every ounce of will power I have not to roll my eyes.

  "I doubt my parents will be gone that often." Mom and Dad are at an out-of-town benefit dinner tonight. They attend fancy events on weekends more often than not, but Nate doesn't need to know that. We went to high school together, and he's definitely cuter now than he was back then—brunette, on the skinny side, crooked smile—you know, the kind of guy I usually go for. We both just graduated and are home for the summer. I ran into him in the grocery store and he asked me out, you know, to catch up.

  Three tacos, four shots of tequila, and a cab ride later, here we are. A missing biking top, sloppy kisses, and penetration.

  I make sure to over-exaggerate my yawn. "I'm exhausted."

  I watch his eyes glance up to my room longingly, like he's expecting me to ask him to stay the night.

  "My parents are going to be home early tomorrow morning," I add. Yeah right. They'll probably mosey in at around two in the afternoon. Another thing that Nate doesn't need to know.

  "Right, right. Well... I guess this is goodnight, then." He leans in to kiss me and I turn at the last minute, so his lips land on my cheek.

  God, I'm such a bitch.

  "See you."

  "Call me," he says, flashing his pearly whites before tossing me his towel and scooping his clothes off the patio furniture. Good thing he parked his car here before we left for dinner and I don't have to wait for him to call a cab. When I hear his engine start, I release a breath of relief.

  "There you are," I mumble to myself, tugging the towel tighter around me and swiping my floating bikini top from the edge of the pool. I trudge into the house, making my way up the narrow staircase that leads to the wing where mine and Cameron's old bedrooms are. I slip into my dark room, shut the door, and lean against it.

  One good thing about being stuck with my parents for two months—my room is a palace compared to the places I lived during my undergrad. My parents believed that Cameron and I had to earn the things we wanted—privileges, Dad called them—but let's face it, we were both spoiled rotten. Still are. When I turned eighteen, I was given access to my inheritance. I haven't touched a penny of it out of pride, but let's just say that if I lived modestly, I'd never have to work a day in my life with the help of my assets.

  I'm not going to be that rich-bitch daughter of a software CEO that complains about everything, but that doesn't mean I'm ever going to be grateful for that money. The moment I use my inheritance is the moment I owe my parents, and I can't afford to owe them anything. I can't be the modest, polite, wifely good girl they want me to be.

  I mean, I make porn for a living.

  I drop my towel at the door and make my way to my dresser, and then head to my private bathroom, tugging on sweatpants and my "Bitches Get Shit Done" T-shirt. I've been wearing it more often than not lately. After I brush my teeth and comb out my wet, tangled hair, I head back into my bedroom, where a dark shadow waits outside my window.

  I scream and reach for the nearest object, which happens to be a spoon from the cereal I ate this morning in bed. I hold the spoon up as threateningly as I can manage. The shadow starts to chuckle behind the glass.

  I know that chuckle.

  Dropping the spoon, I say, "No fucking way," loud enough for the shadow to hear. Walking to the window, I unlatch it and slide it open. This window's been missing a screen since I was fifteen, when my first boyfriend pointed out how easy it was to climb the tree to the roof right near my bedroom. I’ve never had a boy crawl through this window and sex me up, but I’ve always wanted to be prepared for this moment: my secret teenage fantasy of Jaime-fucking-Rivera waiting outside my bedroom.

  Of course, in my fantasies I'm much more thrilled to see him. In order to rid him of that stupid grin, I punch him in the shoulder.

  He jerks back. "Whoa, hey now," he says in a gravelly, oh-so cocky voice.

  "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I cry.

  With the help of the pool and patio lights below, I can make out his raised eyebrows. "Exactly what I told you I was going to do."

  My mind reverts to the emails we exchanged over a month ago, after our fling—if that's what you want to call it. After I signed the contract for Amora Acquisitions to acquire East Park Exposed, they scheduled an audition. Jaime's modeling happened to be taking off at the same time, and he managed to convince his agent that auditioning for my magazine was good for his career. Being the obnoxious best friend of my older brother, I thought it was just his way of tormenting me more, until he admitted during the Halloween shoot in Boston that he auditioned to spend time with me. Being the stupid shit that I am, I actually started to fall for him.

  This was all before Cameron called me and told me that he hadn't spoken to Jaime in years, not since he worked as an accounting intern for Dad and got fired for embezzling money. We exchanged emails where he promised me that the situation wasn't what I thought, and when I said I'd be here all summer, he told me to keep my bedroom window open.

  I just thought that it was some last-minute flirting. Not that he was actually going to show up at my window at two o'clock in the morning, minutes after I had fucked another guy in the pool.

  "I didn't think you were serious!" I snarl, turning away from the window. He slings his legs inside and watches me as I spin back to him with my arms crossed.

  He looks amused—too amused—like he's about to bust up laughing.

  "What?" I growl.

  "That was some show you put on out there."

  My mouth d
rops open. "You saw that? You watched it?"

  He scoffs. "Not voluntarily, trust me, if I knew you'd be awkwardly screwing a guy in a pool I would have thought to come tomorrow." He looks up in thought. "Or maybe yesterday. Then I could have seduced you and saved you from the pain of whatever the fuck I just witnessed."

  "Oh thanks, you're so sweet," I say dryly.

  "He just stuck it in you and grunted a few times and it was over." He tsks. "That couldn't have been fun at all."

  For being an ex-lover, Jaime doesn't look very upset that he just witnessed me fucking someone else. In fact, he looks smug.

  "What's so goddamn funny?" I say, my arms still crossed over my chest.

  He has the audacity to laugh. "Can I come in?"

  "No."

  "Fine, then. Can I at least sit here?"

  "You can sit right there," I say, even though it's probably not the best decision. I should tell him to get the hell out, but him being here months after Boston is making me feel all kinds of emotions I had buried deep. He looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him, taut muscle roping his arms, his strong features permanently sketched with deviance. I glare at his mouth, which is also a bad decision, because all I can think of is the last time I dragged my teeth across his lower lip.

  "So, who was that?" He curls his fingers toward his fist and studies his nails, like this is the most boring conversation he's ever had in his life.

  "A guy."

  "This guy your boyfriend?"

  "Hell no," I say too quickly.

  He shoots me a smile that I want to slap right off his face. "Good, because a boy like that you don't want to be with for too long, considering his caveman forgetfulness of not getting you off before coming himself."

  I roll my eyes. "What do you want, Jaime?"

  Stone-faced, he responds, "To offer you my services, of course. And considering your parents and Cameron are both out of town, you can scream as loud as you want."

  All my mind wants to do is return to Boston and Veda Manor, where Jaime led me blindfolded to his room to prove that I could trust him. I clench my thighs at the thought of what he did to me that night, hoping he doesn't see any sign of my sexual frustration in the dark. I attempt to lead my thoughts in a different direction. "How did you know that they were out of town?"

  With hooded eyes, he bargains with me. "Let me in and I will tell you."

  He's not going to play me so easily. "If I refuse?"

  He shrugs. "I'll leave the way I came." He looks over his shoulder. “Can't say I haven't climbed on your roof before."

  "Have you spied on me?"

  "Please, Brit, not everything is always about you. Now, have I jumped from your roof into the pool during one of the ragers Cameron threw, only to get laid for my bravery a few minutes later? That has happened."

  I should send him away to spite him, to prove that I don't care about him or why he knows my family is out of town. And I would, if he were just another hot boy. I mean, I'm around hot, naked boys all the time. They're a dime a dozen in my life.

  Call it a blessing, or maybe a curse.

  Jaime on the other hand... well first, after years of fantasizing about him when I was a teenager, I actually slept with him. And second, I was stupid enough to develop feelings for him. As much as I hate to admit it, it isn't so easy to tell Jaime Rivera to go away.

  I sigh. "Fine."

  He slides into my room, leaving the window open. Looking around, he says, "Exactly how I remember."

  I sit on my king canopy bed. "Please. You weren't in here that often."

  "I was in here enough to steal tampons and a pair of your underwear, in case you've forgotten."

  Tampons and underwear, things I made him apologize for. That apologizing led to making out half-naked, as well as other things. Other amazing things.

  I clear my throat. "So how did you know my parents and Cam were out of town?"

  "I had a meeting with your Dad yesterday."

  It's the second time in five minutes that my mouth falls open. "You what?"

  "I told him that I wanted to prove it wasn't me who embezzled money. I asked him to look back into it."

  "Because you want your job back."

  "There is that, now that more positions are opening up." My father's software company is possibly expanding. A merger with another company is in the works. Dad hasn't been able to stop talking about it. "But more importantly, I want to be on good terms with your family again. And with Cameron. And you."

  The inflection in his voice changes at the end, and I swallow. "You left me in Massachusetts without explaining yourself."

  "I didn't know how to."

  "You're a pussy."

  "I--" He stalls, and then sighs. "I don't stick around for girls often, so when the situation arose and you realized I was lying to you, I just did what I do best. So yeah, I guess I am a pussy."

  It's my turn to grin smugly. "So, what did my dad say?"

  "He said to fuck off."

  I choke.

  "Kidding. He said he'd look into it. I don't know how serious he is about it though. He might have just wanted to get me off his back."

  "I know my dad. He wouldn't have been so kind if he didn't mean it... more like have you escorted from his office by security."

  He glances at me, and like an unfortunate fish, I'm hooked. I open my mouth, hoping the right words spill out, but I'm not so lucky.

  "So," he says, breaking the silence. "What would you have done if I hadn't shown up at your bedroom window just now?"

  I raise an eyebrow. "It's two in the morning. What the hell do people usually do at two in the morning?"

  At the same time I say, "Go to bed," he says, "Get off." I'm glad the lights aren't on so he can't see my blushing, because getting off was exactly what I was planning on doing.

  "Please," Jaime drawls, slow and sexy. He dips his head so his face is only inches from mine, and my spine erupts in shivers. He isn't even touching me. "After Massachusetts, I know the real Britain McCulley, and I know she wouldn't dare go to bed sexually frustrated."

  I narrow my eyes. "You don’t know that."

  His lips inch closer to mine, and I hold my breath. "I know she wouldn't rely on shitty pool sex with some guy who has no idea what the fuck he's doing to get her off. Tell me I'm wrong."

  I can't. Instead, I say. "I don't rely on any guy to get me off."

  He bites down on his full bottom lip, and the look of hunger in his eyes is enough to spark wild energy between my thighs. I know I'm wet already, wetter than I've been all night. And that's saying a lot, considering I was, you know, in a pool.

  "So where do you keep it?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "The vibrator."

  I scoff. "Like I only have one."

  "Where's the closest?" He looks around, spotting the drawer in my nightstand.

  When he reaches for it and pulls it open, I hiss, "Wait! You can't touch it."

  "Please." He digs around in the drawer and pulls out a little pink vibrator. "I've touched where it's been, haven't I?" The energy between my legs doubles, and I squeeze my thighs together as he studies the vibrator. "It's cute."

  "Take a picture. It'll last longer."

  "Taking a picture isn't exactly what I had in mind." When he glances at me again, heat flushes through my whole body.

  "Are you insinuating that you want to get me off?"

  He shrugs. "I could. Or I could leave out that window, since I told you what you wanted to know. The choice is up to you."

  Sure, I've been dying to get off since the horrible pool sex. And Jaime-fucking-Rivera, who I haven't been able to stop thinking about since Boston, is sitting on my bed with my vibrator in his hand. The pieces are falling into place, but just because they are doesn't mean I want them to.

  "I don't really think that you deserve to get me off."

  "Probably not, but this isn't about me, now is it?" He presses his hand against the flat of my stomach, and says, "Tell m
e to leave, and I will." He leans forward, warm lips brushing my ear. "It's your job to give the directions. Am I right?"

  I open my mouth to tell him he's right, that it is my job to give him directions and he should probably leave, but the words are lodged in my throat. Instead, I scoot back onto the bed and lie down.

  I'm expecting Jaime to be smug about my response, but he grows serious, eyes fiery and determined. I'm so soaked already, and he's about to find that out, because he kneels next to me, hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of my sweatpants, and tugs them down. When they're all the way off, he brushes his fingers along the hem of my polka-dotted panties. "These are cute."

  "Like my vibrator?" I try to joke, but my voice is thick.

  "Yep." He crawls up so his face is above mine.

  When his warm hand cups my pussy, and I know he feels how turned on I am, I manage a straight face and say, "Don't you dare fucking smirk."

  He smirks, but it isn't because I'm so wet. He slips the vibrator between his palm and me, and turns it on.

  The vibrator isn't even directly against me; I'm still in my underwear. But the fact that Jaime is in my bed and pressing a vibrator against my cotton panties and right on top of my clit is enough. “You win,” I tell him beneath a gasp of pleasure.

  He shifts his hand and the vibrator moves. My eyes roll back. I can feel the pressure building already. His lips brush against mine. "This isn't about winning or losing, but if we want to play that game, I think you're the one who is about to win."

  He's right. I shamelessly grind myself against his hand. When he licks up my neck, I'm pushed to the brink.

  "Scream," he demands. He rolls the vibrator between me and his palm again, and a shriek of pleasure leaves my mouth. My entire body trembles beneath him. He keeps his hand pinned, the buzz of the vibrator relentless until I beg him to turn it off.

  He does, and I release a sigh. His face hovers over mine as I take slow and steady breaths.

  "A good rule of thumb," he murmurs, "is to not give a guy any part of you if they don't take the time to make you come."

  I can't help it. A giggle escapes my mouth, and I poke him square in the chest. "Excuse me, mister. I can give a guy whatever I want."