Overexposed: The Complete Boxset: A Virgin Meets a Bad Boy Romance by Rae Lynn Blaise

I’ve fought and clawed and lowered myself for. I take a deep breath, wishing I’d asked Arabella for a drink first, and open the door.
    Eric turns, his face alight and eyes appreciative as he drinks in the sight of me. He’s different in person than how I’ve remembered him from all of our latest Skype conversations—broader in the shoulders, a little softer in the belly, tiny creases beginning to form in the corners of his eye—but he’s still Eric. Mine. My best friend, confidant, my everything. And then my feet fly across the floor, and I practically jump into his arms.
    I lay my head against his shoulder, hoping for the usual feeling of coming home. But his arms feel too loose, his breastbone digs into my chin and makes my neck ache from the awkward angle. I try to cover a cough when his cologne assaults me with its unpleasant strength.
    When had we stopped fitting together perfectly?

3
    “ Y ou haven’t changed at all,” Eric says, holding me at arm’s length.
    I’m glad you think so, even if it isn’t true. Guilt gnaws at my insides. He wouldn’t have thought so if he’d been there for my first nude shoot—at how the photographer had sent me off set to shave my pussy, no landing strips required. At my hundredth or my thousandth, where being naked became as natural as breathing, where touching myself while pouting for the camera was as routine as another day in the office. Over my numerous spreads, at the kink I endorsed, at the men who worshipped at Sierra’s feet. At how much that worship empowered and emboldened me.
    He definitely would not have those thoughts if he’d seen the way I reacted to Devon. Over how my pussy had throbbed and glistened at the growl of his voice commanding me. At the taste of his cum in my mouth, my scent on his lips, the hard length of him inside of me.
    My face flushes hot, my core clenching with want at the memory. Thankfully, Eric takes this as a sign that I’m pleased with his compliment. And I let him believe it as I purr, “I’ve missed you.”
    “And I’ve missed you.” Eric folds me back into his arms, his hard cock pressed against my thigh to back that statement.
    I twine my arms around his neck, even though I want nothing more than to back away from him and his wants. In return, he smiles—that same, familiar smile—and I can’t help but think about what a terrible person I am.
    Eric kisses me, parting my mouth and delving into its depths with his tongue. I never quite match his pace, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His mouth feels cooler than mine, foreign, invasive, and hard. Has kissing him always felt like this? Are we just out of practice?Because I can’t ever remember our kisses being anything like this wet lump of clay pushing my tongue around at will. His kisses used to fuel me, make me fight against my self-imposed virginity because I wanted, needed him, closer. I used to crave every morsel he was willing to feed me, and now I just want it to be over.
    What the actual hell is going on?
    This man has done everything in his power to secure our future. And now I can’t even return his affection. I’m judging him for not finding time to work out. For overdosing on cologne so that he could smell good for me? Not everyone’s job is to be perfect. God knows I’m not, but I was raised to pretend I am. And I’m going to fucking excel at being perfect. If we’ve fallen out of sync, well, I’ll figure out how to smooth the edges and rediscover the passion that’s laying dormant beneath my skin. After all, we’ve been apart for seven years, and I haven’t worked hard for seven years to just throw it away.
    Not even for me? Devon’s voice echoes in my mind. He’ll never make you come like I can.
    Shut the fuck up, you maddening jerk. You left me.
    But I also found you. The real you, Anna.
    No.
    I am certifiably insane.
    I’m kissing my future husband while having an imaginary argument with a one night stand. Flowers be damned.
    You know it was