Her eyes, light blue-gray checked out the perfection of herself. “Look, Amanda,” she began, her voice measured. “Come all over my fucking face.”
And with that final command, she felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she had to pretend to climax for the camera, her body responding despite her mind’s screaming protests. Then she noticed the problem. She had stumbled in the dark, tripping over a chair that had been carelessly left in the hallway. She wore a snug-fitting blue sweater that accentuated her ample cleavage, which Jake had been trying not to ogle the whole time. With a sigh, he started gathering his things, unsure of what to do next. One had a juice box. The Asian flopped onto the couch without greeting anyone and pulled out her phone.