Wardrobe Malfunction (Wardrobe #1)

I can feel myself start to lose hold of Drew, imagining this is me kissing Charly.

Jesus Christ. Drew is kissing Lexi. Get with the fucking program, Vaughn.

It’s not like me to lose character like this.

Dragging myself back, Drew grabs ahold of Lexi’s legs and pulls them from around him. Stepping back, sliding his hands down her legs, he parts them wide, hooking each of her heeled feet onto the barstools on either side of them.

My eyes come up.

Charly.

She’s standing there, right in my eye line, watching.

What the fuck is she doing here?

I know she has to be on set, but couldn’t she stand somewhere else?

This scene is hard enough to do as it is without the current source of my dick’s desire right where I can see her.

I feel a rush of anger at her.

Unable to do anything, I throw the feeling into my character.

Fixing his eyes on Lexi, Drew yanks his jacket off, throwing it aside. He rips off the shirt he’s wearing, sending the buttons scattering. His shoes are kicked off. Belt buckle is the next to go. The zipper is pulled down, and the pants are off.

And then Drew is standing there, stark fucking naked.

There’s always that moment when my brain catches up to the joke—that it is actually me who’s naked, but for a cock sock, in front of all these people.

Quick as a switch, I flick my brain back to Drew.

Drew doesn’t give a fuck that people can see him. Or that he’s about to fuck a stripper on the bar in front of them all.

Stepping back up to Lexi, Drew rips her panties off, making her gasp.

Leaving her in just the bra she’s wearing.

And Natasha with only a nude patch covering the part that no other man but her husband should be seeing.

I really fucking hate this part. More than I hate having to get naked myself. I hate having my friend out here, naked with pretty much everything on show.

But then she’s not alone.

We’re in this together.

But Natasha, being the professional she is, stays in character.

Lexi reaches up, hand going to the back of Drew’s head, and drags him to her mouth, kissing him.

And then they’re fucking. Well, Natasha and I are fake fucking. But for Drew’s and Lexi’s characters, they’re going at it, right here on the bar in this Vegas nightclub, with everyone watching.

And no one stops them.

Because he’s Drew Asher, and he does what the fuck he wants.

Unlike me. Who can’t fuck anyone until this film is done.

Lexi is moaning like it’s the best sex she’s ever had. Drew is pounding into her. His head comes up from her shoulder, and his eyes meet with Charly’s.

For a brief moment, I forgot she was there.

Fuck.

I need to look away. Back to Natasha—Lexi, whoever the fuck.

But I can’t take my eyes off Charly.

The look in her eyes…she looks turned on.

And it’s turning me on.

Then, she bites her lip.

Jesus.

I groan, closing my eyes.

I need to get out of my head—or get Charly out of my head.

Drew.

He opens his eyes, but when he looks down, he’s not staring at Lexi.

I’m staring at Charly.

What the actual fuck?

I shut my eyes tight.

Opening them back up, I see Natasha.

But I need to see Lexi.

Fuck, my head is so messed up right now.

Drew kisses Lexi, his hips pumping hard against hers. Her legs move, coming around his waist, the stilettos of her heels digging in his back.

Charly’s boots.

My mind flashes back to that scenario of fucking her with only those boots on.

Oh, Jesus, no.

I’ve got a hard-on.

I’ve got a fucking hard-on.

Think of something to get rid of it.

Mom. Grandma. Grandma naked.

Fuck! It won’t go down.

It’s because I haven’t had sex for so long.

Now, he’s up, and he’s not going anywhere.

Natasha slides her hand into my hair, bringing her lips to my ear, which is now concealed by her arm. She whispers, “You okay?”

She can feel my erection.

How could she not when it’s poking her in the thigh?

God, I’m mortified.

I’m fucking this up—literally.

This has never happened to me before.

It’s all Charly’s fault for being so hot and being right here.

I need to get a handle on this.

“Cut!” Brandon calls.

Thank fuck.

“What happened?” Natasha asks, tipping her head back, staring me in the eyes.

She looks uneasy, and I feel like a fucking pervert.

I close my eyes on an embarrassed groan. “I’m so sorry.”

She laughs. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. It happens.”

“Not with me, it doesn’t.” I’ve never gotten a hard-on while doing a sex scene. “It’s not you,” I reassuringly tell her.

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or relieved by that statement.” She laughs again.

“I’ve got your robe, Natasha,” Logan says from beside us.

“You okay to move?” Natasha asks me.

“Um…” I glance around for the current source of my problem because she’ll be the one with my robe.

God, this situation is so fucked up.

I see her approaching with my robe in hand.

“Sure.” I shift back a little, allowing Natasha room to move. I help her down from the bar, making sure to keep my pecker pointed in the direction of the bar and nowhere else.