Exposure
Exposure
An Epiphany Novel
Ember Danté
Copyright © 2019 by Ember Danté
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Ember Danté
P.O. Box 9332
Tyler, TX 75711
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019907871
Exposure/ Ember Danté. – 2nd ed.
ISBN 978-1-7339773-0-2 (trade) – ISBN 978-1-7339773-1-9 (ebook) – ISBN 978-1-7339773-2-6 (Kindle)
Created with Vellum
EPIPHANY:
a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something (2): an intuitive grasp of reality through something (such as an event) usually simple and striking (3): an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure
b: a revealing scene or moment
Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.
Emery Allen
Contents
Prologue
1. Emmy
2. Emmy
3. Ian
4. Emmy
5. Ian
6. Emmy
7. Emmy
8. Ian
9. Ian
10. Emmy
11. Emmy
12. Emmy
13. Emmy
14. Emmy
15. Ian
16. Emmy
17. Ian
18. Emmy
19. Ian
20. Emmy
21. Emmy
22. Ian
23. Emmy
24. Ian
25. Emmy
26. Emmy
27. Ian
28. Emmy
29. Ian
30. Emmy
31. Ian
32. Ian
33. Emmy
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Excerpt
About the Author
Prologue
Emmy
I knew something was off as soon as I opened the door. It was too quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator’s compressor. It struck me as odd. Brett should have been packing for our trip, and he never did anything quietly. He was a typical ‘Type A’ personality, abrasive and aggressive, and it pissed him off whenever he had to do something as menial as packing. Pulling the key from the lock, I stepped into the small entry of my boyfriend’s apartment and gave the door a gentle push, closing it with a soft thud.
That’s when I smelled the perfume.
It was that cheap, sickly sweet crap that could only be purchased at the drugstore. My heart clenched with the sudden knowledge that I should have listened, both to my own intuition and my friends. Fighting the urge to flee, I forced myself to move, consumed by the need to confirm my suspicions.
My feet carried me forward, and my vision narrowed, darkening around the edges until everything melted away and all I could see was the path leading to the bedroom. Soft moans and wet slurping sounds mingled with the deep, raspy breathing I recognized as the groans Brett made right before he came. I’d always found those sounds erotic, especially coupled with the knowledge I could make him feel that way. At that moment, however, they made me gag.
I stepped into the open doorway, and there, amid messy piles of clothes and an upended suitcase, lay Brett, eyes closed and his head pressed into his pillow with his hands fisted in the woman’s long blonde hair. She was crouched between his outstretched legs, bare ass in the air, one hand grasping his cock while her head bobbed over it.
The look of bliss on Brett’s face was my undoing.
I blinked hard, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over my cheeks. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a groan and turned to run for the door. My ankle twisted with the motion and almost sent me sprawling, but somehow I righted myself and prevented an unfortunate face-plant.
Haunted by the scene I’d just witnessed, I rushed from the apartment and slammed the door behind me, no longer caring if Brett and his mystery whore heard me. I was so overwhelmed by the enormity of his betrayal that I stopped at the bottom of the steps, and with tears streaming down my face, bent at the waist to heave my stomach contents onto the concrete sidewalk. Time slowed to a crawl with each convulsion, adding a touch of surrealism to the day. My knees buckled under the weight of it all and I clung to the railing for support. The tears came harder, and the bitter taste of stomach acid coated my tongue, making me wretch again until there was nothing left. I was empty—stomach, heart, and soul.
A frantic shout from above was the catalyst I needed to force movement into my shaky legs, and I stumbled the short distance to my car, wiping away snot and spittle with the back of my trembling hand.
“Em,” Brett shouted again, almost tripping down the steps.
“Go to hell!”
“Baby, stop. I can explain,” he stammered, his voice closer now.
I jerked open the driver’s door and whirled on him. “Explain? There’s nothing you can say that would justify what I just saw.”
He stood a few yards away, green eyes wide and face flushed, his bare chest heaving. His jeans hung low on his hips, held up by only a few of the buttons in his fly. My stomach clenched again at the memory of the blonde sucking his dick, and I choked back another mouthful of bile.
“Emmy, I love you.”
“Love?” I laughed. “You have no idea what that means.”
Brett closed the distance between us and spoke in a low tone, as one would speak to a frightened animal. “I slipped. It was an accident. I promise it will never happen again. Just stay.”
The look on his face was so sincere, so honest, as if he actually believed himself. I wasn’t sure which was worse: the possibility that he could believe it, or that he expected it of me. In the past, it would almost have been enough to convince me. Never again. I took a deep breath and released it, willing my heart to slow when all I really wanted was to whale at him with my fists. I banished the thought from my mind with a shake of my head. I would not stoop to his level.
“No,” I whispered. “I can’t. I can’t do this with you anymore. I won’t.”
“Em—”
“I deserve better.”
He opened his mouth to protest then closed it again. His eyes hardened, morphing his expression from sincerity to anger. Yeah, didn’t think so. Nothing ever changed. I slipped into the driver’s seat, my legs finally unwilling to support me any longer. My fingers lacked any form of dexterity and I fumbled at the ignition, cursing under my breath until I finally jammed the key into the slot. I looked up at him and a new wave of tears filled my eyes. Blinking them away, I reached for the door to shut him out of my life.
“Goodbye, Brett.”
I didn’t give him the chance to say anything else. He stood in the middle of the parking lot, hands propped on his hips, watching me drive away. I loved him, but there were too many things I couldn’t forgive—or forget. Catching him with the blonde was painful, but it was the push I needed to make a clean break. The relationship I’d cultivated for the past three years was over, but Brett looked at everything as winning or losing, and I knew him well enough to know he would consider this a huge loss.
He wouldn’t let me go without a fight.
1
Emmy
One Year Later
“Hello, Earth to Emmy Lou. Are you still with us, dollface?”
“Sorry, guess I got distracted.” A brief shake of my head cleared the remaining cobwebs, and I gestured at our surroundings. The club’s decor was rustic yet elegant, and well worth the drive to Grapevine. It was one of our more successful Friday night outings—our weekly after-work happy hour. It was a ritual we started a few years ago when I was just an intern at the magazine. “This place is great. I’m glad you suggested it.”
“Thank Avery. It was his idea.”
Becky leaned closer, brow arched, her voice low and smoky. She nudged Tyler with her elbow. “Gay guys know all the best party spots.”
“You know it, love,” he responded with a wink. “That’s not all we know.”
“So what did I miss?” I asked, poking a finger in his side.
“Please don’t ask him to repeat himself,” grumbled Madison.
“I was just talking about my date with Avery last night,” he replied.
“How was it?” I asked, intrigued.
My question elicited a groan from Madison, and a bright flush spread across her pale skin.
“Is that what you’re calling it? A date?” Becky cackled, flipping her long, dark hair over her shoulder.
“We had dinner first,” he pouted, wrinkling the place between his brows. He gave Becky a harsh look and turned to me. “I was just saying that I told that bitch to suck harder and don’t neglect the balls. They need love, too. A lick and a tug are always appreciated.”
Although I should have expected it, his frankness caught me off guard, and I choked on a mouthful of beer. Tyler’s timing was impeccable, making me wonder if he did it on purpose while I was trying to swallow. Madison patted me on the back, fighting her giggles as tears welled in her bright blue eyes. It’s always been difficult not to laugh at Tyler.
“Gee, thanks, Ty,” I gasped. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“No, but I think you need to work on your oral skills. Don’t you know that most guys like it when you swallow?”
His comment sparked a new round of laughter, causing Becky to slip off her chair in hysterics. Tyler grabbed a cocktail napkin and patted his chest and hips.
“What are you doing?” asked Madison.
“I need a pen. Does anyone have a pen?”
Becky wiped the tears from her eyes and climbed back onto her barstool. “Why do you need a pen?”
“We need visual aids. Someone needs to teach Emmy Lou the finer points of swallowing jizz.”
“I can’t believe you just said that,” Becky snorted.
“I’m a guy. That’s what we do. We say inappropriate shit, and it’s funny.”
“Leave Emmy alone,” Madison said, reaching over to smack Tyler on the back of his head. “Maybe she could have ‘swallowed properly’ if you weren’t talking about your balls.”
“Um, hello? Have we met? I’m a gay man hanging out with my gal pals. I have to mention my balls occasionally.” His finger traced a circle in the air between us. “It helps offset all the estrogen at the table.” Concerned, he turned toward me. “Seriously, are you okay, dollface?”
“I’m fine.” Trying to be stern, I narrowed my eyes. “And I've never had any complaints in that department, thank you very much.”
Turning up the charm, he smiled and batted his eyes. “You know I love you. I’m just looking out for my fellow man. Or maybe just the next man,” he said with a saucy wink.
“Can we cut the blowjob 101 now?” asked Madison, turning to me. “Who sent the flowers?”
“Right. The flowers.” I wasn’t in the mood for that conversation. I twirled the neck of the bottle between my fingers and lowered my gaze to the liquid sloshing within. “They were from Brett.”
“Is he fucking kidding?” Tyler bellowed.
“Lower your voice,” I hissed.
“Has he tried to call you?” asked Madison.
“Yes,” I sighed, suddenly weary with the reality of the situation. “He texts every morning, wishing me a good day.” I gave Tyler a warning look to keep him from going off on the subject. “And no, I don’t respond. He also calls every night, usually around nine or ten.”
It had been a year since I caught Brett with the blonde—a woman who turned out to be one of his coworkers—and during that time he’d established a daily pattern of calling and texting. His messages were often sweet—cajoling, even—exposing the parts of Brett that I’d loved. I wish I could say that was always the case, but unfortunately, he’d sometimes feel compelled to rail at me, hurling insults about how unfair and ungrateful I’d been for not giving him a second chance. It was exhausting.
Being apart from him had opened my eyes to the way he’d controlled me by systematically trying to isolate me from my friends. It worked for a time because he had become my world and I would have done anything to make him happy. Closer to the end, however, I began to resist, and those were the times he became violent. In that light, Tyler’s reaction was understandable, but I didn’t want him to start a rant. It was neither the time nor the place, and though Tyler and my other best friend Jules knew everything, Madison and Becky did not, and I wanted to keep it that way.
“What does the fuckwit have to say?”
“Damn, Tyler, do you have to be such a jerk?” asked Becky. “He and Emmy were together for several years. Maybe he realizes he fucked up and wants to apologize.”
Tyler’s brows disappeared beneath his floppy bangs. “Seriously? I suppose you think she should just forgive and forget?”
“Realistically, forgiveness is more for her benefit than his,” Madison chimed in, her melodious voice always a calming influence. They were talking about me like I wasn’t even there. “But I agree with you. It would be difficult. Ultimately, Emmy deserves peace. He should take the hint and leave her alone.”
I slammed the bottle on the table and held up my hands, palms facing out. “Stop. I don’t want to get into this tonight. I don’t want to ruin our fun by talking about Brett.”
“You really won’t give him another chance?” asked Becky.
“I’m not interested in listening to more of his lies, which is exactly what it would be—lies.” I forced a cheerful tone into my voice that I didn’t feel. “Let’s change the subject, shall we?”
Lifting her glass, Becky shrugged and surveyed the room, seemingly disinterested in further conversation. Madison, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to play peacemaker. “Tell us about your meeting with Kyle. I’ve been itching to ask about it all afternoon, so give it up, girl.”
“That’s what he said,” smirked Tyler.
“Oh, shut up, you.” I laughed, swatting him on the arm before draining the rest of my beer. “Have any of you heard of Miles Shaw?” They all stared back at me, faces blank. I had hoped at least one of my friends had heard of the guy. Otherwise, it made my news seem a little less exciting. “He’s a photographer specializing in fetish erotica for several high-end magazines, including Skin Two. Kyle found out about an upcoming exhibit of his work at Zone Five Gallery, and wants to run a feature on it.”
Then came the part I’d been dying to talk about.
I rubbed my palms together. “I get to do the interview.”
“Yes,” exclaimed Tyler.
Madison leaned forward. “What do you know about this guy?”
“I spent most of the day digging for information and couldn’t find much. All I know is that Miles Shaw isn’t his real name—it’s Cillian Walsh. I couldn’t find any photos, either. Evidently, he’s a private person.” I shrugged. “Kyle knows the gallery owner, who put him in touch with Shaw’s agent.”
“When’s the interview?” asked Becky, showing interest again, probably because we wer
e talking about a man. For all we knew, he could be sixty years old. On second thought, that probably wouldn’t matter to Becky. She always seemed to be on the lookout for Mr. Right—or at least Mr. Right Now—and while I wouldn’t exactly label her a slut, I did think her bar was set a little lower than most. Becky had expensive taste, and over the past three years, I’d seen her settle for less in a relationship if the gentleman in question had money. It was an attribute I personally didn’t understand. I hoped she’d outgrow it and find someone who could truly make her happy.
“Monday morning.”
“Talk about a cool birthday present,” chuckled Tyler.
“That’s what I thought, too,” I agreed.
“Forgive me for being naive, but what exactly is fetish erotica?” asked Madison, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks.
“Well, you know," I stammered, a wave of embarrassment washing over me, “people using and wearing BDSM paraphernalia like latex clothing, whips, floggers, ball gags…”
“Are we talking Fifty Shades, here?” Madison asked, twirling a chunk of hair around her finger, a familiar tell whenever she was flustered.
“Well, sort of.” I wasn’t an expert on the matter and couldn’t believe I was actually talking about it. “The books and movies did reference many of the accoutrements of a BDSM lifestyle, but there’s a lot more to it than that. Regardless of the kink or fetish, it all comes down to trust between partners. It’s fascinating.”