#lo studio orale | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pennyserenade · 8 months

Text

three's company

pairing: dieter bravo x ex-wife!reader x dustin mulray rating: e (explicit) tags/warnings: smut, pinv, protected sex, oral (female receiving) *inserts good for her meme*, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, light voyeurism, talk and use of drugs and alcohol (weed & wine), the weirdest situationship you ever did see, a bit of angst, jealousy, fingering, dubious consent (but like, only a tiny bit dubious. the tiniest bit) word count: 16.k+ (don't ask me what happened there) summary: The world is slowly descending into madness all around you, so you decide to give in and go with Dieter to his latest poor decision: a franchise movie filming in England. One night while there, you both sweep another into this odd half-hearted, life-long tryst you've got. a/n: i don't know how i got here but i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i could dedicate this to a lot of things but mostly i'm going to dedicate it the red shoe diaries. thanks to david and the horny '90s. also to maria (@sweetly-yours-and-mine) who has spent countless nights working through this with me. you are a gem

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“Facetime isn’t the same as real people.”

“Those are bad movies, Bravo. I’m not sure I want to be around those who make them for that long.”

“I know.”

“Actors have never been my favorite company.”

“I know.”

“And I just don’t want to go.”

“I know.”

“I’ll learn to stop answering your calls one day, you know? And then you’ll do everything alone, even a global disaster.”

“I knew you’d give in. That's my girl.”

——

The hotel is a converted English Manor - the very stuff of childhood fairytales and honeymoon daydreams with its Italianate architecture and technicolor green grass. It is warm, inviting, with high ceilings and the soft, consistent hum of human activity as workers scurry around to greet the incoming guests. They filter you in through white plastic tents and stick cotton swabs up your nose before giving you the WIFI password and a room with a stunning view of their expansive, manicured grounds. You don’t have any grounds to look in America, and your studio apartment has been eerily quiet as of late. The pulse of life has stopped in Los Angeles, but here it comes back with an unvarying rhythm.

You don’t like to admit it, but Dieter was right: you are not above loneliness.

The room they give you feels anachronistic, too modern and beige, but cozy in the way all four star hotels aim to be. You’ve got a television, a pristine bathroom that hosts a bathtub and a shower, and enough floor space to move around without stubbing any toes. There’s ample furniture too: a reading chair by the large window, the queen bed, and another chair by the door, which looks like it’s meant only for bags and the stray suit jacket. They’ve given you decorative pillows and instructions not to leave for two weeks - not for any reason.

You lay out on the queen bed and Facetime Dieter. The irony of the situation is too good not to tease him for.

“I know,” he gruffs, picking up your call immediately.

You can’t help but laugh at the misery that drips from his voice. “I’ve always been better at being alone. I think it was you who didn’t want to be alone.”

He runs a hand through his unruly hair and frowns. Even if you won’t take it, you like the idea that he’s only a long walk away now. You give in and shuck off your winner’s ego. “It’s only two weeks,” you assure kindly.

“If I’m good, do you think I can earn a sleepover?” There’s mischief in his eyes, flirtation thick on his tongue. You look askance at him and the dimple in his cheek deepens. “I’m only kidding of course.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan.

“It’ll be nice after two weeks,” he promises. You know that tone, far off and introspective. It’s not good.

“Just Facetime me when you’re losing your mind.”

“You don’t want that. I’ll be on the phone with you all the time.”

You stare down at the phone, frowning. He smiles, coming back to his body. “I’ll be alright, kid. I always am.”

“Two weeks is not so long.”

“No,” he agrees quietly.

——

Two weeks is a prison sentence.

The room they put you in, while spacious, is merely a cell block now, reduced down to its most basic elements: the bathroom with the shower and the tub, which you’ve used so much it's a miracle your skin hasn’t fallen right off; the bedroom area, with the reading chair by the window; the queen bed, which you stopped making after day four and try your damndest not to fall in before 3pm. You’ve paced the floor so many times, feeling the angry itch of loneliness coupled with a newfound, perpetually lurking anxiety.

“One more day,” he reminds you over the telephone, trying to allay your fears. You hear the sound of his tub running in the background, over the static of his voice, and you wonder what he looks like right now. You picture two week’s more worth of beard growth, the slouch of his back as he sits on the edge of the tub, the pudge of his stomach, and the inciting trail of hair below his belly button. And his naked self. At home he was perpetually nude, and you imagine it’s no different now.

You find your own reflection in the mirror over the sink: sunken eyes, with bags underneath and your flesh taking on a slightly gray cast, the color of isolation.The window sun doesn’t seem to be helping much. You frown self consciously, but try to remind yourself he must be in a state himself; he stopped Facetiming you a week ago, opting for the good ol’ telephone call at least once or twice a day since.

“I’m going out of my mind,” you say as you continue to look at yourself. You lower your voice, vulnerability shared in a hushed, confessional tone. You imagine Dieter again: with that soft concentrated look that pulls his eyebrows together, the one that enhances the lines between them. They called him a curious child and now he’s got the lines to show for it. He told you that. The thought makes you smile at yourself, but you still look so tired.

“Just one day,” he supplies again. He sounds vaguely apologetic.

“I know,” you tell him simply.

“What have you been up to today?” he asks. You hear water come to a stop and a gentle splash follows it. He’s gotten in. “Anything fun?”

“I read, watched a movie. You?”

“I got high and jerked off. So, you know, nothing different than the past thirteen days that you’ve called.”

You scan your reflection in the mirror, contemplating your next words. It isn’t a good idea, but nothing is. “What did you think about?” you ask.

“Lots of things.”

He tells you this as casually as if you’ve asked him his name. You are so achingly lonely and this is so embarrassing, but you can’t help it. You know he’ll let you. Hell, he’s probably been waiting weeks for this. Years.

“Do you ever think about me?”

There’s a short, considerate pause. “Do you want the truth or a lie?”

“A lie.” You worry your lip between your teeth.

“Oh, never.”

You laugh, relieved. “I thought you were going to say something different.”

“Hm,” he hums, “I don’t think that’s the truth. I think you worried about what the real truth would be. We’ve got something here and it’s worrisome.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Mine too. She thinks inviting you was a terrible idea but she wants you to know she’s thinking of you.”

“Mine hates you.”

He grunts. “Suppose I deserve that, don't I?”

“I think this is the first time in history that you diverted phone sex with talk like that.”

“I’m getting older, wiser,” he jokes. Then, “Do you think of me?”

“Do you want a lie or the truth?”

He considers it for a moment. “The truth. Hit me with it hard, baby.”

“Oh, a lot more than I should.”

——

The rapt sound of knuckles against your door incites an excitement in you that you haven’t felt since childhood. You jump from the bed, uncaring of the state of yourself, hungry for the news that awaits on the other side.

A kindly British man tells you that the quarantine has been lifted and that there will be a party and dinner for the cast and crew in a couple of hours. Formal wear is encouraged but not required.mYou spend the next few hours undoing what’s been done by isolation: the bags under your eyes; the unkempt room, with the fetid smell of loneliness wafting over everything; the living out of your suitcase and the wrinkles on your best clothes. You find an iron in the closet and shave your entire body.

Dieter stops by your room while you’re in the middle of getting ready. He sits quietly at the edge of your bed, watching you in the mirror with that dazed look in his eyes. He wears the ugliest goddamn housecoat you’ve ever seen, but he’d smiled so wide at the door that you’ve forgiven him for it.

“You’re excited,” he observes. His fingers fiddle with the sunglasses in his hands. “I thought you hate actors.”

You try to steady your hand as you bring the eyeliner up to your eyelid. “I don’t care what they are, as long as they can hold a conversation,” you mumble.

“I can hold a conversation. Maybe we ought to stay here and celebrate with each other.”

You look at him in the mirror, trying to figure out if he’s serious or not. You can’t tell. “You’re kidding.”

He shrugs. There’s a distant look in his eyes, as if he’s thinking too hard about something.

“Are you high?” you ask him.

“No, but I’m thinking maybe I should be.”

“Cheer up, boy scout. You’re the one who wanted to do this goddamn movie.”

He lets out a defeated sigh and falls back into the mattress with a groan. “I’m going to kill myself.”

———

He doesn’t kill himself, but he looks like he’s still weighing the prospect of it as you take your drink from the bartender.

Dieter suffers no one lightly, and you have a feeling the personable strawberry blonde in front of him isn’t exactly his crowd. You smile over the rim of your drink, enjoying seeing him squirm for once. Everything seems to come easy to him–except this. He’s never been very good at socializing when he doesn’t want to.

“That your boyfriend?”

You turn your head and find Dustin Mulray. You feel a hint of your teenage self come back to you as you look at him, struck wordless. It’s nothing as strong as the love that had you tacking up posters with his face on it to bedroom walls, but something vaguely akin to it. You’re happy to find it manifests itself as a friendly smile instead of love confessions. Perhaps it’s helped by his appearance: In his infinity scarf and beige knitted sweater, he reminds you more of a homely professor than a Hollywood movie star. You think: Movie stars! They’re just like us! while shaking your head in answer.

“No,” you tell him, “He’s my ex-husband.”

“Ah. That’s my ex-wife with him. Marriage is tricky, isn’t it?”

He takes a seat next to you and orders a drink. The bartender sits it on a napkin for him and he turns to you, his blue-green eyes awaiting an answer. You hadn’t thought he would want to talk to you, not really. You’re used to being invisible at events.

“I guess you could say that,” you reply.

“Are you working on the movie?”

You remember what Dieter told you to say if anyone asked: “For legal purposes, yes. Art coordinator #3.”

This amuses him, drawing out a smile. “That title come with pay or would you say it's just an internship?”

“I guess you could call it an internship.” You smile back at him. “Why? You think you could pull some strings and get me a paycheck?”

“I think I’d do you one better and get you a better place of employment. Have you read the script?” This makes you let out a genuine laugh. He brightens, smiling a little wider. “What? It’s the truth! Everyone thinks us Hollywood actors just commit to this shit knowing it’s shit but we don’t! I mean—“ He looks over the crowd, lowering his head closer to yours conspiratorially. “—Not those of us who started at the beginning. We thought it’d be good. Like Jurassic Park, but yanno, we didn’t get Steven Spielberg. We keep getting arthouse fucks. And I like arthouse fucks–don’t get me wrong–but what’s a man with an IPhone know about blockbusters?”

“Ah, I feel you but I can’t quite reach you from here.”

“No, I bet not.”

There’s something simmering in that line. If you didn’t know better, you’d figure it was a light flirtation. Surely not.

“I liked your early stuff better,” you confess.

“Me too. But those were the glory days and now I have alimony and child support to pay. How about him?” he nods in the direction of Dieter. “You get half his ass in court?”

You shake your head. His candor, although surprising, is refreshing. “No, no big payout. We’re amicable.”

He clicks his tongue in awe. “I envy the bastard but I can’t say I didn’t deserve my lot.”

“You haven’t even finished your first drink and you’re already gonna confess your sins?” You raise a curious, teasing eyebrow. He hangs his head and laughs.

“You married an actor. Don’t we all wear our hearts on our sleeves?”

“Mm, not mine,” you shake your head. “It seems he saved his emotions for the silver screen.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to raise his own curious eyebrow.

“How cozy.” You look over your shoulder to see Dieter standing in front of your chair, his fingers reaching out to the back of your chair. He looks…jealous.

“Dustin, this is Dieter,” you introduce them. Dustin sticks his hand out and Dieter plays nice, shaking it with a passing grin.

“Nice to meet you,” Dustin mutters. Dieter nods his head. “Yeah, you too. I was actually coming over here to steal her away for a moment. If she doesn’t mind.” He looks over at you, expectant. There’s a bite to his words you don’t like at all. How fucking rich, you think bitterly, remembering all the times you had to sit by while he shamelessly flirted with half the fucking world.

“She does mind,” you respond. The sharp finality of it makes even Dustin cough awkwardly.

Dieter looks taken aback. “Okay,” he mutters, looking between the two of you. He nods again, as though he’s drawn some conclusion. “Alright.”

You watch as he walks away to the other side of the room. Looking back at Dustin, you give him a rueful grin. “Sorry. And here I was, talking about how amicable we are. Exes of the year.”

He raises his glass. “To us pitiful people and our pitiful crash and burn marriages.”

You clink your glass against his, fighting the urge to cry or kill Dieter. “To us.”

—

The dinner table arrangement is unforgiving for Dieter. He’s sat next to Dustin at the far end of the table, with yet another red headed actress to his left. Unlike the talkative one, this one is in a state of brooding and continually huffing at everything he says. You’re slightly more lucky, sat at the other end, sandwiched between Dustin's ex-wife and the director.

He watches woefully as you chat with the ex-wife, nodding your head along politely. You were always such a good listener, even with the worst people. He frowns. He had changed his outfit between the party and the dinner, opting for a classier open dress shirt. He had seen the look in your eye when you had opened the door for him earlier, and figured he could use all the help he could get now that he’s undoubtedly pissed you off. He had hoped that they would’ve sat him next to you so you could talk. He’s even wearing that cologne you like. Or used to like. He doesn’t know anymore.

“So, like what—you usually get along with her or…?” Dustin asks him, following his eyeline right to you. Dustin brings the cool champagne they’ve served to his lips, his eyes too burningly curious as he gazes at you.

Dieter tries not to be possessive. He saw it in your eyes, heard it in your tone: that sharp, angry disappointment that you’re so used to delivering him. You don’t like when he gets like that. Not that he has much. This is a relatively new side effect he’s required since the divorce. He shrugs lazily, pushing the sunglasses up his nose. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

This earns him an even laugh. He looks over at the older man, frowning. “What?”

“I see magazines with your face all over it, man. C’mon, we all kiss and tell, even if we don’t want to.”

Dieter bites at the side of his cheek and considers him for a moment. “Look you and your wife-“

“Ex-wife-“

Dieter nods, uncaring. “Sure, your ex wife — you both like to talk a lot.”

“I’m just trying to figure out if I can make a pass at her or not. Make it easy for me. I don’t want to have to suffer this entire shoot because you’ve got some weird shitty thing going on between you. I don’t step on kept grounds….Well, not anymore,” he adds.

“How noble,” Dieter says wryly, “She’s not mine to answer for. Besides, it seems like you were already doing a good job at making a pass earlier.”

He fights down the petulant child inside of him, biting at his lip instead of wearing an all out pout. Through the concealed tint of his sunglasses, his eyes soften at the sight of you across the room. He can almost feel the crack in his heart as he considers the fact that you might have actually liked talking to this man.

Dieter knows one day it’ll come, the moment when you find yourself in a serious relationship with someone else. Most of the time he thinks he’ll be okay — that it will affect him like it must but it won’t ruin him entirely — but sometimes, like right now, he worries he’ll get on his knees and beg you not to do it. You don’t deserve that. He hates himself for the greed he feels, how he can’t ever just let you be happy. He doesn’t want to be like this dick, taking and taking from his ex-wife, all while he noses around and wets his dick in anything that will let him. He never wants to embarrass you like that. Not again. Never again.

Chugging the last bits of his drink, Dieter looks over at the man. Dustin looks back at him, nonplussed. It takes herculean strength to say the next words.

“She doesn’t like men who are crude or too direct, but to be frank, I think you can’t really fuck up with her. She likes you and always has.” Dieter casts a glance in your direction again, feeling mischievous. He smirks, letting himself have this one. “Well, since you were last relevant, that is.”

Dustin laughs the burn off, shaking his head. He touches Dieter’s shoulder in a show of faux friendliness. “We’re in the same shitty franchise now, bud, so welcome to the club,” he whispers, just low enough for him to hear.

Dieter raises his empty glass to Dustin with a forced grin. Feeling defeated but comforted by the fact that he’s now got something to separate him from that asshole, he raises his hand to the pretty waitress for another drink. To celebrate.

But he truthfully doubts there will be much to celebrate.

He fucking hates Hollywood.

—-

Truth be told, Dieter didn’t plan on doing this tonight. Getting high. He planned, if he was being honest with himself - and he is trying, at his most introspective more now than ever - to be doing you. Had he invited you on the vacation just to fuck you? No, but ignobility inevitably follows in the tracks of his nobility. It was written between the lines, something you both had hinted at over the past two weeks. But now you’re somewhere else. There's a lot of rooms in this hotel. Maybe you’re in your own. Maybe not. Dustin had looked like he was going to devour you at the bar earlier tonight, so probably, you’re doing him in his room.

Or do you bring men back to your own place now? He doesn’t know.

Dieter would blanch if he wasn’t so high. He sits in the middle of the decorative couch, staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes, and he tries to imagine a different version of your last phone conversation.

When you asked if he ever thought of you when he touched himself, he’d tell you the truth. Because you like the truth. He’d say: all the time. More than he should. Really a sickening, depressing amount because he misses you, especially lately. New York is a terrible place to be these days; death permeates everything and nothing seems as right as it used to. Even loneliness feels worse, no longer poetic or artistic but just lonely. It's less like Al Pacino on the set of the Godfather and more like Michael Corleone, sitting alone at the empty dining room table. Days stretch on and on, and he’s hungry for life that has halted so he paints terribly, insecure of even hobbies. What else is he supposed to do but play with himself and remember poignantly that he had once been married to a lovely sort of woman who would’ve made it all better, if only he hadn’t fucked it up?

Well, he doesn’t think about that last part so much. It doesn’t really make for good masturbating material.

He wasn’t sure he was going to survive the pandemic before they asked him to do this movie. And of course he asked you along when they had. It’s the only way in the world he could ask for your help: through omission of truths and beating around the bush. He wonders if you might take pity on his soul again and let him crash with you for a while, just to wait the rest of this out together after the movie wraps. If you really are fucking Dustin, it might make things tense but not impossible. He’ll learn to live with it. He’ll have to. What else is he going to do? Go back to this moment in time and stop you?

Perversely he wonders if Dustin is not the first man you’ve fucked since the divorce. You’re not his last but he wishes you were a lot. It’s been nearly two years and he’s forgotten what you feel like, what you taste like. It’s miserable. When he touches himself and thinks of you, you’re like an apparition, some Franksteinian woman built of fragmented, hazy memories. All he remembers was that the last time wasn’t nice and that you didn’t cum. He couldn’t make you, something about you being too sad or too angry. It was a shame, because he’d always imagined the two of you would’ve gone out with a bang.

This thought makes him smile, but it doesn’t last for long. There's nothing funny about your divorce, not really. He broke your heart tediously, and now you’ve got to tell people that it wasn’t just one thing but many things. He knows that. An unanswered phone call. That waitress in Vegas who he flirted with so unabashedly your mother thought he was cheating on you - along with half the internet and for a brief moment, yourself too. The apartment in New York he bought and moved into without asking you. That art house opening he missed, the one you’d asked him continually throughout the week to set time aside for. So many things—the seven sins and just a few more to top it off.

He wasn’t really surprised when you had asked him for a divorce over lunch one day. You didn’t even live together at the time - the New York apartment became more permanent than he had originally planned for - and you looked so tired, like you were drained of life, overwrought and quiet. What surprised him was the fact that you hadn’t done it sooner. The knowing that you had tried against hope was not an easy one for him to reconcile with for a long time after that. Even in that moment you had developed a sort of halting lisp as you pushed the statement out, as though your own body protested it. He remembers that better than the sex.

You had waited for him to get better and he never did, so you both took your chicken salads with a side of failed marriage that day, and now here you are. Dieter sighs, feeling the familiar pangs of remorse.

“Whatever drugs you’re on must not be very good because you look miserable.”

Dieter lifts his head off the back of the loveseat, straining his eyes to make out the shape that’s hovering in his doorway. His brain catches up with him before his eyes do, and the distinct mumbling voice of the figure comes to him. Dustin.

Shaking his head, Dieter laughs, relieved. “I was thinking.”

Dustin takes this as an invitation to cross the corridor. As he comes closer, Dieter finds he’s in more casual clothes - perhaps even sleepwear - clutching a bottle of wine in his hand. If this is a peace offering, Dieter will take the olive branch. He’s so goddamn pleased you’re not fucking this guy, he might even kiss him.

“You want a joint?” he asks him, straightening on the couch. Suddenly it’s not so hard to be magnanimous, not with the sheer euphoria of you not having betrayed him (is he allowed to call it that? Probably not, but there’s no word quite so apt). He feels he might even be smiling, but he can’t be sure. He hopes so.

“God, please,” Dustin groans. He sits the bottle of wine on the table and rubs his hands together eagerly as Dieter lights the one he’s been puffing away at.

“I figured you were the one with the goods,” Dustin says around a cloud of smoke. He looks over at the open door, nodding at it. “We should close that, huh?”

Dieter shrugs. He thought he had closed the door, truthfully. “Probably should. I think I saw a kid here,” he says. Neither of them get up.

Dustin passes the joint to Dieter. He takes another hit when he gets it because fuck it, this is a celebration. “What, she didn’t want you?” he can’t help but ask.

Dustin laughs mutedly. “I don’t know. I figured by the way you reacted at dinner that I better not try. And there's that thing with my wife.” He shrugs. “I’m always fucking that one up. I thought I should just wander around and see where the night takes me.”

Dieter rests his head back against the couch again, nodding sympathetically. “Mm, I understand. Me too.”

“What’d you do?”

“The better question would be what didn’t I do.”

“Did you cheat?”

Dieter turns his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t fuck anyone else while we were together but she said I might as well as have. And I guess she’s whose opinion really matters, isn’t it?”

Dustin mumbles an agreement. “I fucked a lot of people,” he confesses. “Even the divorce lawyer.”

“And she still talks to you?” Dieter asks.

“We’ve got a kid.”

“That’s right. She told me that, because she likes to talk.”

“Hey don’t be a dick. Yours does too, you know? That’s what women like to do—talk. And they like to be listened to.”

Dieter narrows his eyes. “Is that what you were doing at the bar? Talking?”

Dustin nods. “Yeah. Listening, too.”

“I listened.”

“But you didn’t like what you heard.”

Dustin says this more as a statement than a question. Dieter looks back to the ceiling and pinches his eyes closed, too high. “Mm,” he mumbles. “I’m just so happy she isn’t fucking you right now. I really thought she would be there for a second and it was making me sick.”

Dustin huffs out a laugh. “I take it you never shared?”

“What do you mean ‘shared’?” Dieter asks. “Like wife swapping? No. We seemed to have left the practice in the sixties.”

“Not necessarily. Threesomes?”

“Have you done that?”

Dustin shrugs, smiling unashamedly. “Before we got married, of course,” he tells Dieter. Then, “And a little after too.”

Even with the high, Dieter can’t help but feel curious about the arrangement. “With men?”

“Sure. It wouldn’t have been fair with just women. That was the rules, anyway. Why? You’ve never been with a man?”

“A few. That’s not what strikes me as odd. You just didn’t strike me as the type.”

“I wouldn’t say I was, but fair is fair. And it can be nice. Interesting.”

Dieter rolls his eyes. “Gay sex is gay sex, no matter how you cut it. If you’re about to tell me it doesn’t count, I’m gonna laugh.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. I just like there to be a girl there too.”

The information weighs heavily on Dieter’s drug induced state of mind. He finds himself beginning to laugh. “Wait a minute, are you trying to talk me into a threesome? Is that what this is? Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson? That’s what the wine is about, isn’t it?” He points to the bottle in question, and everything suddenly seems much too funny.

Dustin begins laughing too. “No! The wine was for something. I just couldn’t figure out what”

Dieter ignores him. “Your…your wife hates me,” he manages to hiccup out, “And mine? She—“ She hates me too. This thought makes the laughing come to a slow halt. That’s right. She hates him too.

“I bet she’d do it,” Dustin supplies, soft chuckles still emitting from him. “They can surprise you like that sometimes.”

Dieter shakes his head, his smile more soft, almost sad. “Not with me. I pissed her off. I was thinking I’d try with that waitress downstairs but she’s young and I’ll for sure hate myself for that later.”

“Don’t do that. Your wife really will hate you for that,” Dustin advises. “Take it from an expert. Just call her. Apologize.”

Dieter shakes his head. “That won’t work. It’ll just make her more mad when she realizes I’m high.”

Dustin considers this. “Maybe. I don’t know. Let’s go to her room. Do it in person.”

“You can’t go,” Dieter tells him evenly. It’s not often he’s the voice of reason — even less so when he’s high — and this dynamic is beginning to make him feel out of sorts. He wants to shut his eyes and sleep this off, but naturally — because he is who he is — he will follow this train of thought through with Dustin.

“Why not?” Dustin smiles widely, catching his stride in the conversation. He speaks more animatedly, bringing his hands into the mix for emphasis. “She doesn’t want to fight with you in front of me! And she can see we’ve made friends. That’s progress! She’ll like that.”

Dieter considers this. He does want to show you he’s sorry — really.

“You just want to fuck her,” he says to Dustin. He’s too high to be angry, even if he really wanted to be, but he is suspicious.

When Dustin doesn’t respond to that, Dieter narrows his eyes. “You do!” he accuses, acutely horrified by the idea.

Dustin looks at him, a smile playing across his lips. “C’mon, aren’t you a little curious to see what it’d be like?”

“No. And besides, even if I was, I don’t think she would. She’s not…I don’t know, I don't know how to explain it.” Dieter pinches up his face, stuck for the right words. “She’s not a prude by any means, but I don’t think she would.”

“Would you? If she did?”

Dieter doesn’t consider the question, only beats around it. “She wouldn’t. I know her.”

He watches as Dustin rises from the couch. “Let’s just go ask her.”

Dieter jumps up, feeling sobriety sneak up on him. “No!” he says, horrified.

But Dustin has snatched up his bottle of wine and began to make his way out into the corridor before Dieter can stop him.

So crumbles the olive branch.

—-

When you see Dustin standing at your door, holding up a bottle of wine with a goofy grin, you think it's a sign from the Heavens above. No more Dieter, that’s what it tells you. He’s ruined your life for a decade now and it’s a cause you’ve got to accept is a lost one. A new man is here and you’re lonely, and you didn’t even have to go search this one out. You smile, open the door a little wider.

But then you see Dieter shuffling down the corridor, brown eyes blown wide. Dustin looks over at him with a grin and you realize with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t what you imagined it was. You don’t know what it is, to be exact, but you’re sure it’s not right.

They look up to no good, with glazed eyes and Dustin’s too wide grin. You close your door just a smidge when Dieter shoulders to the front. He smiles apologetically, and you instinctively hold out a hand to keep him steady. But he’s steady, in no risk of tumbling forward. He puts his hands over yours before you quickly take it away. He looks stung but you don’t care.

“Hey kid,” he says sheepishly. His eyes seem to be asking you something - saying something - but you’ve long lost that way of communicating. You frown, slumping against the doorway.

“Make friends?” you ask, nodding back to Dustin.

Dustin nods his head, unaware or — more likely — too high to be aware. “He’s being a good boy,” he vouches.

“I’ve been good,” Dieter echoes. He tries another grin and that easy charm of his, but none of it works. You fold your arms over your chest.

“Listen, I’m a little tired and—“

“I’m sorry. I know what I did earlier was shitty. I don’t know why I do things like that. Don’t shut me out. Please.” Dieter pouts. The sincerity of his words punches you in the gut, and makes you angrier somehow. Like it’s mocking, even though you know it’s not. He seems to sense this and he continues talking. “I know I don’t own you like that. I had no right. None at all. And I’ve been meaning to say it to you all night. And I know you’re thinking ‘this prick is high.’ I am. I’m really high, and I can’t deny it, but I’m sorry too. I was sorry even before I got high. That’s why I got high.”

Dustin giggles behind Dieter. You look over, feeling pangs of annoyance for him too. Now that he’s not your knight in shining armor he’s just some asshole in kahoots with this asshole. “That’s terrible,” he huffs out. Dieter glares at him over his shoulder before you’ve got the chance.

“I’m sorry,” Dieter tells you again, pleadingly. You shake your head.

“You’re always sorry. That was always the problem.”

“I know! God, I know.”

“Ask her if she wants some weed,” Dustin whispers.

“And I suppose you smuggled that in?” you ask, straightening yourself up. You feel motherly, glowering at him like this. You want to wring his neck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed fuck you, make you feel eternal and sexy. But no. Now you’re so matronly, standing there in your PJs, frowning so hard wrinkles are mapping their permanent home in the places your face creases.

He nods guiltily. “But you knew that! I’ve talked about it all week.”

“Yeah but—“ you wave your hands in the air. “It all adds up with you. It’s..”

“The little things,” he finishes sadly. “I know.”

“Why do you know so little if you know so much?”

Dustin coughs suggestively behind Dieter and Dieter turns around swiftly. “No,” he tells him sharply.

You furrow your eyebrows. “No, what?”

Dieter shakes his head dismissively and Dustin shrugs, looking around aimlessly. He’s trying hard to contain a laugh or a grin, you can tell. You hate that Dieter is making you a bitch in front of him. You could be fucking him for God’s sake, but you’re just annoyed.

“Go to bed,” you tell them.

“Well that’s the idea,” Dustin counters, his lips drawing upwards. Dieter looks pallid.

“It wasn’t,” he tells you. “I swear. I came here to stop him from asking!”

“Asking what?” you say, exasperated.

“For a threesome,” Dustin says simply, like it’s nothing at all. “Though I can see now that’s probably not in the cards. And it wasn’t really asking for one, just a hypothetical.”

You look over to Dieter. He looks down at the floor, like a kid in trouble. “Dieter,” you scold.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t want him to ask. I told him—I said you wouldn’t. I didn’t even want to suggest it,” he mumbles helplessly. “That’s not what this was supposed to be at all, kid. I swear. I just wanted to say sorry and…I don’t know.”

You don’t know whether to believe him or not. “But you talked about it?”

“Hm?” Dieter raises an eyebrow.

“The threesome? You were talking about having one?”

“Yeah, but not like—it wasn’t locker room talk. Not really. He just started talking about it and asked if you would and I said no—“

“How do you know I would say no?” you huff. “You don’t know. You don’t know me.”

Dieter frowns. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah it is,” you nod. “I’m different now. I’m not the woman you dragged around all those years.”

“I never thought of you like that.”

“Well, still, yes,” you say, feeling angry and stung and in a desperate need to prove him wrong and spite him all in one go. It’s such an ugly feeling and it’s not right, but you can tell the words take him by surprise.

“Yes?…” he asks. “Listen, I get that you’re angry, but you don’t have to do this.”

“No I want to,” you say. “If that’s what you want, what he wants, I want it too. If that’s what you’ve come for, then you’ll get it.”

He shakes his head. “You’re angry and you’re not thinking straight. You’re…being mean. And you’re only going to piss yourself off more, I think, and then you’re going to be mad at me because I drove you to it.”

You shake your head. “No. I think I’m being quite nice. I’m standing here telling you I want you to fuck me. I want him to watch. I want him to fuck me and you to watch. Whatever perverse things you cooked up together, let’s do them. If you’re going to make me mad, then I’m asking that you have the decency to fuck me too.”

Dieter struggles to compute the information. You do too. You hate him. You love him. You are so high strung and pissed and you’d do anything to be touched. Let him prove himself, goddamnit, or let him be damned jealous. Either way, you get fucked. Everyone's a winner or only you are. You don’t give a shit.

Dustin seems altogether pleased by this, clapping a hand onto Dieter’s shoulder. “I told him you might surprise him.”

“Mm hm,” you hum. You do not break eye contact with Dieter. He nods his head, resolving to trust you—or to go along with it. It doesn’t matter, just so long as he doesn’t question it.

When he steps forward, you put your hand up, blocking him. “First the weed.”

He lets out a soft sigh and stays put for a second, looking as though he wants to say something more. He’s wise enough not to in the end.

As he rounds the corner, heading back to his room, you finally glance back up at Dustin. He smiles softly. “You don’t have to do this,” he tells you. “I really was just to get some fire under his ass. I mean, I’m not against it, but if you’re just doing it because you’re pissed—“

You cut him off with a hard look. “I want to,” you say resolutely. “And I am pissed. So be it. Men start wars for less.” You shrug. He looks amused and you feel something arise in you, up alongside the anger — arousal. Desire. Something. He smiles handsomely. The grayish scruff on his cheeks bodes well with his aged features.

You do want to fuck him. That’s freeing information. Propping the door open wider with the kick of your foot, you nod him in. “C’mon. Get in here before I change my mind.”

The dichotomy between his laughter and the intensity of the fight you just had with Dieter makes you smile despite yourself.

“Wouldn’t want that,” he responds with a wink.

He brushes past you with his body and you fight the urge to suck in a shallow breath at the sudden casual contact. As he moves into the room, he pulls you away from the door with him, gripping at your shoulders. He doesn’t let you stay back and wait for Dieter like some lost puppy.

You look at him, eyes wide, and he hands you the wine in his hand. He is so unserious that it’d be plain endearing if it hadn’t been a source of annoyance a moment before. You watch as he wets his lips and looks down at yours. There seems to be a pregnant pause, eyes searching yours for an answer to an invisible question. You think of Dieter, of all the sex you’ve not had since the divorce, and how hurt he seemed when you pulled back from his touch. You love him so much. It isn’t fair. You will love him your whole life if you don’t stop this. You heed your mother’s warning too late and you kiss Dustin hard on the mouth. He takes some of your grief with a practiced tongue, kissing you deeply until you’re interrupted by a cough in the corner a few blurry moments later.

Dustin smiles, holding your face between his hands. “The weed,” he remarks. Dieter nods. He looks a little hurt, a little angry, a little betrayed—looks like he’s always made you feel, and you are not surprised it doesn’t make you feel any better.

You love him. You fool.

You shake Dustin off and Dieter hands you the joint with a forced grin. “It’s strong,” he warns softly as he lights the end. As you inhale, Dustin comes to stand behind you. Dieter’s eyes watch as his arms snake around you. He plants wet kisses alongside your neck and Dieter worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

Dieter reaches out to you, touches the wrist you’ve risen to put the joint in your mouth. His calloused fingers try to reach across burned bridges and you aid him, handing the joint back and reaching out to him too. His baggy sleep shirt is easy to take between your fingers. He takes a hit and then comes closer to you, pressing into you.

When he kisses you for the first time, you think of an ouroboros. Whole and eternal, destruction and rebirth. Your mother hates him when she once loved him. He knows your birthday and the way you like your coffee in the morning. You don’t know what he did yesterday. He doesn’t know your friend’s old cat died and that you’d been to two weddings before COVID hit. He tastes familiar and feels strange against you, unreal and vivid. You open your mouth and he slides in his tongue. The kiss isn’t like the one with Dustin; he does not explore you as much as he remembers you.

Dustin and Dieter pass the joint between them. When you feel the loss of warmth behind you, you turn curiously, detaching from Dieter’s lips. Dustin goes to abandon the joint on the table by the bed and Dieter’s hot mouth presses kisses alongside your neck. You wrap your fingers in his hair and you can't help but moan when he tongues alongside your jaw. Dustin’s eyes spark with delight at the sound.

You look down at the wine bottle still in your hand and hold it up. Dustin takes it from you, grinning. “I forgot to tell you it was my gift. I’ll open it. It’s good, aged to perfection,” he comments.

He searches your bedside for a glass and finds a crystal one beside the water vase that they gave you earlier that week. He looks down at the bottle in his hand and frowns. “Fuck, I forgot the wine opener.”

“Call the desk,” Dieter says against your skin.

You turn your head back and begin kissing him again, humming an agreement against his lips. Dustin shuffles behind you as you return completely to Dieter, your lips ghosting over his. He licks into your mouth and grasps at the back of your neck, keeping you attached to him as you begin the dance backwards to the bed.

The weed gives you a cloudy feeling, enhancing the warmth of his fingers and lips on your skin, but erasing any inhibition that would make you embarrassed to be doing it in front of another man. You like the idea of it, actually, that there’s some stranger - albeit a familiar one - standing somewhere in the room as Dieter’s fingers lift up your sleep shirt and dip beneath the hem of your underwear. Your ass presses against the edge of the bed and you feel his erection against your thigh. You moan carelessly, tugging at his hair, and he exhales into you, the line between pleasure and pain thin and delicate as he rushes to do what he’s afraid Dustin will get to first if he doesn’t.

Dustin hangs up the phone and looks at the two of you on the bed, a surge of desire filling him as he watches. You’ve got your legs open and Dieter’s got his hands down your underwear and he can see it all from this angle. You’re making delicious, breathy moans and Dieter’s arm muscles flex as he works them out of you. There’s a wet spot on your underwear and he wants nothing more than for Dieter to take them off so he can see more of you.

He watches a while longer, captivated by what makes you tick and what kind of a lover Dieter is. It's kinda like hotel porn that he’s had on repeat the past few days, but live. Before he can get out the request for Dieter to take your underwear off, or wait for the inevitability of it, there’s a knock on the door. He rushes to answer it, holding the door open only enough to take the glasses and the bottle opener. He mumbles a quick thanks before shutting the door on the confused worker.

Dieter enters you with a thick finger and you let out a loud uninhibited moan around his kiss. As Dustin attempts to open the wine he smiles, thinking of the young man who was just outside the door. He likes that you aren’t afraid; he’s always found that attractive in women.

“Here,” he says, pouring the pinkish liquid into three separate glasses. Neither of you look at him, so he repeats it again, this time with more command in his tone. You look so thoroughly kissed when you look up, red lipped and swollen, that it makes him ache, and Dieter’s wild haired annoyance is charming in its own way. He hands you both a glass and you take it with a shy smile. Dieter is less pleased, but takes it anyway with a soft ‘Thanks.’

Dustin watches as Dieter wipes your slick from his fingers with a pang of envy, swallowing down the wine. This isn’t something he’s made a habit of doing often— watching people fuck, threesomes — but he had felt that it wouldn’t have been right to do without Dieter. Truthfully, he had had every intention of going to your room by himself before he had peered into Dieter’s open door. The sight of him sitting there, staring up at the ceiling like he had been doing, inspired sympathy. He hadn’t been entirely truthful about that with Dieter, but what he’s learned over the years about sex is that some little white lies must be told sometimes.

A part of him feels guilty, knowing his own ex-wife lies somewhere in this hotel, probably brewing in her own anger. But he’s leaving her alone. That’s what she asked of him, isn’t it?

“So, any rules?” he asks, abandoning this train of thought before it crashes.

Dieter unwraps himself from you, sitting on the edge of the bed like you are, and shrugs his shoulders. You both look at each other. Dustin feels like an outsider, intruding on something too big and personal, but he doesn’t mind. A bit of self-flagellation mixed in with pleasure was always how he did his sex best, and there’s nothing quite like sleeping with two people very much in love during a pandemic.

“Dieter said you’ve never done this before,” he says, looking at you. “Is that true?”

You nod your head. “What do you mean by ‘rules?’”

“Well, I guess it’s a bit different because no one is with anyone here, but sometimes there will be requests people make to ensure no one gets their feelings hurt. For instance, you might not want me to cum inside of you or enter you at all. They’re for safety too—consent, boundaries.”

“I see.” You look down at your glass of wine, thinking. “I don’t really have any rules. Maybe just use condoms.”

“Are you sure?” Dieter whispers, tugging at your shirt sleeve. He leans in closer, says something Dustin can’t hear. You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t care if you do that,” you tell him. He seems surprised by your answer.

Dustin can’t help himself. “What’d you ask?”

Dieter shrugs his shoulders. “Just about how she feels about us.”

“Do you have any rules?” he asks.

“Don’t cum in her first.”

You look at Dieter quizzically and all he provides is a shrug that says nothing. Dustin nods his head. “That seems easy enough: condoms, don’t cum first.” He swallows down the rest of his wine and sets the glass aside.

You twirl the liquid around in your own glass, smiling faintly. “I can’t believe I’m gonna do this,” you say.

“Me either,” Dieter replies. He sits his glass, half finished, on the nightstand.

“I’m feeling high,” is your next sentence. Dieter seems to grimace.

“You’re in the wrong state of mind,” he tells you.

You shake your head. “No. I made up my mind before I got high. I want to be fucked,” you tell him, voice plain and even. “If you don’t want to fuck me, I’m sure I’ll be okay with just him.”

Dieter shakes his head adamantly, cheeks beginning to red. “I—I do want to. I always want to. I just want to make sure you’re not doing something you’re going to regret later.”

With a smile, you tell him teasingly, “I won’t regret it later. Not if you do it right.” You offer him a teasing wink that draws out his dimple. He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss on your lips, too romantic and sweet to be good for your soul.

You decide then that this will have to be less Dieter focused if you want to last. “Lay on the bed,” you say to him. He nods his head, prying off his house shoes. You look over to Dustin, who stands awkwardly at the head of the bed. He smiles again with that charming Hollywood grin that age hasn’t dimmed in the slightest, and you grin back. “I want to kiss you again,” you tell him directly.

“That can be arranged,” he says, dipping onto the bed.

Dieter lies back against the heap of pillows at the headboard, his knees spread apart to make a spot for you. Dustin guides you there slowly, his body pressing into yours until there’s nowhere left to go but into Dieter. He kisses you deeply, hands strong and warm and unfamiliar in an entirely exciting way as they bunch up the fabric of your sleep shirt and expand over your skin.

Dieter doesn’t touch you, even though he badly wants to. Part of it is heartbreak and disbelief, and the other part is erotic fascination—watching you come apart like this, at another angle, is undeniably doing something to him. You are so pliable under Dustin, so easy for him, like you’ve waited your entire life to be like this. Maybe you have. Maybe he never paid enough attention—maybe in all your thousand little, subtle ways you had once alluded that you’d like to be this way. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a prick, he could’ve made more rules, one like ‘Don’t enter her at all’ and ‘Don’t kiss him like that because I know once upon a time you kissed me like that and I screwed it up, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better husband. I’ll be a better friend, just don’t kiss him like that.’

But then again maybe not. That’s a mouthful and you’re high and he’s high. Maybe it would be just like this. It’s just that he loves you. It’s an odd kind of love, but it’s real. Dustin has his tongue down your throat, his exploratory fingers beneath the fabric of a sleep shirt, but Dieter loves you. The fool.

Blissfully you are unaware of the pity party Dieter throws for himself behind you. He is a body, a springboard for desire and heat, as you surrender yourself to lust the way you never really have before. You do draw up some comparisons, unable to help yourself.

Dustin is grittier, all command and surrender. He is an electric taste of the illicit, some faraway fantasy made palpable. Dieter is your ground zero, vivid and stormy. He is what yesterday was. You read somewhere once that when you have a child with a man, their genes have the ability to change your own. Though you and Dieter have no children, you feel like something irrevocable like that happened — that you carry a part of him in your genetic makeup. It doesn’t make Dustin worse for it. In fact, it makes him better, an exotic vaccine into your very tired bloodstream. You deserve it. You deserve it so much, and you practically beg for it, mewling as Dustin kisses his way down.

“I bet you taste like heaven,” he mumbles warmly into your skin, licking a teasing strip over your midriff. You watch, mouth agape, heart beating wildly in your chest. Dieter tilts your chin up, directing your attention towards him, feeling impossibly greedy now. He kisses you languidly, tonguing lolling gently against yours, making it lasts forever. Your mind is in a haze, the slow, sensual turn of your tongues lighting a fire in your belly as Dustin uses his own on you. He trails lower and lower, warm and wet, fingers drawing down your underwear and then—

“Fuck,” you say, gasping out the word. You surprise yourself. Dieter captures the word in his mouth and groans in soft appreciation. You glance down your body, your knees hanging loosely over Dustin’s shoulders, watching his warm tongue pressing against your clit. It’s a sight to behold, the way his pink tongue flattens over you. His large hands grip onto your legs, holding you apart as your back presses into Dieter’s front. You feel his semi-erection nudge into your back.

Dustin spends his time with you, teasing you lightly with his tongue at first, learning the careful intricacies of your body. As you run your hands through his unruly bed hair, the tip of his tongue dips into your opening experimentally. He looks up to you, blue-green eyes searching for approval. You buck against his face, desperate, full of want and drugs and something indescribable but undeniably exciting. Ambition. Want. Joy. You used to masturbate to this man. His nose grazes against your clit and he laughs as you struggle. It is warm and bubbly, and you feel it all the way down to your bones.

You tug his hair so hard that he sends another noise vibrating through you: a low, half pained, half aroused groan.

Dustin brings his mouth back to your clit, grazes it gently with his teeth. “Oh,” you say, your head drawing backward, falling into Dieter’s shoulder. He watches you, his dark eyes fixed. He presses his lips onto yours like time hasn’t changed anything. You bask in it, give yourself over to the fantasy with the ease he’s offering it—you kiss like lovers, familiar and intimate, an unformidable duo in sex where you weren’t in marriage.

Dieter doesn’t leave your lips as he says, “I never got to see this sort of thing from this point of view. You’re so goddamn pretty.”

His hands tease up your sides, fingers drawing closer to your chest. “Is he making you soaked? Just like I used to?” he asks, his voice a low drawl. You arch up, bringing your lips up to his. He slots his mouth over yours, pressing into you roughly as his fingers find a pebbled nipple through the cloth of your night shirt. As he scraps over the top of it with the pad of his thumb, you draw your eyes closed. The heady scent of Dieter surrounding you mixed with the intoxicating feel of Dustin pressed against your cunt is almost too much to bear. Almost. You moan against Dieter’s lips again as Dustin’s tongue works you, and Dieter smiles, nodding. “Oh baby, he’s gonna be like me. A pitiful, helpless fool for you. Aren’t you?” he says, looking down the valley of your body to the other man.

Dustin grunts wordlessly against you and your hips fail you again, pressing up into the vibration. Sensing this isn’t the end of lack of control, Dustin presses a hand against them, pinning you down. As he licks you open, spreads your folds with the warmth of his eager tongue, you feel on fire, the sensation reaching every part of your body. He’s good at that. He’s lapping and lapping, his strong nose meeting your clit at just the right time each time he comes up.

“He’s so fucking good,” you say helplessly, uncaring of who hears. The drugs make you uninhibited, looser. You meet Dustin’s eyes as he takes your clit into his mouth again. He is sucking lightly and you try to roll your hips into him, but he presses down, a silent no. “Fuck, you’re so—good at that. Oh my god.”

Dieter pinches your nipple between his fingers, humming softly at the sight before him. “You’re gonna make me jealous, baby.”

Dustin’s mouth grows more focused, intent. You feel your orgasm drawing up, coming closer and closer. You open your eyes, blown wide with desire, and focus on Dieter. He kisses you softly again, bringing his hand up to your other breast. Dustin sucks your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, and your hardened nipple scraps against the warmth of Dieter’s palm. It's all so right. You cum then, toes curling into the sheets, body going rigid beneath the touch of them both. Dustin doesn’t stop; he laps up your want greedily and Dieter draws up his head to watch. His eyes darken, full of desire and what you assume is a begrudging respect.

After you’ve ridden out your orgasm on Dustin, Dieter huffs out a soft laugh. “He wants to fuck you,” he tells you, thumb swiping affectionately across your cheek. Dustin, unable to let that one go, presses a kiss to your inner thigh and muffles a laugh against your skin.

“Bravo, you’re so jealous it’s making you stupid. She knows that,” he says, nuzzling his face against your inner thigh. “Of course she knows that.”

“M’not jealous,” Dieter denies evenly. When he looks down at you, brown eyes too kind, you half believe him.

You break the eye contact and smile appreciatively down at the man between your legs. A finger you’d locked in his hair now swipes across the bottom of his shiny lips. He takes it into his mouth, wetting the pad, and you say, “You aren’t a very good team. I think it’s important to be a good team.”

Dieter places a hand on your arm, more of a phantom touch than a grip, but you know it’s a stroke of possessiveness. You glance back up at him, cupping his cheek in your palm. “Dieter likes men,” you tell Dustin, not looking away from Dieter. “He’s not playing nice now and I think it’s a shame because I bet you taste just like me right now. And I know—“ your gaze drops down to Dustin, your voice velvet “—how much this dearest ex-husband of mine likes the taste of me. Have you ever kissed another man, Dustin?”

Dustin bites at your bait, smirk growing wide as his body stalking up yours. “Of course. I looked like a God in the ‘90s. Everyone wanted me and I wanted everyone,” he jokes, his warm hands flattening against your torso. His legs rest behind your thighs as he sits upwards, and you can see the tent of his erection against his sleep shorts. The black of them does little to conceal the full outline, and you thrill at the idea that he’s probably not wearing any underwear beneath the fabric.

You’re not one for getting starstruck - not anymore, anyway, a Los Angeles resident for years and the ex-wife of a star - but the fact that you used to masturbate to this man in front of you is something you still can’t shake. It occupies your mind, the way you had rewinded scenes from his raunchy, made for tv erotica over and over. Even now, many years later, you can still picture it: his younger frame pressed behind a blond woman, fucking into her in haste, his hands all over her and his thrusts rough. It was incredible to you back then, placed in some seedy location like an alley. Public and animalistic—the stuff of paperback romance novels. You remember the way he tugged her shirt upwards, how in the heat of the moment he grasped at any part of her he could get. A black bra and a long skirt, the bra pushed askew, going higher and higher with each thrust, and the skirt gripped onto, used for leverage as he pushed into her from behind. The VHS that hosted the scene had been passed from friend to friend in your college days, until someone’s VCR had eaten it. You feel a bit excited to know you’ve got the real thing right here. You think about telling him.

But it’s not about you, not now; it’s about Dieter. You widen your legs, make room for the ‘90s heart throb to slip between your body and come closer to the man you’ve dedicated your life to. In this moment you can admit as much. Dieter’s got his cock pressed against your back, and you know he would do anything - anything - for you if you’d just ask. His love burns like a million suns and you’ll be Icarus in every lifetime. You fool. Kiss another man hard and seek penance in his presence behind you.

Dieter stiffens as Dustin presses closer and closer to him. You shift to accommodate them, moving your body up, guiding Dieter along. He holds you close like a shield but doesn’t protest when Dustin’s lips press into his.

Dustin tastes of earthy vineyards and you—like sweetened strawberry wine and the familiar palette of tangy and acidic that’s blessed Dieter’s tongue many times over. That’s it, he thinks with a smile against Dustin’s generous lips. That’s how you taste. He savors it like a wine connoisseur does his wine, running it over his tongue and thinking too long about how to describe it. It is so utterly you, it makes him yearn for another life.

He plunges his tongue so deeply into Dustin’s mouth, it threatens to gag them both. But it doesn’t. They’ve both got their party tricks, after all. Dieter’s kiss grows hungry and suddenly there’s no space between any of you. You are a perfectly molded puzzle, fingers on skin, in hair, tongues swiping against lips and chests, and there are deep guttural moans exposing what the erections do well to show.

You know Dieter wants this, can feel his evident excitement press into your back. You happily welcome the warmth of Dustin’s firm body pressing impossibly close to yours. Dieter wets his bottom lip and squeezes you reassuringly, a habit from other life slipping into this new one.

You alternate kissing one another, creating a new taste on your warm, eager tongues. It is perfect. Dustin’s hands gingerly fumble over your chest, not focused or intent but curious, and Dieter’s allow it. The possessiveness has translated into something entirely more agreeable, and these men work together like lovers.

Your fingers grip at Dustin’s muscular shoulders, trail lower and lower over the slope of his chest down to the dip above his shorts. The path is slow and arduous to your lust riddled brain. He grunts against your collarbone, his hot breath fanning over you, and you go lower still, taking the shorts with you.

Dieter’s eyes trail the same place yours do, his chin tucked into your neck; you share the same view of Dustin: the red weeping head of his cock as it bops against his toned stomach, eager to be touched and licked and surrounded. Dustin sighs hotly against you as you press against him - against it - and Dieter swipes his tongue behind your ear. It is heaven, the way Dieter and Dustin feel against you, combined like this. You want them both. You need them.

You wrap your hands in Dieter’s curls, let him support your body as it rubs frantically over Dustin’s. Dieter peppers kisses alongside your neck and whispers, “God, you’re so fucking hot. God, I was so fucking lucky—“

The rest of it is lost against the shell of your earlobe. Some things - even the kindest, most genuine things - are better left unsaid.

Dustin emits soft, urgent moans as his cock catches between your bodies. The tempo of your shared thrusts grows quick, more focused, and he is close, on the very brink of letting go. You knit your brows, watch curiously and excitedly as he draws closer. You think of it: A hot spurt, just for you. Dieter holds up your sleep shirt, seeming to expect the same.

But then Dustin stops, his thick fingers rough and tight against your skin as he stills your movements. In the morning you’ll be bruised, a thought that thrills you. “Not yet,” is what he says in explanation, leaning his forehead against yours.

Dieter laughs softly, some terrible joke about bad endurance dying before it rises to be heard. He’s on his best behavior. Dustin tastes of you, of him, and you’re all naked and you’re so happy, so pliant. You lean against him like he’s someone you can lean on, and he swallows the serenity of that thought silently. Dieter is a half guilt, a perpetual bleeding heart, and you are his salvation. He knows it doesn’t work like that, can’t, but sex is not about what is real and logical. That’s why you were always so fucking good at it; it was beyond the both of you, and somehow a language you spoke best together.

He should feel worse about Dustin. Perhaps it’s because you want it so bad, or maybe it’s because he’s so horny, but the inclusion of him feels less intrusive than before. This is not your marriage bed - it’s been lost to the cruel seas of time - but it feels like a union, and Dustin plays a curious part. Not the voyeuristic onlooker, but the active participant, his glistening cock hot and heavy against your beautiful stomach. It should make Dieter sick. It did, thirty minutes ago. But now it makes him hard, wets his mouth. The bastard is good looking.

What can he say - you have always had good taste.

You turn your head and lick into Dieter’s mouth, redirecting your attention. He turns you between their bodies, pressing you into him as he kisses you feverishly. Dustin assists him, holding you against his body like Dieter had been doing before, only upwards. Dieter draws back and lifts the cotton sleep shirt over your head. He takes advantage like Dustin hadn’t been smart enough to, wetting your nipple with his warm mouth and tweaking the other between his fingers. You squirm, pressing your hot cunt against his stomach. He feels too clothed suddenly, having been denied contact because layers. You help him take off his shirt and Dustin helps you take off his pants. You waste no time wrapping your hot hand around him and tugging loosely.

His mouth finds your nipple again and you wrap your fingers into his unruly hair, jerking him off slowly as he kisses and sucks at your bare chest. He knows you’re already dripping, seen it on Dustin’s glossy lips when he got done with you, but this is his body remembering you and he can't stop. He remembers the way you got when he licked at you like you were the last scraps of his final meal on earth. How desperate and needy you became, just as desperate and needy as him. His hand travels down your stomach, straight down to your cunt, and he palms the wet heat of you into his hand. Dieter relishes the way you gasp into his mouth as the heel of his hand finds your clit, a smirk on his lips and a sentence like, “That’s it, baby,” coming out against you.

He fingers your entrance teasingly and finds you devastatingly wet. This is heaven, he thinks, the wet stickiness of you on the pad of his finger and your hot breath on his lips. You dig your nails into his shoulder, shut your eyes against the sensation of one of his fingers entering you. Dieter is ground zero. In your Garden of Eden, Dieter was there, at once Adam and the serpent. This is the apple. How delicious it is to be fucked, how perfectly human. Of course they’d turn on God for this. Cover up with leaves and be terrified of the whole earth later. Bleed and cry. Divorce. Whatever. This is worth turning back on perfection for. Poor Eve. Poor you.

You rub yourself against his hand and Dustin takes one of your breasts into his hand, watching. Dieter is so focused on the squelch of your juices and the way his finger - fingers now, two, and you stretch so perfectly for him - enters you that he doesn’t even mind. You’re no pissing contest, he sees that now—you're the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He swallows your moans and tries his best not to cum. Your grasp on his cock is so loose and it’d be so embarrassing to cum on your stomach when the tugs are nothing, and besides this is about you. So he focuses on trying not to.

“Condom,” you mutter, your lips landing on the side of Dieter’s mouth. Dieter nods his head but doesn’t pull back from you. He watches, enchanted, as your hips move against his hand. He can feel your orgasm build in the way you clench around his fingers, the penultimate pressure too much to bear. When you come, its with a shudder, your body tight and rigid above his as you ride it out. Dieter is so high and so in love with you, and he’s so sick about it that all he can do is laugh earnestly, even though what he wants is to ask you to marry him again.

Dustin is touching you all over with his hands, palming your perfect breasts, and you’re arching farther and farther back. Dieter can hardly bear the sight—not because of the jealousy—but because he’s deathly afraid this is it for him. You’re the best thing he’s ever had, and he knows he can’t think that way. You had a good run—you’re great friends now—but God, you married him in Vegas and you used to sketch his nose with careful affection onto canvases you kept for yourself. Who’s gonna sit in your studio now? Who’s gonna take up space in your heart, make you smile over the canvas as you work? He would weep if you didn’t look so pretty and sated, leaning into Dustin the way you are.

He kisses you hard on the mouth just to get rid of the thoughts, and then he kisses Dustin too, grabbing roughly at the back of his hair the way he hasn’t ever with you. It’s not kind, but Dustin doesn’t seem to mind; he moans gruffly, absorbing nothing but the desire behind it.

Your hands explore Dieter’s exposed skin as they kiss, warm and gentle, unconsciously fingering the scar he got as a child. You know the map of this body. When his hard cock bops against his stomach you take it in your hand again. Before he has time to think, you put him in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against Dustin’s lips. They stop kissing, looking between them at the sight of you. Dustin is so considerate, so much better than Dieter has ever been. He moves aside your hair, kisses against the curve of your spine. All Dieter can do is think about not cumming. He feels bad about this, wishes he could gather enough strength to think about your hair and things like that. But your mouth is warm and you take him in with expertise, bobbing in a rhythm he wouldn't dare break. Up, down, the tip of your tongue running alongside a vein, back up again. He’ll cum like this. You look up at him through your eyelashes and he touches the top of your head with unspeakable tenderness. Cum, you beckon, but he won’t. Can’t.

Where is that goddamn condom? How can he make this last forever?

He pulls back from your lips smiling an apologetic grin when you at him, surprised. You seem to understand, a devilish little smirk playing across your glossy lips. He wants to kiss you, but even that feels dangerous right now. He thumbs your lips instead.

“Condoms,” he tells you softly. You nod your head.

“In my bag.” You point over to the corner of the room. Dieter pads off to get them.

Dustin’s hands sneak between your thighs and you sigh when he finds your entrance, the tip of a finger rubbing the spot Dieter abandoned. You’re so wet and you want it so badly. He presses his lips against your shoulder and you feel the heat of his breath against your goose pimpled flesh. As you loll your head against him, he slides a finger in. You scratch the back of his head and nod frantically.

“You’re so tight.” He nips your skin and then licks at you with a desperation you’ve only experienced in Dieter. You like being wanted this badly. You lift your hips and ride his finger, squeezing around him. So tight, right. He laughs and you feel that too. “You like being talked dirty to, don’t you? You’re being so good, riding my finger like this. I can’t wait to fuck you. To feel you around my cock like this. And I bet he’s thinking that too.”

You both look over to Dieter as he unwraps a found foil and takes out the condom. You sigh; Dustin’s thumb finds your swollen clit. “We’ve got to make him cum in you, but I don’t think you’ll find that hard. He wants you so bad. Look—“ You feel Dustin’s grin already across your back. “He’s so fucking hard for you. Just as hard as me.”

Dieter strokes himself through the protective sleeve as he watches the two of you. You feel the familiar sensation of heat spreading low in your belly. When Dustin dares to enter another finger into you, you gasp, feeling full and stretched and yet not full enough. He spreads his fingers inside you, preparing you. You tug at his hair and make eye contact with Dieter.

He smiles lopsidedly, suddenly boyish and more handsome than he’s ever been. You think he looks happy for you—so pleased that you’re pleased, with a glint in his eye. Maybe it’s the drugs. You don’t know. Maybe he is happy that you’re happy. He was always better at saying he loved you than he was at showing it, but you suspect that this is his showing you. Love. Maybe it spills over in divorce, just another cruel thing you’ve got to cope with.

When Dieter comes back, he presses a condom into Dustin’s thigh. You are at the edge of another orgasm, everything perfectly in place — the sensation of Dustin’s thumb, the way his breath hits your skin, the idea that Dieter is watching you—but he denies you it, interrupting. You go to protest, whine, but he doesn’t give you a chance.

Dustin’s fingers are still in you, on you, when Dieter leans down and presses his tongue flat against your clit, greedy with lust. He licks at you around Dustin’s fingers and it feels like too much. They seem to make an agreement, working you at the same time. You cum quickly and this one seems to go on for eternity. You squeeze Dieter’s shoulder. The other condom package falls loosely onto the bed as Dustin uses his hand to keep you steady, your knees weak from the pleasure.

You tug at Dieter’s hair to make him stop. Dustin seems to know instinctively, leaving you feeling empty when he takes his fingers away. His slick covered fingers rest on your hips as you tell them both, breathlessly, “I can’t do another one. It’s too much.”

Dieter shakes his head in protest but Dustin takes the information in stride. He’s too good at this, moves through the motions with ease, improvising quickly. He extends his slicked fingers to Dieter. Dieter, who has been so focused on you, looks at them quizzically, unsure of what they mean. Then he seems to get it, hard features smoothing out in realization.

He looks at Dustin, and it’s not like with you. He's focused, not icy or angry but so intent. It’s not a loveless gaze, per se, but it is devoid of love; filled not with something warm but something hot.

Dustin’s cock presses into the small of your back. As Dieter’s mouth wraps around his fingers, you feel a warm bead of pre-cum drip onto your skin. You bite at your lip. You’ve never seen Dieter with men before, and this new side of him excites you—like unlocking a new door in a house you’ve had for ages. He puts on a show for you, bobbing like you did on him. Dustin’s fingers seem to be an extension of yourself. You shudder as Dieter tongues along them, and Dustin rubs himself helplessly against your backside.

“I want to see what you’re like with men,” you say to Dieter, your voice barely a whisper. But Dieter hears you and his eyebrows perk in interest. This is a long unanswered question to something you’ve never been brave enough to ask. You’ve always known that he’s been interested in men — that he’s had sex with them — but you’ve never really questioned outright about what it was like. It felt equal parts too personal and hurtful; you didn’t want to know what it was like with other people before you. But everything seems different tonight. You want to know badly, like he’s got secrets that could be your salvation hidden in him.

You slip from between them, lying against the pillows. Before filling the space, Dieter looks over at you. His brown eyes implore you for a sign and you nod your head.

He’d asked you earlier, when Dustin asked about rules, if you’d be alright with them touching each other, maybe even entering one another. You hadn’t expected it to get to that, so it had been easy to say you didn’t mind. In fact, you had figured Dieter only said it as a means to scare you away from the idea. And now that the notion is not only on the horizon, but a reality, it comes just as easy to say yes—maybe even more so.

He stalls, hesitating, so you nod again, laughing. He smiles. Your ex-husband is a startlingly beautiful man like this, looking so openly vulnerable. He’s physically and emotionally naked and you’ve waited decades for it.

Dieter and Dustin kiss each other like men do, aggressive and dominating, neither willing to lose the good fight just yet. You feel your interest piqued, watching the way their fingers touch each other. How they tug and grip, search for purchase all over. Dieter is much rougher with Dustin than he’s ever chanced to be with you, with bruising kisses and bruising touches. When he grabs the man’s cock, it is with an ugly dedication, fast dry and quick tugs. Dustin hisses the first time but doesn’t protest. In fact, he thrusts his hips unashamedly into Dieter’s closed fist, licking into his mouth with a degree of delight. They tug at the back of each other’s heads of hair and eventually Dieter gives way, falling back to allow Dustin to mount him.

Dustin searches for the condom on the bed, his chest rising and falling heavily in an attempt to grasp at long denied air. You watch through heavy lids as he slides the latex onto himself. He’s circumcised, pink and swollen at the tip. Drips of pre-cum have made him all glossy and you bite your lip watching him struggle to line himself up. When he gets the latex down to his base, he smiles a satisfied smirk. He doesn’t look at you. If he notices you staring, he doesn’t mind at all. This is his favorite play, and he’s an actor after all.

Dieter’s knees knock apart to accommodate his frame—a body you’ve begun to notice with quiet admiration in your desire. He’s broad, much broader than he’d been in his youth, and he’s got muscle all over now, whereas before he’d been lean and lanky. He’s hard and tight and as he begins to rub himself against Dieter, you’re taken with the way his skin stretches over the plains of his back, his arms, his stomach. Dustin is in impeccable shape, perhaps one of the only men who can claim he’s doing better now than he was in his youth. Gone is the boyishness, replaced with a heady, sure masculinity.

Dieter seems to relinquish his fight happily now, soft growls emitting from his lips. Dustin presses down into him, and while most of what they’re doing is obscured by Dieter’s legs, you can imagine it well enough: the steady, erratic thrusts of Dustin’s cock rubbing against Dieter’s. There’s a sheen of sweat on them both and Dustin buries his head in Dieter’s neck. He licks at the places you had once, and it is nothing but erotic little huffs from them both.

“You’re…” Dustin begins, but falters off. He lifts himself up, repositions, bracketing Dieter’s head between his strong arms. Dieter’s eyes are pressed closed, his dark features etched with pleasure. All they do for a while is rub against each other. You feel like an intruder, like something stopping them from getting where they need to be. Maybe you are.

You dare to speak: “Aren’t you going to touch each other?”

Dieter looks startled. He’s red in the cheeks, the exertion of their movements and the heat of his desire making him flush. He taps Dustin on the arm, making the steady roll of his hips slow until suddenly it’s nothing. It’s all quiet for the first time in minutes.

They both look at you with intent eyes. But Dieter is the first to take charge. “You should fuck her,” he tells Dustin. Dieter looks at you, questioning.

“But—“ you protest. Dieter shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Later.”

Dustin has no qualms about the interchanging of you and Dieter. You notice that he's notably gentler with you than he was with him, though. He crawls to you, kisses you chastely—as if testing the waters. There’s nothing necessarily erratic or rough about what he does to you. He looks between your spread legs and fingers at your entrance once more, circling the area teasingly. You groan in anticipation and his head falls to your chest. He takes a taut nipple into his mouth as he plunges his fingers inside of you, pushing them against your front wall. As you sigh heavily, he moves his wet mouth to the other nipple.

You turn your head, catch Dieter’s fixed gaze. He reaches out his hand and you lace your fingers together. He’s touching himself through his condom, stroking softly. You want to devour him.

Dustin takes his fingers from you, and you look back at him. Before you can plead for more he says, “I’m gonna enter you now.” You nod, wordless.

He gathers the slick from his fingers and coats his latex covered cock with it. As you squeeze Dieter’s hand, Dustin lines himself to your entrance. His kiss is soft, barely a kiss at all, and he enters you, inch by careful inch. He feels so overwhelmingly right, snug, puncturing something decidedly primal inside of you when he bottoms out.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan hotly against his shoulder. He manages a small laugh, running his lips against your cheek. “Go hard,” you ask. He hasn’t moved yet, stays still inside of you. You think of the way he was with Dieter.

“I don’t know if I can. I think I’ll…” He swallows. “I know I’ll cum.”

“Please,” you beg. You dig crescent shaped nail marks into ass and he smiles teasingly, running his warm tongue against your sensitive skin. He presses so intimately into you, your nipples scrap against his chest. It feels so good. Everything does.

“He said no,” he answers, looking up to meet your eyes.

“He’ll give me anything I want,” you say. Dieter’s fingers leave yours then, and you look over. You think you’ve made him mad but he’s only repositioning himself, coming closer to your bodies. He doesn’t say anything.

Some things are so true they don’t need to be confirmed. They just are. The sky is blue and people die, and Dieter is a man who will give you everything because he was once a man who gave you nothing.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Dustin mumbles, finally drawing back. You nod your head, encouraging, but he doesn’t go harder. He moves in the same way he did before, experimental and slow. When you look at him, imploring silently, he shakes his head. “But a rule is a rule, baby. ‘Sides, I think he’s making me get you ready. Your husband is a bit of a pervert. He’s touching himself, watching me stretch you open with my cock.” Dustin presses his lips into yours. Against you, he mumbles, “Did ya know he likes to watch? Bet he likes to hear too. You—“ Dustin pushes back into you, stopping himself, and the squelch of your juices adds to the effect. He smirks. “—You’ll get fucked. Just not by me. Not yet. Maybe I’ll fuck him while he fucks you. Maybe we’ll do it..” he grunts, bottoming out again, “We’ll do you together. You’re tight as hell, but I know we can get you wide. Couldn’t we?”

You feel Dieter’s fingers but can’t move your eyes away from Dustin’s. They’re greener like this, up close. Dieter trails a line over your body, and then up to Dustin’s, with a lone finger. Dustin turns to look at him and he smiles, nodding. They seem to work without words.

Dustin reaches down to grip the condom as he pulls out of you. You look over at Dieter, half angry and half amused that he could interrupt. You realize what they’re doing almost immediately. Dieter holds open your legs by pressing his palm against one of your knees, and Dustin shuffles, moving back to let Dieter take his place.

His cock probes against your entrance and he smiles down at you like a fool. “Hey,” he tells you evenly, half sober. You ache for him. You clench around nothing as he licks into your mouth.

“Hey,” you respond, overcome. Your fingers wrap around his arms and you notice that he’s got more muscle than before too.

“You want to be fucked?” Although he attempts to make this a question, it is more of a statement. You nod along anyway. He kisses you hard, rough like with Dustin, and he nearly enters you as he rubs himself greedily against your naked warmth, wetting himself with your slick.

“Yes. Hard, like you do with him,” you tell him. He smiles against your lips. You take his cock in your hand, so much more sure with him than anyone, and he slides into you. It feels like homecoming, wet and warm and familiar, your fingers digging into his skin and the smell of sex in the air. He does what you ask, his thrusts sharp, his hips snapping against your hips.

“Dieter,” you pant out, nodding your head. He kisses the side of your mouth sloppily and you smile the best you can. Where Dustin felt right, Dieter feels perfect. You feel like you touch the hem of eternity as he plunges into you with the intensity you requested, uninhibited and giving in the roughness.

He repositions you both in one expert movement, moving to his knees, pushing your hips farther up. This makes you let out a startled gasp; he hits you far deeper like this, his thumbs digging into the flesh on your hips with bruising intensity. You can’t kiss from this position, but it doesn’t matter. He fucks you. Really fucks you.

You see Dustin in the hazy peripheral. Lolling your head to the side, you focus on him. He stands at the side of the bed, smiles at you when you catch his eyes. With his cock standing out in front of him like that, he looks a bit unserious. If you weren’t so full of Dieter, perhaps you’d be amused by this. He doesn’t even touch himself. This makes you frown.

“D—Dieter,” you stammer out.

“Huh?” he grunts.

“Dustin.”

“Mm, what—what about him?”

“Let him fuck me too. Please.”

Dieter shakes his head. “No, you’re mine right now. You’re—“ he snaps into you roughly, the bed creaking. “I’ll suck him off. Or maybe—“ Dieter grunts again, “Maybe he’ll be smart and he’ll get behind me. And maybe he’ll—“ his head drops to your neck, and your head the next part through mumbles. “Maybe he’ll rub against me like he was doing before. But it doesn’t matter right now. Just think about you. It’s all for you.”

You close your eyes, nodding. That sounds fine. Great. Dieter’s finger gazes at your clit and you nod, your hand reaching out to hold his wrist. You always liked to feel the way his forearm moved as he did this to you.

“Cum for me and I’ll cum for you,” he says, and you feel it begin, the stirrings of another orgasm. You think of him, of the way he punctures his thrusts with grunts, how good he feels inside of you, bottoming out like this with measured fury. You like how rough he’s being, like never before. You like this side of Dieter. You like that there is more of Dieter to know.

When you cum, you call out his name. He swallows it, pressing his lips to yours. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me. You’ve always been.” He fucks faster into you, his own release on the horizon. You squeeze around him once, twice, and that’s it; he’s filling the condom up and he’s gasping earnestly, amazed and so goddamn in love. He kisses you on the mouth and it’s so genuine. You kiss him back, smiling like a newlywed.

“Dustin,” you say against Dieter’s lips, after a moment. Your chests are both heaving and you're drenched in a thin layer of sweat. He presses his forehead against yours and you smile. “Let me take care of him,” you tell him.

Dieter rolls off of you, collapsing into bed with a soft groan and saying nothing. You take a moment to recuperate, breathing in and out, letting the bliss of this moment wash over you.

“Come here,” you say to Dustin, patting the open space of the bed beside you. He listens, the bed dipping beneath his weight. It takes a lot of effort on your part, but you rise to your knees. You guide him onto his back and he helps you straddle him. For a moment, you just sit there on top of him, looking at him.

“I used to masturbate to you,” you finally admit. This makes him grin. Beneath your cunt, his erection jumps a little.

“Thanks,” he says. His hand palms one of your breasts again. “You don’t have to do anything to me. I can finish myself off if you want.”

You shake your head, grinning. “Didn’t you hear me? I used to masturbate to you. This is a dream.”

Another hand comes up to cup your other breasts. “Are you sure you don't feel too sore? He fucked you pretty good.” You begin to glide your cunt alongside his prominent erection. He sucks in a swallow breath. “Guess that’s a no.”

“That’s a no,” you confirm.

“Just let her fuck you,” Dieter tells him quietly. You smile over at him but he doesn’t see it; he’s too busy watching the way you move your hips over Dustin. Even with a flaccid penis and in a state of post-coital peace, you manage to get to him.

You ride Dustin quickly, grabbing onto his strong shoulders as he tongues your alongside chest, finding your nipples. He groans, the sensation vibrating throughout your body as you follow the motion his hands set for you. A fast up and down, your back arching, taking him in completely and then pushing back so far he nearly falls out.

Admittedly he does most of the work, your legs wobbly and your body tired. But it feels good. God, does it feel good. You like this, being with two men back to back, each of them taking turns. Dustin generously tries to get you to cum again, his fingers sliding between your bodies, but you stop him.

“It’s too much. Just this,” you tell him. You grind down on him to make him feel better about it, and he hums sympathetically around a mouthful of your breast.

You ride him less enthusiastically the closer he gets, both of you too tired and worn. He stops aiding you so much, kissing anywhere he can access: your jaw, your neck, the side of your mouth. He lets your body fall forward into his. It’s a sort of lazy fucking that you do, meeting halfway to create the sharp thrusts that push him closer to climax.

“Cum in me,” you tell him, voice silky against his ear. He knows how tired you are, feels it too. He gathers up the last of both of your strengths, rutting up into you with intent. As he cums, you ride him, curious, taking all he can give. Dieter is too sensitive, can’t stand to move when he cums, but Dustin nods, moaning against you. When it’s over, you collapse into him, hugging his sweaty body. He laughs against your warm skin.

“Thank you,” he tells you softly, so only you can hear. You nod. You lie on him like that for a moment, listening to the beat of his heart. Dieter watches you, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t look faraway.

You reach out to him with your fingers and he smiles, coming to.

Dustin helps you off of him and you fall between them, sated and spent. He slides off his condom and reaches across your body. “You want me to take yours?” he asks Dieter. Dieter, no longer feeling jealous but merely tired, nods. He hands the man his condom and Dustin pads off to the bathroom. Dieter and you watch this, amused.

“I kinda understand what you see in him now,” he confesses, smiling. He interlocks your fingers and you let him.

“Thank you,” you say, ignoring his comment. You look over at him.

He nods, sincere. “Of course. I assume I did it right?”

“You did it right.”

“And you don’t regret it?”

You shake your head. “I don’t seem to regret you. Even though sometimes it’d be better if I did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you.”

You kiss him chastely, even though you know you shouldn’t. “I know,” you tell him softly. “I love you too.”

“Like a friend?”

“No.”

“Like a husband?” he asks, testing the waters. You laugh. Dustin comes back from the bathroom.

“No. Something more than all of that.”

“I can handle that.”

You nod your head. “Me too,” you tell him.

The bed dips from the weight of Dustin once more, and you roll over to your side, cuddling into him. He passes a warm rag to Dieter and he accepts it, cleaning himself. He goes to hand it to you, but you shake your head.

“I’ll take a shower in a little. When I can walk.”

This earns a laugh from them both. Dustin reaches an arm around you, drawing you closer to his body. Dieter, surprisingly, doesn’t mind this; he curls up behind you, too, wrapping an arm around your waist. You’re all so close, and it’s nice. He thinks maybe they might be something to this sharing after all.

“I liked that,” you say to no one in particular.

Dustin hums, fingering trailing over your arm. “Enough to do it again?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I think the opportunity for this kind of thing only happens once in a lifetime, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know about that. This is Hollywood, and they love sequels,” Dieter adds, smiling.

“Yeah,” Dustin nods, “That’s true.”

You close your eyes, smiling faintly. “A sequel, then, maybe,” you say tiredly.

In the morning, you do not regret any of it.

—-

A YEAR LATER.

SUBJECT: THREE’S COMPANY, BUT ONLY SOMETIMES from: [email protected]

I was at an art show the other day and I saw a painting with your name on it. The guy in it looked a little familiar (they told me it was an old painting, from nearly a decade ago, before you were both famous. Cute). I bought it, of course. Not that I’m in the habit of buying paintings from people I’ve slept with, but it was for charity and it looked good and I’ve got a new apartment that I’ve got to fill, so I thought why not? It cost a lot (good for you!) and because of that they let me wrangle an email address from them to tell you what a brilliant job you did. You did great. Very Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton of you. Anyway, to the point: You weren’t at the premiere of the documentary with Dieter last month. He told me that it's because you don’t like that scene, and I don’t blame you. Neither do I. But I was wondering how you feel about commissioned paintings? And do you think that Dieter would like to come with you to deliver it if your opinion is positive? (He told me I had to ask you that myself, so I think he’d be happy to accompany you if the canvas is too big to carry by yourself). P.S. I’m asking you for sex–a sequel, as it were–but I really would like a painting, too. I’ll spend a lot (not for the sex, but the art. I guess for the sex too, if you’re into that). Love, D. Mulray.

—-

SUBJECT: HOPEFULLY NOT ROSEMARY’S BABY SITUATION to: [email protected], [email protected]

Sometimes I commission art work for people I like and sometimes I make an exception for those I don’t if they pay enough. I’m sure you fall somewhere in those categories, Dustin. But I must warn you: I won’t do dick drawings. I might do a vagina one if the inspiration strikes. I must admit I’ve never had a man ask me for sex over email. Kind of thrilling, like a retro sext but without any of the sexy parts. I’ve attached Dieter to this email for obvious transparency reasons. He says he’d gladly help me carry your canvas (figuratively and literally). P.S. It will cost you. For tax purposes, I hope you’ll let ‘it’ be the art.

—

from: [email protected] to: you, [email protected]

Who said divorce couldn’t be sexy?

#pedro pascal #dieter bravo #the bubble #dustin mulray #david duchovny #the bubble fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x reader x dustin mulray #dustin mulray x reader #dustin mulray x you

89 notes · View notes

k111lemall · 2 months

Text

Feel the Beat 🥁 Lars Ulrich x Fem! Reader

word count: 1,464

warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected pinv sex, a littllleee fluff, creampie.

I pulled my tights up my leg and finished off my look with a pair of black heels. Lars had asked me to accompany him to a dinner/album promoting party for their newest album ‘The Black Album’ and he said that after he would take me down to the studio to look around.

The car arrived at the front of my apartment building to pick me up and I slid in the back, next to Lars, and placed my sweater on my lap. “You look great, I like your dress.” Lars said, “Thank you, I like your shirt.” I replied and pointed to his black button-down (he of course left the top four buttons undone.)

The whole ride I looked out of the window admiring the city at nighttime. I had lived in Los Angeles for about a year now - but I had only been dating Lars for four months. I met him at the bar that I worked at and I just kind of hit it off and he invited me to his show the next and we just went off from there. We didn’t rush things, I was still living in my apartment because Lars lived in San Francisco, but he had bought me plane tickets multiple times to come and see him, he was truly so romantic.

We finally arrived at the mansion where the party would be happening. We were dropped off at the front doors and I wrapped my arm around Lars’ as we walked in. We quickly found his other bandmates and their dates said our hello’s and gave quick side hugs before making our way to the bar. We both ordered a drink and talked for a little while before Lars’ manager came up and asked him to go talk to someone people and said “he’ll be right back.” before dragging Lars off and leaving me alone.

I sat by myself at the bar for what seemed like forever before James’ date came up and began making conversation. “So how long have you and Lars been together?” she asked “About four months.” I replied and took a sip of my drink “Oh wow! You guys moved in together yet?” she asked and rested her hand on her hand “No, I live here in LA and he lives in San Francisco, but we always make time to call or see each other.” I said and she nodded “That’s amazing. You have been to a show yet?” She asked me “Yeah! The night after me and Lars met he invited me to a show. Have you?” I asked her back “Yeah! I worked the show in Texas. Me and James are just friends but I was in town and so was he so he asked me to be his date.” she replied.

Me and I talked for ten more minutes before Lars finally came back. “You ladies having fun?” he asked “Lars! Your girlfriend is amazing! A keeper!” James Date said as she grabbed her drink and began to walk away. Me and Lars both laughed “Sorry that took me so long, they’re already talking about plans for the next album.” he said as he shook his head and took a sip of his drink.

“Aww, I’m sorry…I can tell this is stressful for you.” I said, he looked up at me and smiled “It’s alright, I got you here with me right?” he asked and I nodded and smiled. He leaned in closer so he was whispering in my ear “Wanna go see the studio now?” he asked and I nodded “Sure!”

After Lars said his goodbyes and wished everyone a good night we made our way out to the car. The drive was quick, ten minutes or so, and we were at the studio before I knew it. Lars got out and opened the door for me and walked me inside. “Wow! This is huge.” I said and Lars laughed “Yeah, gotta get the sound perfect.” He said looking around.

“The album sounds perfect Lars, every song is perfection,” I said and looked at him, he licked his bottom lip and placed both his hands on his hips. I walked over to the drum set and ran my fingertips along the cymbals. “The drums sounded like perfection,” I said again and looked at him, he began walking over to me. “Want me to show you how to play something?” he asked “Sure!” I replied.

Lars walked me over to the stool and sat me down on it, he grabbed his drumsticks from a nearby amp they were lying on and put them both in my hand. “Okay, this is the bass drum - put your foot on that pedal and press down.” He directed and when I did I was surprised by how much louder it was in person so I jumped a little which made me and Lars both laugh.

I fell a little into Lars’ chest and he wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. I looked up at him and stared into his eyes for a moment. Without even thinking I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Me and Lars had kissed multiple times before this, but never like this. This was far more passionate than the time we had kissed before, and Lars's grip on me showed that he had no plan of letting me go anytime soon.

As Lars moved down to kiss my neck I began to unbutton his shirt. I felt him smile against my neck and he moved his hand up to pull the strap of my dress down. He pulled back “Are you sure?” he asked “Yeah, I’m sure.” I replied and pulled him back into a kiss.

His hand moved to my back and began to unzip my dress. Once it was fully unzipped I slipped out of it leaving me in only my underwear and tights, Lars wasted no time grabbing one of my boobs and squeezing it - “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this..” he rasped out, he took his shirt off and threw it to the side, he got down on his knees in front of me and grabbed my leg and pushed down my tights and then threw it over his shoulder.

He kissed my clothed pussy before hooking his finger on the fabric and pushing it to the side, exposing all my wetness to him. He immediately went to work sucking on my clit. My hands latched themselves to the top of his hair and my head flew back. “Fuck! Lars!” I moaned out, he made a figure eight with his tongue and I looked down to see him palming himself through his pants. He began to unbutton them and abruptly stopped his attack on my clit to pull himself out of his pants.

He stroked himself a few times before rubbing his tip through my folds. I covered my mouth as I sighed out in pleasure “Lars…please…” I moaned out, he looked up at me and licked his bottom lip before finally pushing himself into me. I felt my eyes roll to the back of my head and my head fell against a nearby cymbal. Lars pushed himself in and out of me quickly and roughly, and he let out erotic moans every time he felt me clench around him.

“Lars…fuck! Don’t stop, I’m gonna..fuck!” I yelled out in ecstasy. I was close, and I knew that he knew that I was. He let out a small laugh “I am too, fuck…want me to cum in…you?” he huffed out. I bit my lip hoping to stop myself from moaning any louder than I already had been, and nodded at Lars’ question.

“Fuck, I’m ready…you ready baby?” he asked, and I nodded. After a few more quick thrusts I felt Lars twitch inside me and throw his head back, I felt his load shoot inside me and his groans as he emptied himself on my walls. We both sat there and breathed heavily for a moment before we looked up at each other and laughed.

I moved my hair off my sweaty forehead then moved my hand to do the same for Lars. He reached over and grabbed a towel and handed it to me. He pulled his pants back up and slid on his shirt but didn’t bother to button it back up.

He helped me slide my dress back on and I looked in a nearby mirror to fix my hair and makeup. I looked back over at Lars who was already sitting at the stool on his drum set. He looked over at me and asked “Wanna hear my drum solo?”.

#hell444youwrites!!#hell444you #lars ulrich smut #lars ulrich #metallica smut #metallica #the black album #1991

27 notes · View notes

beardedmrbean · 1 year

Text

YouTube sensation Piper Rockelle's mom crowed that she was a "pimp" making "kiddie porn" on the video sharing website where her daughter and her friends dressed in skimpy outfits and had scripted make-out sessions, alleges a bombshell lawsuit.

Rockelle’s mom, Tiffany Smith, 40, is facing a civil trial in Los Angeles later this year over shocking allegations of physical, sexual and emotional abuse of 11 young co-stars.

Smith and her live-in boyfriend Hunter Hill, 25, who is also named in the suit, produced Rockelle’s popular "Piper Squad" channel, which raked in more than $500,000 a month while her co-stars didn't earn a penny, according to the plaintiffs’ attorney Matthew Sarelson.

The lawyer represents the parents of the alleged victims, who range in age from 10 to 16 and include two of Rockelle’s cousins.

Dark side of YouTube stardom

Smith, the CEO of Piper Rockelle Inc, and Hill, the director and cinematographer, launched the channel in 2016, which now has nearly 11 million subscribers, according to the lawsuit filed in Los Angeles Superior Court.

Rockelle and the couple live in a $3 million hot-pink house in Sherman Oaks that once belonged to actress Bella Thorne.

The mother-manager, who called herself their "madam" often reminded the teenagers that "sex sells," encouraging the girls to "push their butts out" and dress "sluttier," the complaint alleges.

The $22 million lawsuit filed last year exposed the often disturbing YouTube child star industry.

"When you have teenagers and preteens who are pulling in half a million a month, they are certainly going to create an atmosphere where cutthroat business practices and dealings go on," Sarelson told Fox News Digital. "There’s too much money for it not to get contentious or worse."

Some of his clients recently discovered that in Google searches, their children’s names appear to be linked to pornography websites.

"How these names are associated with porn sites is something we are aggressively looking into," he said. "My clients worship their kids, and they’re mortified by what they’re seeing, and that’s why they hired us to get to the bottom of it."

Sickening allegations of abuse

The plaintiffs allege that the stage mom soon developed a reputation as a "mean-spirited control freak" whose conduct was "often reprehensible and even illegal."

She allegedly quizzed a boy on the length of his penis, showed a girl pornography and encouraged several of the plaintiffs to "try oral sex."

The suit claims she often touched the teenagers inappropriately, slapping their butts, rubbing their thighs and even trying to squeeze a girl’s breasts.

In her pursuit to produce more titillating content, Smith allegedly pressured a 15-year-old boy "to be more ‘sexually aggressive’ and ‘physical’ with her daughter, Piper, so the pair’s ‘crush’ connection would appear more realistic in Piper’s videos."

One of the plaintiffs allegedly witnessed Smith "grab Piper’s face and make-out with her in an attempt to teach her how to ‘kiss.’"

One video posted to Rockelle’s YouTube page features eight teenagers engaged in a "last to stop kissing" competition with the winner supposedly earning $10,000.

It was not only in the studio where alleged exploitation and abuse flourished.

A 14-year-old girl had the misfortune of accompanying Smith to the post office.

"Ms. Smith mailed out several of Piper’s soiled training bras and panties to an unknown individual," the complaint charges. "Old men like to smell this stuff," Smith allegedly remarked.

Accusations of sabotage

Despite allegedly enduring sickening abuse from 2017 to 2021, the child actors were not compensated for the millions of dollars they helped Rockelle and Smith earn from appearances in more than 550 videos posted to the "Piper Squad" channel.

The suit, however, acknowledges that the plaintiffs were never promised money.

After nine of the members left, Hill allegedly sabotaged their individual YouTube channels by planting porn in their content and falsely flagging their videos as inappropriate.

A 15-year-old former squad member with 1.3 million YouTube subscribers had been pulling in $22,000 a month. After he left the squad, his revenue dropped to $6,000.

The suit alleges sexual battery, intentional infliction of emotional distress, unjust enrichment and other claims and is seeking $22 million in damages.

Smith filed and then dropped a $30 million countersuit against the plaintiffs last summer, claiming their parents were in a conspiracy to extort money by making up false abuse claims.

Who should protect YouTube child stars?

Entertainment lawyer Max Hass of the Parlatore Law Group said that YouTube, like other social media platforms, offers low barrier for entry into a potentially lucrative market.

"The regulation should come from the parents but, in many cases, the parents are the ones doing the exploiting," he said. "They’re obsessed with making money at all costs and this content can be monetized so easily."

He added that it isn’t just "creepy old men" watching these videos but young girls taking cues on what to wear and how to behave.

"Why is it we have so many American parents out there who think this is OK today?" Hass asked.

Hill and Smith’s lawyers, Kenneth and Karol Ingber, didn’t immediately return a request for comment.

#nunyas news #burn youtube to the ground

35 notes · View notes

itsthestutterforme · 1 year

Text

“Rules Are Overrated” (Modern!Tom x black!reader)

Summary: Tom is your brother’s friend that’s had his eye on you since you and your family moved to Manchester. He didn’t care about the rules. He knew that he just had to have you.

Notes: GIF is not mine, Modern High School AU, dancer!reader, sexual themes (dry humping, oral sex, p in v penetration, overstimulation), minors DNI

Your hips were swaying to the beat of the song on your speaker as you placed the middle of you box braid between you teeth, continuing the braid all the way down to the end. You had the speaker so loud, it vibrated the door of your room.

You couldn’t have heard the doorbell ringing and Tom knocking at the door. Tom was a friend of your brother’s. Your entire family moved to London from New York for a change, leaving behind your childhood friends and your close family.

To this day, you never understood the real reason. One day Dad came home with some news and by the end of the week, we were on a plane to London. You had two older siblings, Eloise and Wade. We were all still adapting to London but at least Wade was making friends. One of those friends being Tom Bennett.

Tom helps himself to the house. Wade said that it was cool to wait for him inside a few times before. His curiousity got the best of him and he followed the sound of the music. You had one braid left, taking a small scoop of edge control and putting it on your hair. You picked up some hair and braided down, feeding hair in periodically.

“Ku Lo Sa” by Oxlade came on the speaker and you slowly whine to the beat of the song. You were still whining when Tom walked in. You made eye contact with him in the mirror and lowered the volume on the speaker as you turned around to face him. “I’m assuming you’re looking for Wade,” “I am. You happened to know where he is, love?”

“Wade and Eloise went to the arcade. You can find them there.” “And why aren’t you with them?” “Games bore me,” you continued to braid. “What were you just doing when I walked in? With your hips?” “It’s called whining. It’s from Central Africa,” “So you’re family is Central African?” “No, we’re Trinidadian.”

He hums in response, getting a good look at your room. “Um, excuse me?” “You’re excused,” he says, pushing the hair and clips on your bed to the side and lay down on your bed. “What are you doing?” “You haven’t seen a man lie down before?” “I’d hardly call you a man,” you scoff. You finished your braid and search through your basket for the setting mousse.

“Yeah you’re Wade’s sister alright,” “Oh please, I make Wade’s life interesting,” “Sure you do,” “Aren’t you supposed to be finding my brother? What are you still doing here?” “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, sweetheart. It makes it more enjoyable to piss you off,” he stands from the bed and gave your hair a playful tug.

You sent him a glare when he says, “See you around, sweetheart.” “I have a name,” you scold. “I know. It’s sweetheart.” He corrects, closing the door to your bedroom.

You ran to your bag to grab a drink of water. “Group A is up in five, Y/N. Make it quick.” Your dance coach calls. “I’m coming,” you take a swig of your water. The sound of your name catches Tom’s attention from the street. He was walking passed the studio to meet Lois and his father for dinner when he heard your name.

He opens the door to studio and watches as you and your group made your way to the center of the floor. The rest of the class sits on the side while you and your group waited for the music to cue on. The choreography was sensual because it matched the vibe from “Love Me Back” by Trinidad Cardona.

Tom’s lips part when he sees you in the center of the group doing the choreography. The dancers on the sidelines were cheering you guys on when it was the point of choreography where you went to the floor. You were on your hands and knees, slowly grinding on the floor and brought yourself up on your knees. And that was the end of the choreography.

The class clapped for you guys and you stand from the ground with a proud smile. That was, until you caught the gaze of a familiar pair of blue eyes. “And that’s a great way to end class. See everybody next week.” You packed up your bag and Tom made his way over to you with a smirk.

“Does your brother know you’ve been dancing like that?” He asks. “Why? You plan on snitching?” You throw the strap of the bag over your shoulder. You noticed the stares and giggles of your dance mates when they walk by Tom and you roll your eyes.

“Not at all. I’m no snitch. You’re not the only one who’s the trouble child.” He says when he follows you out of the dance studio. “Who says I’m the trouble child?” “Is that a trick question?” You scoffed and gave him a shove. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I have dinner with my family,” “Right. I’ll see you around then.” You opened the door to your car and threw your bag on the floor. “Wait, I can just.. rain check or something.” “Raincheck and do what exactly?” “I.. have a crush on a girl who knows how to dance like that. And I want to impress her.” Tom lies. He needed to think of something so he could see you again without using Wade as an excuse.

“You’re seeing someone?” You asked. “Awe, you jealous?” He says, smirking when he sees you roll your eyes. “I’ll help you.” “Really?” “I have nothing better to do. Hop in.” You walk around the car and slide into the drivers seat. “You might want to buckle up because I don’t slow down for anybody,” you say when he sits in the passenger side.

You smiled when he gripped the side handle when you revved the engine of your car before peeling off the curb.

“Remember to loosen your hips,” you looked down at his waist. “Careful, Y/N. It almost seems like you are looking at something else,” Tom teases. Your eyes shot up to his and his smirk widens. “Do you want me to teach you or not?” You snap.

“The women are in lead when it comes to whining. They are in front, moving, and the guy follows. He takes whatever she gives him.” “Would you say I need more practice?” He asks, thinking back to the first time you grinded on him. He got lost in the feeling of your body against him. How his hands felt holding your hips.

“I think we’ve practiced enough. You’re ready to ask out the girl you’re interested in.” You tucked your phone in your pocket and went to grab your bag when he says, “When were you going to tell me you got accepting into Kings College? How did you celebrate?” You stopped in your tracks and slowly turned around to face him.

“How did you know that?” “I have my sources.” You squint at him analytically. “Eloise told you, didn’t she?” “She did,” he says after a long pause. “Jesus, I need do tape her mouth shut.” “What’s so bad about her telling me?” “It’s not that. My parents believe that dancing isn’t a real job. They didn’t feel the need to celebrate,” “Kings College is the top three unis in London. That’s a big deal.”

You blinked at him a moment as you came to the realization of something. “There isn’t another girl, is there? It’s me you’re pursuing,” “Sharp as a whip, you are.” He says with a tongue click. “Isn’t there a bro code that says don’t mess with your friends sister?” You crossed your arms, yours eyes narrowing when he nears you.

“Rules are overrated. What do you say we celebrate in a way only a man and woman can?” You dropped your hands at your sides and lifted your chin to him. “Do it then,” he grips your chin so you are staring directly into his eyes. You maintained eye contact when you took his thumb into your mouth and swirled your tongue around it before pulling away.

“Fuckin hell,” you let out a squeak of surprise when he picks you up and wrapped your legs around his abdomen. You held his face to press a warm kiss on his lips. He held there a moment, relishing in your soft skin. You pulled away from the kiss to take off your shirt. He squeezed your ass as his gaze settled on your breasts.

He sits down on his bed and buries his face into your breasts, nipping at the swells propped up by your bra. You instinctively rock your hips against his crotch and he groans into your neck. “You’re so fucking hot, Y/N.” “Mm, I know.” “Fucking tease,” he gave your ass a slap and you chuckled.

He tossed you next to him, standing to pull off your shorts before taking off his shirt. You watched as he slide between your legs, his large hand traveling up your thigh. He left kisses on your inner thigh, making you slick with anticipation. “I did say it was a celebration, wasn’t it?” He whispers, noticing your thighs rubbing together.

“Look at you getting eager for it,” he adds with a chuckle. “Tom,” “Isn’t that such a pretty sound,” he kissed up your stomach until he got to your breasts. He unclipped your bra with ease and sucked on one of your nipples until your back arched. One hand traveled to your lower back, he pressed his crotch to yours and started rocking back and forth.

Your soft moans spurred him to hump you harder and faster until your body tensed with an orgasm. You gripped his forearm for dear life and waited until you could finally breathe. “Fuck,” you said. He pulled away from your breast with a pop.

He pulls your underwear off and moans at the sight. “You’re throbbing,” “Tom,” he groans at the way you moaned his name and sealed his mouth around your core. He explores all the different angle to suck and lick at your clit. “Fuck, Tom. That feels so- oh!” His hands come up and rubs your nipples, your body twisting away at the stimulation.

When he had enough of your squirming, he pressed a hand to your stomach to stead you and sucked harshly at your clit. You wouldn’t be surprised if he left a bruise on it. Stars clouded your vision, a whimper left you when you felt his weight leave you. He kissed your body while you came down from your high.

“You ready for any other one?” He asks and your eyes widen. He kissed you and you pulled him down so his chest was flushed against yours. “I need an answer, love.” He presses a kiss to your jawline. “Yes, keep going.” He pulled away to reach into the drawer next to his bed and pulled out a rubber.

He kicked off boxers and his trousers and slid the rubber on. You felt like a bitch in heat when you bucked your hips against him when he slides back in between your legs. “Tom, please.” “What do you want, baby?” “Fuck me,” “How do you want it?” He lifts your chin up with his nose and rubs the tip of his cock at your entrance.

“H-hard and fast,” “Is that right?” “Yes, please..” you begged. Your mouth fell open when he slides into you slowly so you could feel every inch. Your legs widen and he slowly thrusts into you until he saw your face relax as your body got used to his thickness. He chokes out a moan when you clenched around him. “Do that again and it’ll be over sooner that you’d like,”

He props one leg over his shoulder and rams into you hard and fast like he promised. When the vein of his cock rubs a gspot consistently, you pushed against his abs and tried to turn away from him. “Uh uh. Move your hand.” “Tom, please.” He pins your arms by your head and sent you a hard thrust in warning.

“S-sorry,” you apologized and he kissed you while rubbing quick circles on your clit. A gasp escaped you when another orgasm came over you. Tears swelled in your eyes and your body spasmed over and over again until the orgasm passed. Your walls clenching around his sporadically made him cum with a soft fuck.

He squeezed your wrists and kissed you once you both gained your breath back. Resting his forehead against you, he pulled out of you and tossed the rubber in the trash can.

“Should I leave.. then?” You asked, sitting up. “Why would I want you to do that?” He settled in next to you. “Because I thought you only wanted..” “I want you. All of you.” You laid back down and he holds your back to his chest, leaving kisses down the nape of your neck.

“Can I tell you something?” You hummed in response, enjoying his soft lips on your skin. “I only befriended Wade to get close to you,” he confessed. “Ouch, you better hope Wade doesn’t find out.” You said teasingly.

“Why? You plan on snitching?” He asked. You recalled having a similar conversation with him before so you decided to play along. “Not at all. I’m no snitch. You’re not the only one who’s the trouble child.” He wraps a hand around your throat with a gentle grip and pressed a warm kiss on your lips.

#tom bennett x black!reader #tom bennett x reader #ewan mitchell #world on fire

57 notes · View notes

darlingshane · 2 years

Text

Expensive Delights: Part 4

Julian Kaye x F!Reader

— Read below or at AO3.

Summary: Julian didn’t know how heavily that was weighing inside him. He doesn’t give it much thought nowadays. Hearing you say that, only validates those restless nights in prison that had him wondering if it was his fault or not. He wondered if he should have gone into a different direction after being released, instead of falling into old habits. But he promised himself that it'd be under his own terms this time.

Word Count: 22,3k (7 Chapters)

— Rating: 18+

Warnings!!!! Explicit, Smut, Male Escort, Voyeurism, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Menstrual Sex, Public Sex, Public BJ’s, Mild Anal Play, Attempted Sexual Assault, Mention of Attempted Sexual Assault, Murder, Attempted Murder, Mention of Grooming, Mention of Underage Sex, Mention of Past Abortion, Kidnapping, Sex Club, Trauma, PTSD, Smoking, Guns, Non-Con Touching, Non-Con Drug use, Non-Con Kissing.

A/N: This part came out very dark, angsty, and with a lot of warnings. They're all listed above, make sure to go through those before jumping into it. Julian and Reader go through a lot, so buckle your seatbelt and read with caution. Also, this might contain 2 potential spoilers. I've made up the plot of this part out of tidbits of information about the show, and I'm predicting that at least one of those will happen.

Links: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Series Masterpost / AO3

Chapter 1: Exposé

“How well do you know Julian?”

It's a question you've been fearing. It comes out of one of your best friend's mouth. The three of them– Eve, Sasha, and Yvonne sat you down when you went back to Portland to collect the rest of your belongings and sort some things out in your old apartment.

It was official. You were going to move permanently to Los Angeles, and you couldn't afford to keep a lease to a place you barely lived in anymore. So, after finishing your tour on the east side of the country, you went back to Portland.

Before you could attend to any of that, you found yourself in the middle of an intervention that your close-knit group of friends staged. They found out what Julian truly did for a living and ganged up on you, trying to convince you to really think things through before moving away for good.

They explained that someone recognized Julian in one of the photos Von had on the display wall in her studio. It was a former classmate, Claire from high school, who came into her shop. According to this woman that you’ve only talked to twice in your life, she had a friend who worked with Martina Duvall– young billionaire extraordinaire, big LA socialite, and heir to Duvall Cosmetics along with her three sisters. Claire boasted about being invited to Martina’s 25th week-long birthday party in a yacht and the set of boy toys the billionaire had hired for her and her friends’ entertainment. One of them was Julian– Martina's personal favorite.

Not only that, but they went further and searched for anything on him and discovered about his time in prison too from old news clips on the internet.

It’s not the fact that they found out about Jules that's bothering you. Had it been up to you, you would’ve told them the truth a long time ago, but it was never your truth to tell. It was his. And he chose to keep it a secret for this exact same reason.

The judgmental look on their faces, plus the earnest sympathy for you cause they think he had duped you somehow, and the time they put into investigating him, is what truly shocks you. You’ve always had very open-minded friends, but at this moment they’re showing just the opposite.

“He never lied to me,” you have to explain, “I knew who he was from the beginning and I know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Okay, so he’s an escort, that’s fine. We can look past that,” says Sasha, “but he’s also a murderer. Doesn’t that worry you?”

“No, cause he isn’t. He was set up.”

“That’s what he told you?” Von scoffs, “are you hearing yourself? He was set up. That’s gotta be one of the oldest excuses in the book, along with my dog ate my homework.”

“That’s the fucking truth,” you mutter, exasperated, with an eye roll.

“We’re just looking out for you, hon. You have a tendency of picking the wrong guys.” Eve words out in a condescending tone, “And right now, you’re about to do something drastic you might regret one day. We’re just asking you to really think it through before it becomes another Logan situation.”

“Fuck you, Evie!” you breathe fire through your mouth and nose at the audacity of her trying to compare this to what happened with your ex, “this is nothing like Logan’s.”

“You haven’t been the same since,” Sasha adds, “and you don’t seem like yourself right now… I mean, you even blew that meeting with that agent I set you with the other day. You’ve never done something like that.”

“Are you serious right now? That meeting was a joke,” you pause, “I didn’t blow it. That agent was a fucking sleaze bag. He got all over me in the first five minutes and wanted me to blow him off. How’s that? Do you think I shoulda stay, huh?” you pause again, and swallow, showing a firm hand, “that’s really unprofessional of you to bring that up in the middle of this, Sasha. This is not the place.”

She stares at you, perplexed, and suddenly her gaze falls to the ground, mumbling her apologies.

“If you guys were truly looking out for me, you would ask about how I feel. You’d listen to what I’m saying cause it’s really not sinking in… I love Jules, and he loves me. He’s nothing like Logan. He’s never lied to me or hurt me. And the only thing I’ll regret one day, is doubting myself and not moving out faster.”

This argument was just the cherry on top after the disastrous trip you’ve had. You were prepared to have some setbacks, but everything went from smooth sailing to dire straits the second you flew to New York and then came back. You didn’t have time to recover from nearly being sexually assaulted when you were forced to sit and listen to all this. You haven’t even told Julian yet cause didn't want to do it via phone.

With a heavy heart, you pack half the stuff you had left here and donate the other half.

You were supposed to stay for another week but as soon as the paperwork is done, and all your things are sorted, you just want to go back to your new home. So, you book the first fly available that you can find.

After handing out the keys and leaving the building for the last time to wait for your cab, Sasha shows up.

“Hey, can we talk?”

“I don’t have much time,” you stand on the stoop, clutching the handle of your suitcase in your fist.

“Look, I'll get straight to the point,” she draws some air and gestures with a hand, “I talked to the agency and told them what that creep Gillespie did to you. They just called me back, apologized, and said that they're still interested in meeting with you. They're sending someone new here if you want.”

“Why are they doing that?”

“What do you mean, why, babe? You're killing it right now. They're not dumb. Just tell me when you're ready, and I schedule it for you. It'll be someone legit this time. I'm making sure of that.”

“Thanks. I uh, I owe you an apology…” you look down for a beat, “you’ve been asking me for months to get off duty and I haven’t listened. It was really easy for me just to work with you, cause I’ve known you forever.”

“No need to apologize. I love working with you, but there are some barriers I can’t cut through like someone who’s an actual agent would… I’ve been winging it, really.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re doing amazing. And whoever they send, they'll never be as good as you.”

“So, we're cool?”

“We're cool.”

“Wait…” she then notices your baggage next to you, “you’re leaving already? I thought you were staying a few more days.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Because of our conversation the other day?”

You nod, “there’s nothing to think through. I already did… for months. It’s not a decision that I made overnight, like Evie said. I love Julian and I know what I’m doing. You don’t have to like it, or him. You just gotta accept it. And if I changed somehow… it wasn’t because of him. He’s not manipulating me in any way… this all just me, finally doing what I always wanted to do.”

“That’s the other thing I came here to say. I’m sorry too… It wasn’t right the way we cornered you like that… or how I brought the meeting up without talking to you first in private, that was only our business. I’ve been thinking about what you said… and even though I can’t help worrying about you… I do trust you, and I accept that you’re doing what it’s best for you. I’ll always have your back a hundred percent.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, keeping tears away from rolling down your cheeks.

“I know you do, you always had… and I’m sorry about the way I reacted. I didn’t wanna keep that from you. I can only tell you that Jules has never fooled me and I’m fully aware of what I’m getting into.”

“So, you really love him?”

“I do,” you sigh, watching the cab pulling up at the end of the street.

“Do you wanna talk about what happened in the meeting?”

“No, not now. Cab’s here.”

“Well, call me then.”

“I will.”

She hesitantly extends an arm in your direction, and you release the handle of your suitcase to give your friend a tight hug before parting.

“Don’t be a stranger, hotshot,” she kisses your cheek and lets you go.

By the time you arrive at Los Angeles it’s already night and Julian picks you up from the airport.

Even though you made up with Sasha, you’re still emotionally drained from everything and barely have anything to say during the ride. He knows about your friends, but you still haven't built up the courage to tell him about what happened in New York, and it keeps gnawing at you.

Back home, you change into comfortable clothes, order some food and sit at the breakfast bar to have your meal.

“Are you mad that they found out about me or what they told you about what happened at the yacht?”

“Neither,” you say, playing with your fork, tidying your thoughts, “it's the way that they chose to share that with me… made me feel like a child who didn't know any better.”

“No matter how you look at it, there's no right way to tell someone something like that.”

“Are you taking their side?”

“No, baby. The only side I'm taking is yours … I'm just playing devil's advocate here. I'd like to have friends who cared about me like that. And if I were in their shoes, I'd worry too about seeing you dating someone like me.”

“You're sweet,” you extend your hand to the side and pet his hair, “I wish they could see this side of you.”

“Just give them time to adjust. They'll come around like Sasha did.”

He's right, sooner or later you'll sit down again with them and probably laugh about the whole thing, but right now it still hurts a little.

“Oh, I forgot to show you something,” he licks his thumb and rises from the bar stool to procure his phone.

On the screen, he shows you a picture of a dog, an adult Siberian Husky, with five newborn-pups curled close to her.

“They’re Bailey’s,” he explains, “you said once you wanted a dog, and she’s given them for adoption. Asked her if she could save one for you if you want.”

You stay silent, staring at the lovely picture.

“You don’t have to decide right now… they gotta stay at least another month or two with their mom.”

“No, I’ve always wanted to have one,” you glance at him, as he lays his phone down on the counter, “I’d love to, but… are you sure we’re ready to have a puppy right now?”

“It's not like we’re having a kid.”

“Still, it is a big step.”

“Bigger than you moving in with me?”

You shake your head, and exhale, “can I think about it?”

“Yeah, take your time, baby.”

After dinner, you fall half-asleep on the couch watching TV while he does the dishes.

“C'mere, sweetheart,” Julian carefully picks you up and transports you to bed.

Curling to your side, you tuck your arms to your chest, as he settles behind you, hugging your body.

He then kisses your ear, having his hand nicely massaging your bare thigh in circles, switching from using his fingers to knead and brush his knuckles afterwards. You try closing your eyes but instead of lulling you to sleep it evokes your mind and body to wake up.

“Hmm, Julian, baby, you're turning me on.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” he scoffs, and nips at your neck just to tease you further.

“It is. I got my period yesterday.”

“You know, I don’t give a fuck about that.”

“I know you don't,” you smile to yourself, sending a hand back to caress his head, “but last time we did, we made a mess out of the sheets. It looked like a crime scene.”

His laugh is printed on your skin before pulling his head back, “you want me to stop? We have all the time in the world, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder to find his eyes, “no, I don't want you to stop.”

His head bows to capture your lips slowly while his hand slips between your legs. You're so sensitive, he doesn't have to press hard to have you bucking against his hand.

When you press your ass back against his crotch, you feel him swelling. You push harder, earning you a groan that vibrates into the kiss.

“Wanna take your cup out, honey?” he purrs, and pecks your lips twice more, sending a shiver down your spine.

How does he even make that sound sexy is unbeknownst to you.

You comply with his wishes and disappear into the bathroom to remove and clean your menstrual cup while he lays a couple of towels on the bed.

Admittedly, no matter how messy it gets, some of the best orgasms you've had were during your period. Especially with him. You've never had a boyfriend who was as ready to go with your flow as Julian is.

Sans clothes now, you climb into bed with him and return to your former position, lying on your side, with your back leaned on his chest.

“This is how you want it, sweetheart?” Jules peppers your neck with kisses, letting his palm mold the bared plane of your curves.

“Yeah,” it comes almost in a half gasp.

Your body temperature seems cooler than your center, and you drape a thin sheet over your body while he adjusts your top leg, so he can penetrate you better.

“Go slow, baby,” you request as he lines up and breaches your entrance smoothly.

“Like this?” His hips sensually wave, slipping in and out gently out of you.

“Yeah… that's perfect, Jules,” your lips part against the pillow, as your top hand clutches to his muscled thigh, following his movements.

His warm breath covers the curve between your neck and shoulder with sweet praises and I love yous, as his hand massages your tender breasts with great care.

Your thighs are quickly coated in a layer of your fluids the more he moves. When you're close, his fingers travel between your legs, blindly finding your clit. He easily tips you over the edge and has you moaning at his name with gentle circles, and the twitching of his cock.

It feels really intense, and somewhat oddly amazing when your walls clench around him.

He carefully slips out, letting the hot mixture of you and him gush down your leg. You feel it at the back of your thigh and reach with your hand to wipe yourself with the towel and roll the fabric around your waist. Mess avoided.

He wipes his fingers and cock and engulfs you in his arms once more.

“You're so beautiful like this,” he coos, kissing your jaw, reiterating, “so damn beautiful.”

You huff a breathless laugh and tilt your head to the side, so you can see and seize his plump lips.

Sighing pleased, you capture his mouth with love, exploring his kiss as you keep melting, and falling deeper for him, if that's even possible anymore.

Chapter 2: Deep Waters

A few days after you've fully settled, things start looking up again… for a millisecond. This hasn’t been your month so far, and no matter how happy you are when you’re with Julian, there are things happening outside the world you’ve made with him that could burst your little bubble of happiness.

Julian is reclined on one of the loungers by the pool in the patio, clad in flowered-trunks, an unbuttoned shirt, and aviators, reading the paper like an old man while you swim laps.

“Hey,” you stop after a few minutes and splash some water on him to claim his attention, “are you gonna come in, or you're just going to sit there looking pretty all morning?”

He snorts, peeking at you behind the newspaper, “you're the one who wanted to swim.”

“Yeah, it feels good. You should try it,” you brace your arms on the edge of the pool and rest for a minute, kicking your legs slowly in the mass of water.

“I prefer watching you.”

“Oh, I see, you don’t wanna mess up your beautiful hair,” you keep messing with him.

His lips turn into a smirk and after a second he sets the paper on the floor, removes his sunglasses, and shrugs off his shirt as he stands up; making you regret your words by the way he playfully looks at you.

You push yourself off the edge and swim backwards, as he elegantly steps into the water by sitting on the edge first, and submerging himself fully before swimming underwater towards your direction.

When he reaches you, he grabs your waist, and pulls himself up, emerging to the surface in front of you.

“What did you say, again?” He breathes out.

Huffing a laugh, you push his hair off his forehead and link your arms around his neck.

“I said that you’re too vain for swimming.”

“Am I now?”

“Uh-hmm. I’m pretty sure you’ve never used the pool until I got here.”

His lips frown downward quickly, amused, as you kiss the bridge of his nose.

“C'mere,” he secures his feet at the bottom, grabs your legs, and tucks them around his hips.

Having his hands holding your ass, he licks his lips and cocks his head to capture your mouth. His tongue delves past your teeth and twirls firmly with yours.

You hum into the kiss, clutching harder to his neck as his bulge bumps with your center.

“Jules,” you mumble, noticing him getting a hard-on behind the fabric.

“What is it, honey?”

“People are going to see us.”

“You're getting shy now? Didn't you give me a handy in a restaurant once?”

“Ugh, don’t say handy like that. And that was different,” you chuckle, “these are our neighbors.”

“You should've thought of that before getting me to swim with you, huh?” he pushes you further back until you're pressed between his body and the wall of the pool.

All of a sudden, the wind is knocked out of you when he fuses his lips with yours, clearly determined and enticed on having you begging for more. Underwater, he presses and rubs himself against you, earning a moan out of you.

His lips then move away to nibble at your neck as one of his hands finds a way to curl beneath your leg and tease at your entrance over the fabric of your swimwear.

“Jules, baby, let's go upstairs,” you gasp, “please.”

“Yeah?” he gives a final lick to your neck and quickly ushers you out of the pool.

You can barely restrain from tearing each other's swimsuits in the elevator. As soon as you're inside the apartment, clothes fly off and with no time to get to the bedroom, he bends you over the back of the couch. He massages your clit with the blunt, hard tip of his cock before sinking into your opening. He frames your hips and slams into you with unbridled passion until you're filled with him.

It's not even noon when you relax on the couch and go at it once more. Slowly this time. Facing him, you drape your leg over his hip and guide his length into you.

Sharing his warmth breath, you nip at his bottom lip, as you rock your hips back and forth, swallowing him whole.

His top arm curls beneath your hip, extending his fingers to drag your juices to your asshole. He smears them around the sweet nerves of your tight orifice with a nice massage.

“You're gonna make me come,” you heavily pant.

“That's the idea,” he grins, pressing a little harder, “how does it feel?”

“Good… so fucking good,” your lips curve up, utterly mesmerized and overtaken by the electricity of his fingers exploring new places of your body.

“Oh God, I love you,” you moan as your walls flutter by surprise around his cock.

“Not as much I love you, sweetheart,” he exhales, removing his fingers off you, having his cock twitching in the middle of your orgasm, coating your walls a second time.

You’re both absolutely spent after that, and after lunch you take a little nap.

That has been the best part of your day so far.

Things roll into a different direction in the afternoon after Eli, Julian’s friend and associate, shows up, bringing Jules’ convertible from the car wash and his dry-cleaning.

“Can’t believe he makes you pick up his clothes too,” you say amused.

“Hey, he pays well.”

“I bet he does.”

You go out for a walk and pick up some groceries while they talk business.

When you come back, Eli is gone and Julian is tensely braced to the kitchen bar, staring at your phone.

“What's wrong?” you ask, leaving the grocery bag on the counter, standing on the other side of the bar, parking your ass on one of the stools.

“Who's Adam Gillespie?”

You swallow, as your stomach suddenly drops, “where did you hear that name?”

He points at your phone, frowning at you, “you left it here… it was blowing up, so I took the call and this guy started yelling like an asshole about getting fired because of you. He said that you were going to regret ever opening your mouth, and threatened to ruin your life for being a… so, I'm asking who's Adam and what the hell is he talking about?”

“I uh, this is not how I wanted to tell you,” you sigh, glancing at your hand as you anxiously scrape the skin of your thumb. “I didn't know he was fired… on my last day in New York I had a meeting with him, and we barely got to talk when he got…he got his hands on me and tried to kiss me…”

“Did he hurt you?”

Your eyes sting, welling up quickly, unable to put a sentence together.

“No… not physically… he said that… you know, the usual… that if I get to my knees and… he'd make sure I'd have a great career… I just… I pushed him off and ran… I told Sasha, and she called his agency, and I guess they weren't happy about it.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I was going to… I wasn't ready yet.”

“Why not? Don’t you trust me?”

“Why are you making this about you? I just told you that I wasn't ready. I was embarrassed, and wanted to forget about it, alright?”

“I thought we weren’t keeping secrets.”

“That’s ironic!” your anxiousness suddenly snaps into anger.

“What does that supposed to mean? I’ve told you everything.”

“You think I don’t know that you’re texting and calling your clients when you’re home? How I’ve been pretending not to notice when you sneak out to smoke?”

“That’s different. That is for work.”

“Well, that was a business meeting for me, so how is it any different? And I've never given you permission to pick up my phone. I don't care if it was on fire, I never told you that you could.”

You stand up and storm towards the bedroom before letting him see you cry. You're not sure which part makes you angrier and sadder. The fact that he didn't react like you expected him to, or that he invaded your privacy like that. He knows about your ex, so he's clearly aware that picking up your phone wasn't the best idea.

You slam the door shut and bury your face in the pillow, wanting to scream your lungs out of your chest.

Julian, on the other hand, feeling like an asshole, stays unmovable from his position; chocked up and annoyed at himself from not handling that better. He was betrayed by his own insecurities that feared you were keeping this from him on purpose before he could process what was done to you. He couldn't even bring himself to yell at that asshole when he picked up the phone.

He’s now stunned by the thought of someone trying to hurt you, and gives himself a timeout to find the right words to say before talking to you again.

A beep goes off from his phone reminding him that he has to leave in an hour, so ready or not, he arms himself with courage and love and cautiously enters the bedroom. He finds you crumpled on your side of the bed, clutching the pillow.

You’re done crying, but you still refuse to look at him when you hear the door closing.

“Sweetheart…” you feel the bed shifting as he sits on the edge.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” it comes out watery out of your throat.

“I won't. I was just going to say that I’m sorry… You’re right. I shouldn’t have picked up your phone or pry that out of you in that manner. I just… I heard him say all those things about you and I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

“You thought that I’d lie to you?”

“No, it wasn’t that…” he pauses, “can you look at me, baby?”

You shake your head.

“Then, tell me what to do. I just want you to feel comfortable talking to me about anything.”

“I don’t know… It felt like you were judging me, Jules.”

“I wasn’t, baby. I swear. It’s not an excuse, but this, what you and I have, is very new to me… I've never lived with a partner before, and I have my insecurities too. But I didn't think for a second that you were making it up… you didn't deserve that… and if I could, I'd knock the lights out of that motherfucker right now.”

You sigh, processing his words.

“What are you insecure about?”

“That one day you'd realize that I'm not good enough for you, and see that there are better men suited for you out there. I still wake up every day wondering how I got you… you're everything I've ever wished for and more. And you’re absolutely right, I have my secrets too, and If I screw this up… I don't know what I'd do without you… did I screw up?”

“No, you didn't screw up. You just saved yourself,” you finally glance over your shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you swallow the knot in your gullet and tentatively reach with your hand.

“Can I touch you now?”

You nod, and he picks your hand, lifting it up to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

“What secrets are you keeping from me?” You wonder, and sit up, crossing your legs.

“There’s…” his voice wavers, “there’s something that I never told you about how I started, how I became an escort.”

“You said Anne introduced you to that world.”

“She did.” He pauses and exhales, “I don’t want you to think less of me if I tell you this.”

“Jules, I'm not gonna, I promise.”

“Okay,” he clears his throat and after a moment of gathering his thoughts he confides in you that he was groomed by Anne when he was only 16. She was 30, and he didn’t know how inappropriate that was, or had any notion of what grooming meant at the time. Being with an older woman was something he and his friends had been fantasizing about since they hit puberty, and he never thought twice of saying no to her offer. He used to clean her pool and care for her garden and plants, and one day she asked him if he wanted to make some extra money. That little extra took him to her bedroom, where she took the top of her bikini and asked him to give her a massage. The first few times, it was just that. Then, it quickly escalated, and eventually she became the first woman he ever had sex with, and the first who ever paid him for it. He was caught in her net and fell for it, completely. She taught him everything he knew, dressed him, and lavished him. But it wasn’t until he was 18 that she’d introduce him into the world, where she set him up with his second client right before he went to college. She even paid for half of that too to keep him close, he believes. And no matter if he did enjoy the experience, there’s no doubt in him that, as a grown ass man, he’d never do something like that to someone that age. It’s unthinkable to him. He got a few moments of clarity in prison, that was one of them. It was really fucked up, and kept him up at night for months.

You listen to it all, perplexed, and absolutely appalled at her behavior as he finishes telling the story…

“Sex and money were the same to me, she taught me that, and at some point I couldn’t have one without the other. Not until Michelle, and then… you. You both showed me what real love feels like, and that broke that idea that was implanted in me at a very young age. I guess finding out about Adam triggered something…”

You inhale sharply, having a huge knot building up in your throat.

“Please say something,” he pleads under his breath.

“I love you,” you say, plain and honest, extending your hand to caress his neck, “I’d never think less of you for that, Jules. It wasn’t your fault to be abused, the same way it wasn’t mine either. Nobody should be subjected to something like that.”

“But I couldn’t say no like you did.”

“Babe, you were a kid. We’re told that grown-ups know better since birth, and it isn’t until we’re old that we realized that half of them are fucked up. I saw how tense you were at the restaurant in Santa Barbara when we saw her; and the way she talked to you and called you Julie… it makes me sick to know that she used you like that and have the nerve to think that you'd even entertain the idea of working for her again.”

Julian didn’t know how heavily that was weighing inside him. He doesn’t give it much thought nowadays. Hearing you say that, only validates those restless nights in prison that had him wondering if it was his fault or not. He wondered if he should have gone into a different direction after being released, instead of falling into old habits. But he promised himself that it'd be under his own terms this time. To be honest, he doesn't believe he's that good at doing anything else, and likes both, money and sex, too much to give that up. He's living up to his promise, however. His work doesn't come first as it used to. His life with you is the most important thing to him, and given the chance, he'd go broke before letting go of you.

“Do you have any more secrets?” You ask, “maybe not as big as that one… if you do, I want you to feel comfortable talking to me too, y'know?”

“That was it. The things I do for work, they're not really a secret, baby. But I gotta keep those for your sake and their privacy. You have to understand that.”

“I do understand. I wasn't asking about work.”

He makes an effort to dive deep into his thoughts and shakes his head, “I got nothing else, then. Now you know everything about me. Is there anything you wanna tell me about?”

“Well… I guess it's only fair to tell you that I did something too when I was young that I never told anyone, not even my friends or my family.”

“What was it?”

“It wasn't anything bad. It was something very heavy and personal.” You grant yourself a couple of beats before uttering those words for the first time since it happened. It's odd to hear them out of your mouth, like it didn't happen to you, “I got pregnant when I was in college and I couldn't… I had an abortion as soon as I could. It really messed me out for a while. Though, I was positive that I'd never have kids, there were a few weeks when I felt like I'd done something really, really wrong.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No, not all,” you quickly emphasize, “I've never wondered what if. I know it was the right choice.”

“Were you alone?”

“No, I had a boyfriend.”

“What did he say?”

“Oh, he was very supportive. I was really nervous to tell him, but he stepped up and said he'd have my back no matter what I chose. He was with me every step of the way, and took care of me when I felt like a mess… I mean, It was as much his fault as it was mine. We were caught up in that haze of being so smitten with the other at the beginning that we ran out of condoms a couple of times and we both just said– fuck it,” you flicker a nervous smile.

“He sounds like a keeper. What happened to him?”

“Caught him cheating on me a year after that. Think he got another girl pregnant too… someone told me right before graduation.”

“Not a keeper, then.”

“Nope.” You smack your lips comically as the beeping of his phone goes off, “do you really have to go?”

“Yeah, it's one of my regulars. Why?”

“I just wanna keep talking to you like this,” you sit on your knees, link your arms around his neck, and kiss the corner of his mouth.

“I want that, too, sweetheart,” he palms your back. “It'll be only a few hours. Want me to wake you when I come back?”

You slide your palm around his head, having your fingers caught massaging his earlobe sweetly, “Yeah, I'd like that.”

That conversation feels like the most taxing thing you've done in a while. But it's gratifying to be open like that with him. You don't like keeping secrets, but there are still parts of you that you hold to yourself because you're often afraid of being judged. And so does he. You could tell he was apprehensive of sharing that with you.

After composing yourself, you work on your computer while Julian gets ready for work.

He kisses you goodbye, and you spend another hour finishing an article for a magazine you occasionally write for.

When you’re done, you decide to go for another swim. It relaxes you. You’ve been doing it every other day before going to bed, and it works like a charm. Especially when it’s this hot.

Mrs. Rosenbaum from 4C had the same idea as you, and you chat some with her before she goes back up to have dinner with her husband.

It’s already dark, and after several laps you catch your breath at the end of the pool where you can stand, listening to the music blasting from a car parked on the other side of the wall.

You swim two more laps, and when your head emerges from the surface at the deeper end, it's suddenly pressed down back underwater by an unwavering hand, or two, you assume by the force that's put into it. It grips at your hair, which makes it impossible for you to swim away.

You can still hear the music muffled underneath as you gasp for air, try to yell, kick your feet in the water as hard as you can.

There’s a distorted shadow on the surface of the water when you manage to look up once. You fight it and fight it, growing weak by the second until the little breath you have left is replaced by water and everything goes black…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There’s a pressure on your diaphragm when your eyes open again, like a jolt, you start coughing up water violently. The burning that spreads through your lungs doesn’t ease up until you’ve expelled the tiniest drop that was clinging to your air passage. It leaves your chest hurting terribly bad.

Then, you notice someone talking to you, but you’re not sure who they are or what they are saying. They roll you to your side, soothing your back gently. You can only shiver and meltdown, unaware if this is a nightmare or if someone just tried to drown you for real.

You hear sirens, and suddenly you’re being moved again and checked out by the paramedics, you recognize, before they stretcher you into an ambulance.

After missing four calls from the lobby of the apartment building, Julian finally picks up the phone after stepping out of the shower. His heart almost shatters in his chest, hearing the night concierge giving him the news that one of the neighbors saw a man trying to drown you just minutes ago and that you were just taken to the hospital.

He doesn’t think twice. He quickly collects his car keys and hops into the convertible to drive back to Los Angeles. He’s an hour away and calls Eli to go check on you in the meantime.

With a steady lead foot on the pedal, he doesn’t stop until he’s at the hospital where they’ve taken you.

There are two officers that just took your statement who are heading out, and tell him what they know so far…

According to Robert, key witness and neighbor from apartment 2B– he saw a man holding you underwater from his window and ran down to your rescue. He alerted the concierge at the front desk, who called the police. By the time Robert got downstairs and out to the pool, the man had dragged your body out of the pool and was taking a picture of your almost lifeless body, stretched on the hard surface. The attacker was fully dressed in black, with gloves and balaclava masking his identity, and quickly climbed out the wall before they could get to him.

Your rescuers performed CPR on you, saving your life in a matter of minutes. They said you weren’t out for longer than two. Everything happened so fast, they couldn’t even tell.

It’s a relief to hear that at the end, but you’re still understandably shaken, and terrified.

Eli and his girlfriend haven’t left your side for the past hour, that has felt like a year. And when Julian comes into the room, you burst into tears.

He holds your hand, and you see his eyes become glossy under the fluorescent light.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says gruffly, gently wiping the tears off your cheek with his free hand. You can’t bring your mouth to say anything, so you just lean on his touch, and hold tightly to his hand.

Your friends quietly step out, giving you two a moment.

You pull his hand, and he settles next to you in the bed, cuddling you.

“I shouldn’t have left you.”

“You didn’t know,” you finally say, chocked up, “it could have happened anyway.”

“Still, I should’ve been with you…”

“You’re here now.”

He kisses your temple, feeling useless on how to comfort you better. The truth is that just him being here, holding you, makes you feel already safe.

Chapter 3: Kafkaesque

There are a lot of sayings about hope… right now, you only feel dread and despair making themselves at home in your chest. There are no feathers, or birds singing for you, only a shadow that shoves all promises and dreams deep into that pool along with you.

You can still taste the chlorine in your mouth when you wake up in the hospital bed. They kept you for the night to observe how your lungs and vitals responded before discharging you in the morning.

You dress up in clothes that aren’t yours, cause the only thing you had on when they brought you in was your swimsuit. It’s such a minuscule thing to care about; and when they hand you that piece of clothing in a hospital bag, you ask Julian to throw it away. That is a reminder you don’t want to hold on to.

When you arrive at the apartment building, you take the elevator straight up to the 8th floor to avoid bumping into anyone altogether. You don’t have much luck, though. When the doors open, there’s a determined woman poking around the hallway, waiting for you. A woman that seems to know Julian already.

“Mr. Kaye.”

“Detective Sunday.”

She then takes a good look at you, and her stoic expression grows more puzzled the longer she stares at you.

After a moment, she apologizes and introduces herself to you, badge and everything, telling you that she's been assigned to your case, and she'd like to talk to you.

“Now is not a good time,” Julian responds for you, keeping you close with one arm around you, as you make your way to the door.

“We can do this here or at the station. Whatever you prefer, ma’am.”

“It's okay, I'll do it,” you nod at Julian.

You'd rather not do this at all, but you wanna see that the person who did this to you is brought to justice.

Your boyfriend opens the door and gives the open space a glance-over before letting you in. He shows the detective to the dining table, where you can settle and talk. He brings you a soda and gets the coffee machine going, listening to you recount what you remember from last night.

Detective Sunday then explains that your file landed on her desk because she's been investigating a series of murders where women are being drowned. Her theory was very far-fetched when she drove here, but after meeting you, she's absolutely certain your attacker is the same who killed those women.

What surprised her a minute ago is the uncanny resemblance you share with the other victims.

Your throat tightly knots as she lays down on the table the pictures, showing the four women in just regular snapshots of their life before they were murdered.

“Do you recognize any of them?”

You shake your head, unable to pull your eyes away from the photos. You can see parts of yourself in these women. They all have a similar complexion to yours, same eye and hair color, features close enough in proportion; and all are roughly the same age.

“What does it mean?”

“We don’t know yet?”

“But you have a theory?”

“My best guess is that someone is infatuated with you.”

What leads the detective to that conclusion is that he not only let you live, but the attacker slightly changed his MO. The other women were drugged prior to being murdered. It’s almost ritualistic, she explains. They were first injected with the drug, then they were drowned and placed somewhere nearby outside the water in a very specific position.

According to your blood work from mere hours ago, you weren’t administered a sedative like they had. He wanted you to feel it for whatever twisted reason he made up in his mind.

There’s also the other factor that got her here– your tattoo. The officer who took your statement at the hospital saw it printed on your skin and made a note about it on his report.

“Can you show me your arm?”

You lift your arm to let her see the dragonfly inked near your wrist, on the outer side of your forearm.

She proceeds to take a picture of it and question you when you got it and if it has any special meaning to you.

“I got it when I was 18. It was something my friend sketched that I liked,” you shrug and take a sip of your soda, “what does it have to do with all this?”

“Well, we've kept it under wraps, but the four women had the same tattoo temporarily placed on their arms.” She opens the folder placed between her elbows, “I'm going to show you another picture, and you tell me if it's the same or not.”

You nod, and she slides a photo across the table that shows a close up of an arm where you can clearly see the tattoo is basically a copy of yours.

Julian joins you at the table, placing a mug with coffee for the detective, and sits down on the chair next to yours.

“Why me?” You swallow and shift uncomfortably on your seat, glancing at their photos, “why them?”

“I'm not sure yet,” Sunday pauses to taste her coffee. “How long have you two been together?”

You look at the other and respond to a series of questions about your relationship.

“Do you have any enemies? A disgruntled ex-boyfriend, maybe?” she asks next, and you look at Julian.

“Tell her,” he utters, placing a gentle palm on your lower back.

Sighing, you proceed to tell her about your ex, Logan Palmer, and that psycho that called yesterday to say he was going to ruin your life. You doubt Adam Gillespie has anything to do with this, but the detective takes note of everything.

“When did you last see your ex?”

“Three years ago.”

“And you didn’t extend that initial restraining order?”

“No. Last I heard, he went back to Canada, and I didn’t think he’d be a problem anymore.”

“I’ll look into it. What about you, Mr. Kaye, did you make any enemies in prison?”

His lips frown downwards, “No. I kept my head down.”

The detective stays silent for a long moment, going through her papers.

“Why did he take a picture of me?” your voice trembles when you ask that out loud.

Julian’s hand soothes up and down your back.

“We don’t know yet. All women were found in a very specific position, like he was staging a photo, or a painting… and for your neighbor's statement, you were placed just like that.”

“Were they raped?” you question right after that.

Sunday shakes her head, “nothing indicated in the examination that they were forced into having sex.”

“But they could have.”

“For what the records show, they didn't suffer. They were treated gently; worshiped almost,” she says in the same stern, monotone voice.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” your voice breaks, “a psychopath held me underwater until I couldn’t breathe. That didn’t feel gentle… It was more violent than you can imagine.”

“No, you're right. I can't imagine. I'm sorry, ma'am,” you see the calculating woman hesitate for the first time.

You look to the side, swallowing a sob, wiping the tears sliding down your face.

“What now, Detective?” Asks Julian.

“She's our only lead right now. I'm going to put a detail on her until we get more information.”

“What about the security cameras?”

“My officers are on it right now, but this guy is highly skilled. He's managed to trespass any security system he's encountered, and there's no trace of him anywhere.”

“Have you checked into that? Maybe he's some sort of… hacker.”

“We're looking into every angle, Kaye,” she tucks everything back into her folder, “if you don't have any more questions or information, we're done for now.”

“Software engineering,” you mumble, without looking at her, “Logan. That's what he does. I'm not sure if that…”

“Got it,” the detective notes that, before reminding you lastly, “It goes without saying that what you just heard is all confidential.”

She leaves a card on the table with her contact information, and Julian shows her to the door.

You walk up to the balcony to see the patio far down below, where maintenance is cleaning the pool like nothing ever happened.

After the door is closed, Julian calls your name softly, and you turn your head to the side.

“You have to call Sasha,” he tells you.

“I uh… I’ll do it later.”

“Babe… you can’t put it off. It’s better if they hear it from you and not the press.”

“Why would the press say anything?

“This is LA, sweetheart. Everyone wants their pound of flesh. As soon as they find out, they’ll be lining up outside… I know it’s one hell of a thing to tell anybody, but your friends need to know.”

You gulp the knot in your throat and pick up your phone with much apprehension and call your friend Sasha.

Julian was right. Hours after you got home, news broke, and reporters started showing up at the doors of the building.

A week later, there are still a few showing up daily waiting for you to come out.

Given that you were the only one who survived out of the five, there’s been a lot of speculation in the news about you. You've kept the TV off, but according to Sasha, they’ve dissected any piece of your life they could find on the internet. Your online print has slowly grown in the past few months, so there’s a lot to dig into. Luckily, most of it is about your work, there are only a few real tidbits of yourself out in the open. Still, you have no interest in whatever the so-called experts in those crime shows have to say about you. And you cross your fingers, hoping this doesn’t splash or reflect badly on your friends or Julian. You’d hate to be the cause this interferes with their lives.

The phone hasn’t stopped ringing, either, to the point you had to shut it off for hours at a time.

It’s not something you're proud of at this moment, but after your identity was revealed, the book sales went off the charts, and suddenly everyone wants a piece of it. Because pain sells, you've been approached by more than one publisher that has offered insane amounts of money for a deal. It'd be great if any of them hadn't come with the pesky condition that in exchange you'd have to write an all-tell book about what happened to you. It might be naive and crazy to pass up an opportunity like that, but as tempting as it is, you don’t wanna cash in your trauma. It’s hard just to live with it as it is, and you’d never be comfortable selling that part of you.

On the other end, you got yourself caught researching the other victims, trying to find a link with them other than the obvious resemblance. Just a click away from your fingertips, you can easily find each of their names, their hobbies, where they lived, what they did for a living… It only serves to unsettle you even further.

You blame yourself for their deaths. Especially after that specific piece of information you got from Sunday. They were marked with the same dragonfly you have on your arm, as if someone was trying to make a copy out of you. For what purpose? You’re not sure. Maybe they’re just infatuated with you, like the detective said. Or perhaps they have a festering grudge towards you, and they’re trying to scare you.

Your mind unravels with all the information you get your hands into. If you had trouble sleeping, this just serves to fuel your restless state.

How does someone bounce from something like that unscathed? You’ll probably need some help along the way. This has brought all the weakness to the surface you’ve worked so hard to push through, and they all paralyze you at once. It’s actually ridiculous, you can’t even take a bath without thinking of someone pushing your head underwater. You can’t sleep for more than an hour or two before reliving that in your dreams.

Detective Sunday calls a couple of times to give some information after digging into your former boyfriend; and Adam Gillespie. The latter has airtight alibis for each of the murders, and the night you were attacked. Logan, however, seems to be missing. He was in Ontario for a couple of years, but his current girlfriend, and mother to his one-year-old baby, reported his disappearance five months ago. It's really concerning given that's about the time when they found the first victim.

You haven’t left the apartment in 10 long days, though you had gone up to the rooftop, mostly at night with Julian, just to get some air and see the stars. He hasn’t left your side, either, other than to go pick up grocery deliveries and care packages your friends have sent. If something good has come up from this is that you’ve settled your disagreements with Von and Eve, and that’s been a huge help to get through this while the investigation is ongoing.

Julian has been incredibly patient and has put all his energy on making you feel comfortable that you feel that he’s put his life on hold for you, unconditionally. So, on the 11th day of your seclusion, you make an effort to get out of bed before he wakes up and prepare breakfast for him.

He's half awake when you carry the tray to the bedroom. His body stirs up at the smell, and turns to the side, and his mouth lovingly quirks up at the corners.

“Good morning, baby,” you whisper.

“Morning, honey,” he sits up against the headboard, and you place the tray on the mattress, so it’s hovering over his lap, “is this for me?”

Nodding, you lean closer and smooch his lips.

“Hmm, love some sugar in the morning,” she says gruffly, tracing your jaw with his fingers as you pull your head back. “Are we celebrating anything special?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Hm-huh,” you kneel by his side, let out a sight before rambling, “I just wanted to say thank you for taking care of me. You’ve gone up and beyond to make me feel safe, and I’ve been nothing but useless…”

“Babe-”

“No, let me finish, please… I’ve always been very independent, and now I feel like I can’t function if you’re not here, and it’s not fair to you or me… I know I’m going to be fine eventually. I just wish I could leap to the end. I hate feeling this scared all the time…”

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he opens an inviting arm, and you curl against his side as he presses his lips to your temple, “you don’t have to thank me. I’d do anything for you.”

“I wish we could just go somewhere and forget about this.” You contemplate, pillowing your head on his shoulder, having your fingers playing with his gold necklace.

“Yeah? Where do you wanna go, baby?”

“I don’t know… somewhere we can drink cocktails by the beach.”

“Hmm, I know exactly the place,” he picks up a piece of toast from the tray and starts devouring his breakfast with his free hand, “I’ll take you there for our anniversary.”

You smile to yourself and relax in his embrace while he finishes his food. You end up falling asleep. He rolls you carefully to the side and leaves you resting for a while.

A few minutes after starting his workout, he receives a message from Eli, who's telling him to turn on the news.

When he does, he’s absolutely dumbstruck by listening to the reported death of another woman in the same fashion as the other four. This one in particular, he knows personally. It’s his highest profile client to date– Martina Duvall. He was present during the extravagant celebration of her 25th birthday that lasted a week, and three other separate occasions she’d hired him.

Julian sits on the couch and watches Detective Sunday make a statement, announcing that she was found in her yacht, and confirming that it is the same MO.

One thing that puzzles him is that Martina doesn’t look anything like you. One would believe that it might be a copycat taking advantage of the open case to pin this on The Baptist– the name the media has chosen for the perpetrator. But Sunday herself wouldn't have made that official statement if she had any doubts. He trusts the detective surprisingly. Even if she was who arrested him in the first place 16 years ago.

His level of trust only reaches so far, and after turning off the TV, he texts Eli to come by. He needs to place a special order for something, a gun, and doesn't wanna ask over the phone.

He's not sure how deep this goes, but one thing he's certain is that he's going to do everything in his hand to protect you. If the killer has the intention of coming back here to finish the job, he's not going to get caught empty-handed.

It might not be the best idea, but he can't come up with anything better at this moment.

Julian looks out the balcony to see that the three reporters that were out in the street yesterday have multiplied again into 30 after Martina.

Then, he catches Detective Sunday making her way into the building, ignoring the questioning of the vicious attack of the press surrounding her.

Julian checks that you're still asleep and closes the bedroom door before having Sunday back in the living space.

She's not here for you this time, though. Her objective is questioning Julian after learning about his odd affiliation with Martina Duvall. She had him listed as her driver.

The detective confirms that Martina had the same drug in her system as the others, and the key temporary dragonfly tattoo placed on her arm. Those two clues haven't been made public, so certainly she can tell it is the same killer and not a copycat.

Sunday's theory veers into a different direction, however. She's not completely convinced someone is infatuated with you anymore. But without discarding that possibility, she plays with the idea of someone targeting you because of Julian.

There are a few other coincidences she’s discovered that have her believing someone wants to hurt Julian by going after you. The main reason being that a couple of hours ago, she found out that Martina was about to get married to someone twice her age. Nobody knew about it, except for her family and closest friends.

The man she was engaged to is about to make an appearance on TV, offering a 20k reward to whoever points them in the right direction of the killer.

His name is Richard Stratton, tech mogul and philanthropist, who was once married to Julian's old sweetheart, Michelle Stratton.

Julian told you about her a long time ago. They had an affair before he went to prison.

She visited him a handful of times at the beginning but after a few weeks, she moved to England, where his husband was expanding his business. From then on she'd sent letters that stopped after a while too. Much to his surprise, he received one 5 years ago when he was still in prison, where she explained that she had a kid and apologized for not staying in touch. He tried to reach back, but his letters were always returned. He figured she gave him a fake address, so her husband wouldn’t find out.

Like every flame, that one faded eventually. And Julian understood why she had to move on. They were nothing at all to begin with. He wasn't expecting her to wait for him those 15 years he spent locked up. It'd have been crazy if she had.

Not as crazy as discovering she died six months ago right here in Los Angeles in her house on The Hills. He saw her picture on the papers. Being married to Stratton took her to the front pages, but according to those, they were already divorced by the time of her death. Someone suspected foul play, and Stratton was investigated, but his alibi cleared him from suspicion.

They never said how she died, and Julian would’ve never imagined that today he’d find out she was found in her pool. She had hit her head on the edge and drowned for lack of assistance.

It was ultimately ruled an accident, but Sunday is not discarding any possibility right now.

If her new angle is correct, you might be in danger because of him, and he can’t have that.

Chapter 4: Between Two Lungs

You feel trapped in these four walls. They're like a cage. You could go outside if you wanted to. Nobody is stopping you; only yourself. You’re still too scared to do something as simple as taking a stroll or go swimming like you used to. You doubt you ever will again, at least not on your own. That’s how deep fear has reached you.

You’re holding your breath for this to be over, and you pray internally that it happens soon, so you can move on, start again, and do normal things you used to do instead of being obsessed 24/7 with the case. Every new piece of information just makes the puzzle more complicated. And after finding out about Martina and Stratton, you’re not sure what to believe anymore.

This evening, you shift gears and decide to have a little dinner date. An official one with candles, music, and wine.

You put on a simple wrap dress in your favorite color, and it helps to bring your old self back a little. It’s such a shallow thing to worry about, but you feel like you’ve been slowly disappearing into all those hours when you couldn’t get out of bed.

Julian reaches out from behind and loops the necklace he gave you for your birthday around your neck and clasps it at the back. It has a little half moon pendant that you touch for a moment, as his lips meet the curve of your neck.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he hums, and kisses the other side of your neck.

“Thanks, handsome,” you turn around to see him clad in jeans, and a black t-shirt that hugs his chest and biceps tightly. You smooth your hand on his arm, as you lean to capture his lips.

You have a lovely evening and enjoy a homemade meal you cooked earlier together for a change. You've been relying mostly on takeout for days now, and it feels nice to eat something you've prepared and has turned out to be good.

After dinner, with your hands clinging to his neck, you swing slowly to the music in the middle of the living room without shoes. His palms frame your hips, as his forehead touches yours.

His heart feels heavier than ever at this hour. You can feel it in the way he exhales and suddenly stops moving.

“I have to tell you something,” his voice comes lower than a whisper.

“What?” you scratch his nape softly.

“I uh… I bought a gun. Eli brought it this morning while you were sleeping.”

Letting the silence fill the room for a long moment, you close your eyes and process it.

“Why?” you simply protest, even though you know the answer to that.

“You know why.”

“Jules… I don't want you to get into trouble.”

“I won't. It's just a precaution.”

You inhale sharply, sliding your palms across his chest.

“Say something, sweetheart.”

“I just… I think you should give it back. I don't feel comfortable with it in the house.” While you can appreciate him wanting to protect you, you're not sure that this is the best way.

“It's locked in the safe. If everything goes right, it'll stay there.”

Taking a step back, and pulling away from his touch, you turn around and start clearing the table.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing. You're just not listening to me,” you go around the breakfast bar and put the plates in the sink.

“I’m listening… You want me to get rid of it and I can’t. It’s my job to protect you, and I’m simply not going to be caught off guard if anyone decides to come back and finish the job.” He braces his hands on the edge of the bar, watching you violently scrub the plates.

“That is not your job, Julian,” you counter, annoyed, “that’s what the police outside are for.”

“It’s just a gun. What is it really that you’re worried about?”

“It’s not just a gun. I’m worried…” you pause, take a deep breath, and turn off the faucet, “I’m worried that you’re going to get yourself hurt for me. All eyes are on us now… I hate it, but as long as they’re watching, nobody is going to try anything again… now tell me why you need to have it so badly.”

“I don’t need it. It’s just an extra measure,” he expresses, giving you only half the truth behind that choice of purchasing a weapon.

“Alright, don’t tell me,” you quickly dry your hands in a kitchen towel, and walk past him, heading towards the bedroom.

He swallows his pride and after a moment he trails behind you.

“Look, what do you want me to say? That I’m scared?”

“I want you to tell me the truth, Julian,” you respond quickly, having your voice wavering in your throat, “I know you’re as terrified as I am, but you’re playing with fire. The last thing we need right now is you getting caught with a gun.”

“Look, you’re right. I am terrified, but not for the reasons you think…” his head bows, taking a step forwards, so he can have you closer. He holds your face in his hands, meeting your gaze, as he utters, “I’m terrified cause I know this is my fault-”

“It isn’t,” you interrupt.

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, sweetheart. But I’m not going to let anything happen to you, you got that?” he exhales, stating with passion, “nobody is going to put a hand on you again. So help me God… I don’t give a shit if I end up rotting in prison, as long as you’re safe. That's all that matters. Can you accept that? ”

“No, I can’t accept that,” your eyes well up, “I won’t have you doing anything stupid for me.”

“Well… what are you gonna do about that? How are you going to stop me?”

A tidal surge of mixed emotions makes your heart race between love and fright. It pushes you to lean and capture his lips to shut his mouth.

You anchor your hands to his sides as he lends you his breath and warmth. You feel it pass from his lungs to yours as the kiss grows more heated.

The pain ebbs at the edge of his kiss, and everything else fades as his tongue moves past your teeth.

“Hmm, touch me,” you urge, grabbing his hands and guiding them from your face to your hips.

He presses you against the wall, as his lips shift from sweet to vicious. He sucks your lip into his mouth, at the same time his hands blindly undo the strings holding your dress together and slip beneath the fabric to meet your skin. He smooths the plane of your body and grips at your ass, pushing his hips against yours.

As you circle your arms around his neck and find his tongue again, he molds your skin with desire, awakening your sex drive from slumber.

He hums and pulls away from your kiss, bringing his hands to remove your dress off you. Pushing it over your shoulders, it falls at your feet along with his gaze that scans your body, stripped to only your pair of panties now.

You shiver as his knuckles softly draw the curve of your breast, “so damn beautiful.”

He licks his lips, as one of his hands slide up to frame your chin, pressing your head carefully against the wall. His deep brown stare captures the gloss in your eyes, watching you gasp as his other hand slides under the elastic of your panties to massage your pussy.

“There’s my girl,” he purrs, collecting your arousal around his fingers.

You half-smile and trap your bottom lip under your teeth, holding for dear life to his neck, while he circles your clit with great skill.

His head bows to nip at your neck and capture your moans right from your throat when he presses a little harder.

His lips slide, descending from that point and down your body, stopping to kiss and lick your nipples before letting his tongue leave a wet trail to your navel. You can tell what his intentions are as he subtly gets down on one knee and pulls your underwear down.

Your breath catches as he glances at you with nothing but hunger for a beat before delving between your legs. He lifts one of your thighs over his shoulder, and blows some air on your slicked folds before tasting you.

You can't help but moan and grip at his hair as the wild swirl of his tongue touches every inch of your vulva before sucking your clit. It sends a shiver down your spine, and makes your back arch, pushing your center against his avid mouth.

His hands keep your jerking hips in place as he quickly drives you to ecstasy. The orgasm overcomes your body by surprise, and if he wasn't holding you, you'd totally fall on your face.

Julian gets to his feet without letting go of you. You link your arms around his neck, and he picks you up, bridal style, and carries you to bed.

As he lays your body down, you pull at the hem of his tee, and he takes it off. You extend your hands and undo his jeans before having Jules crawling on top of you. He pulls his bottom layers down, nestles between your legs, and you hug his torso as he tenderly brushes his plump lips over yours.

You're still very sensitive, but you tuck your hand in the small space between your body and his, grab his semi-hard length, and pump him leisurely until he’s fully grown. A pleasured hum falls from his lips as you guide him into your opening.

He catches you trembling as he slowly pushes into you.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Hmm, yeah,” you assure, palming the length of his back.

He pecks your lips, as you curl your legs around his hips. Then buries his face in the crook of your neck, fucking you ever so delicately, making you melt around him the longer he drags it out.

As much as you love having him inside you like this, in the middle of it you lose your focus and the pressing need for orgasm wanes out of the blue before even getting to that sweet edge.

He grunts and breathes against your skin, urging you to come with him, but you can't. You're too far away to bring yourself to orgasm again. Must be a first. It makes you anxious, cause he puts all his effort into it, and you can't even reciprocate when he spills inside you.

His breath steams the skin on your collar bones, and he stays there for a moment until he can speak again.

Clearing his throat, he props himself on one elbow, slips out of you, and reaches with his opposite hand to finish you off. He starts rubbing your folds, but you don’t let him finish.

“It’s okay,” you mumble, grabbing his hand and setting it aside

“You don’t want me to?” his brow creases. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Jules. I… can you just hold me?” you let out a tired sigh.

He nods, and you shift together, turning to the side, so he can spoon you.

“It felt really good at the beginning,” you reassure after a moment, smoothing your hand on his forearm.

“Yeah?”

“Hmm.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to try again?” He insists, having his hand slipping down your body to grip at your thigh.

“No, it’s not gonna work.”

“Not gonna work? You’re hurting my ego, babe,” he quips, pressing his smile on your shoulder.

“You can tell your ego to go fuck himself,” you laugh softly, blindly finding his hand and lacing fingers with him.

“Listen, I think it’s time you and I get out of the house. Maybe just for a drive. What do you say? It’ll be good to clear our heads. Think about it.”

After long deliberation you decide that yes, it is time to leave the house, even if it's just for a little drive.

The next day, you step out of the apartment, filled with apprehension, for the first time in 15 days. It’s too hot during the day, so you wait for a milder temperature in the late afternoon, which is near to impossible. One of the things you miss about Portland, besides your friends, is the weather, and the smell of rain. Here, even the grass blades could burn your feet, especially in a summer blaze like this.

No matter what, he was right– it's nice to be out and breathe the ocean breeze as he drives along the coastline.

Just like the movies, he has the hardtop of the convertible down, so you can feel the sun on your face, and the air blowing your hair. You relax on the passenger seat, having your heart calm the longer you’re out. It'll be nicer if you didn't have the undercover police car following you everywhere, but it's a small price for security.

Safety is an illusion, you realize. Here or at home, anything can happen anywhere, at any time. Being locked up has only given you more anxiety than you ever thought. At least out here, you’re not a sitting duck waiting for something to happen.

Your mind clears as you stop by the beach and watch the sunset peacefully going down before driving back home.

It’s the apartment that flips that internal switch in your head the second you’re inside and takes you to spiraling again. You anxiously sit at your desk and turn on your laptop to check your emails while Julian gets a beer from the fridge. Your phone is pretty much dead to you at this point. You rely only on the written word from your friends and the news. There’s a couple in your inbox from Sasha, the subject line screaming urgency in all caps. You open the first one, where she explains she’s been checking your Instagram and found a few photos you were tagged on at one of your first book signings in Los Angeles from a couple of months ago. There’s a few of you meeting people, reading, and signing some books. And she’s highlighted the ones where you can see the crowd at the back, and in a couple of them, she’s spotted a familiar face– your ex-boyfriend, who is currently MIA. On the second email, she dived further to all the signings you’ve done, and found some more from several cities where Logan followed along.

You’re unsure what her findings are making you feel… obviously, unsettled. Has he been stalking you all this time? You wonder. And if so, why did he wait all this time to try… whatever he had in mind? He was clearly in Boston and New York, where you went all alone. He could’ve easily taken the advantage of that, and he didn’t.

You show them to Julian and send them to Detective Sunday before calling Sasha.

Then you go through every memory you’ve collected of him. He was clearly disturbed, especially at the end of your relationship, but you’d have never pegged him as a killer. He couldn’t have, could he? Despite the way he treated you, you can’t bring yourself to believe this was him. But you’re not in the best mind set right now to form any rational assumptions. You haven’t seen in a long time either, so who knows what his game is.

It’s not the pictures Sasha finds that help crack the case, not at all. It only adds up to the pile of evidence Detective Sunday has come upon against Logan. Because the next day, while you’re taking a shower, Julian realizes that they’ve pulled the police detail off you without notice, almost 24 hours after you contacted Sunday. He runs downstairs and circles the block to see that none of the inconspicuous vehicles he's spotted for the last couple of weeks are anywhere in the vicinity.

“What’s wrong?”

You’ve just dressed yourself and come when you see him locking the bolt of the door and quickly grabbing the phone.

“The police are gone. I’m gonna…” he dials directly Sunday’s extension but doesn’t pick up on the first few tries.

You turn the TV on and flip from channel to channel until you land on the news to see they’ve apprehended their prime suspect, Todd Harrison, aka Logan, who has been using a false identity all this time. Someone saw him lurking around Martina’s yacht, and called in a tip. That’s all the media knows so far.

You don’t receive more insight until later, when Sunday finally calls and informs you that they're absolutely certain your ex was the one who tried to drown you and killed those women. They're still processing the amount of evidence collected from his place that included hundreds of videos and photos of all of you, the transfer tattoos, personal items of each of the victims…

The detective paints a pretty grim picture by the way she speaks. It looks like you were his main inspiration and was currently preparing himself for something bigger. He had your laptop hacked and wasn't shy on recording you using your own camera when you had the lid open.

None of this makes sense to you yet. It's hard to accept someone you dated was capable of something so heinous.

Chapter 5: Enmeshment

In the aftermath of Logan’s arrest, there’s no peace as you once knew it. You can’t find it in yourself yet. Him being in jail is supposed to make you feel better, but it doesn’t. Something is still off, and you can’t quite figure out what’s causing you to stumble into your every attempt of regaining some sense of normalcy because there isn't such a thing as normal, and that’s a fact. You’re still being watched and scrutinized, and the end of this is not coming as fast as you’d want to. The case continues unfolding, and the only coping mechanism to navigate all of that, is to put on a mask and pretend everything’s okay while you bury yourself in your work. Otherwise, you’d fall apart. It’s a lame coping mechanism, but it’s the only thing that keeps you afloat. It only lasts for so long. Soon, the mask starts to crack, and you find yourself acting up in ways you can’t even recognize.

You fill your wine glass a few more times than you’re used to for dinner. It helps you fall asleep faster, especially when Julian isn’t home. He goes back to his usual routine too, though he’s only working on weekends now. It makes you feel helpless having to have someone watching over you as if you were a fucking toddler. You pick up fights with him about nothing sometimes. It feels like the world to you in that very second, no matter how small it is. A minute later, you feel like the biggest asshole. It's very conflicting. At times, you can't leave his side, at others, you can't even touch him or look at him. You engage more often in sex, too, you've realized. On impulse. It has to be quick and rough. It's not like your libido has gotten stronger, it's that you'd kill to feel anything other than whatever is going on inside you.

Any of this isn't right, you're barely aware of how wrongly you're losing control in very few moments of clarity. They pass just as fast as they come. You can't stop yourself. You've taken pride in always being put together, doing everything by the book, and following every rule that you were bound to break at some point. This is it. You're not processing everything that's been accumulating inside you and can't put it into words either. Not out of your mouth and not in your writing. It's like a void you can't escape.

Julian is not blind to it, he's been treating you with kid's gloves from the start, and he continues to do so. He indulges you, gives you space when you need, and it's always there to hold you afterwards. He also entertains any of your recently acquired bad habits without judgment. You truly don't deserve him. He casually mentions going to therapy a couple of times when you're calm. You've considered it… briefly. Your pride, ego, self-destruction, or whoever is in charge of you now keeps insisting that everything will pass on its own, that this is just temporary.

Your ex-boyfriend isn't speaking to the police. What they found in his possession speaks volumes for him, however. You had to go to the station to identify some items Logan had taken as trophies. You recognize your swimsuit, the one you were wearing that night and that you had Julian throw away.

You shouldn’t have, but you ask the detective to show some of the pictures he had taken of you. Most of them are just candid pictures in your daily life. Seeing through his vile eyes is absolutely terrifying and unnerving. The last one you see, though, that one takes the cake. You almost wanna throw up at the sight of yourself laying by the pool, soaking wet and lifeless. That’s the one he took that night. You’d tear it apart if you could, so nobody could look at it again. You gulp, turning it around and sliding it across the desk.

“Is he saying anything yet?” You ask.

Detective Sunday shakes her head, “word is he’s going to plead guilty.”

“Like he’s making a deal?”

She nods, “he’s got a good lawyer too.”

“Then, what am I doing here?”

“Procedure.” Sunday clears his throat, picking up the irritation in your voice, “listen, I hate this as much as you do, trust me. I’ve looked at these pictures more times than I can count. If it was up to me… he’d never see daylight again.”

Her words aren't very reassuring. You can't imagine what kind of deal he could be offered after what he's done, but no matter how many years he gets, it'll never be enough.

Your lack of judgment was truly poor when you met him. He was very sweet, you said. Nothing sweet about him anymore.

Julian is waiting for you in the parking lot when you get out. He has a cigarette between his lips, and you extend your hand, pick it up, and take a long puff.

“How did it go?”

You simply shrug, “he's making a deal or something.”

“That's batshit… they got him dead to rights. Why would the DA make a deal with him?”

“Beats me,” you blow out the smoke and pass the cigarette back to Julian, “he's got a good lawyer, apparently.”

You believe the absence of irrefutable physical evidence in the crime scenes is what might save the asshole. He really had this planned through and saw to leaving no trace. There's no digital evidence either, he's used his skills too to leave no mark, so anything in his possession is not comparable to what he could be charged with, had there been any of the mentioned.

They keep asking you if you remember seeing something that night. If only you had, this would be much different. So your testimony is pretty much worthless too.

As Julian sets the car in motion, it feels like someone else inhabiting your body when you reach with your fingers to curl around Jules' crotch while he drives out of the lot.

“Babe, you're playing a dangerous game there,” he gazes at you behind his aviators, then back at the road as you start pumping his length.

It's one of those impulses that shuts up all the unnecessary noise in your head. Keeps you distracted from going down on a spiral after what you've learned at the station.

“Let's go to Lorenzo's,” you propose. He's been wanting to take you to his friend's club for a while, and it has always intimidated you to go there. Not anymore.

“I thought you had to work.”

“It can wait.”

“It’s the middle of the day.”

“So? It is open, right?”

His head nods.

“C'mon, I wanna do something fun,” you insist as the car comes to a stop at a red light.

“We could go to the beach.”

“It's too hot,” hastily, remove your hand off him, “you know what? Forget it, let's go home.”

He sighs through his nose and thinks for a beat before grabbing your hand again and putting it back where it was.

“You wanna go to the club? Stop acting like a little brat and earn it,” he chooses to enable you.

You press your bare teeth on your bottom lip and fondle him softly. You don't want him to crash the car, either. You might be in the middle of a crisis, but you're not that far gone, so maybe there's still hope for you yet.

Enzo's club is not like any other club you’ve ever been. Let’s just say it doesn’t fit in the legal bounds of what constitutes a regular club. Part of it, at least. The bar side is legit. The gambling room at the back isn't however. And neither is the underground level, where he's created a safe space for casual sex, and prostitution. It operates closely to a kink club, where only vetted members can enter. Julian, being an old friend of his, has always had access to it. He's been wanting to get you here, partly cause he has been curious to see you in that ambience since the moment he met you and pegged you as a voyeur. There are a few rooms with one-way mirrors for people who like being watched and those who enjoy watching. He's always thought you might like that.

He's not wrong. You’ve been toying with the idea for months, and now you have nothing to lose. The worst thing that could’ve ever happened to you, it already happened. Maybe this is part of getting over all of it. Trying new things, and uncovering other parts of yourself you’ve kept mostly hidden.

You leave the car in a parking garage a block away from Enzo’s and walk the rest of the way.

Julian has an arm around your waist when you cross the door. There's not many people at this hour, so you're able to quickly get a drink at the bar for starters. The music has some people dancing on the dance floor. It's a very high-end space with a VIP section and a small stage.

You pick up your cocktail and since he refuses to dance with you, you stride alone towards the dance floor and have fun by yourself, swinging to the rhythm of a semi-upbeat song.

“Hey,” someone pats Julian on the shoulder while he watches you, and he turns his head to see hide friend Enzo, “never seen you here this early, Kaye.”

“It was her idea,” Jules points at you with the beer bottle in his hand.

“Is that your girl? The one from…”

“Yeah, that's her.”

“How's she doing?”

“She's really hurting right now,” he glances at you and sees you, trying to escape from all that pain by sipping your cocktail from a straw while you move, “she wanted to come here, do something different.”

“I bet. Are you staying long?”

“Yeah, for a while. I'm taking her downstairs.”

“That's good,” his friend nods, “you two have fun, yeah? I have a lot of work to do here today. It's nice seeing you.”

“You too.”

Afterwards, Julian finishes his beer and joins you, curling his arms around your waist from behind. .

“You ready?” he whispers in your ear.

“Hm-hm.”

Then, he guides you to a little hallway at the back, guarded by a security guy. Julian shows him some sort of pass, and he leads you into a room that looks like a coat check.

A woman behind a desk greets you and places a plastic box on the surface for you to leave your phones or any other recording devices. She recites a set of rules that boil down to no recording or photographing. No drugs or smoking allowed. No harassment and no interference with other people's activities. And several important rules about safety, consent, and protection.

You both place your cellphones in the box and check your pockets. You left your bag in the car, so you only have a small wallet that you keep with you.

She hands you a key after locking your phones in a square locker, and Jules tucks it in his wallet.

The receptionist presses a button and a door buzzes on the side. You go through it; it buzzes again as it closes behind you. You climb down the set of stairs to a small reception area with more security and a display of toys for purchase on the side.

You head straight to another door and Julian gazes at you before opening, “are you sure you wanna do this?”

“Hm-huh.”

He grins at you and opens the door to a much bigger space than you expected. You hadn't really pictured it in any way, but by the secrecy of it, one would think it'd be something more dungeon-like. It’s not like that at all. There's a plethora of things that shouldn’t go together, but somehow they do. It's all cream colors and red, neon lighting, with velvet curtains and leather couches in alcoves. There's a bar area and two separate hallways that lead to bedrooms behind those big curtains.

Mellow music playing in the background and a few people just hanging out in the bar. A group is casually conversing in one of the alcoves. Another one is occupied by a couple intimately touching the other. But your eyes are drawn to the man kneeling by an ottoman sucking a woman's toes in a different nook.

“Do you want another drink, sweetheart?”

“Uh… sure.”

You order another cocktail and take Julian's hand. He guides you through one of the curtains to show you one of the main attractions. It leads to a much darker hallway, full of windows on either side. Most of them are covered. There are a few people watching through the ones uncovered, where you can observe people having sex. The first one you pass by, there's a woman lying on her front with a mask on and four people brushing her body with feathers. On the second one, you see a man shoving his cock into his kneeled partner's mouth. The third one holds a picture of a woman with strap-on pegging a man. A fourth window holds a man walking slowly around a bed, observing the form of his partner, tied up to the bed. You stop at the fifth one, where a man is giving the pound of his life to a woman. He has her on all fours, punishing her ass with his hips, occasionally slapping her flesh with his palm, and yanking her hair. There's nothing special about it. It's just rough sex, and yet it evokes that something in you. Even though you can't hear anything that goes in there, they seem to be having fun by the way their faces contort.

“You like that, sweetheart?” One of Julian's arms circles your waist from behind while you sip your drink.

“Hmm.”

“What do you like about it?”

“I dunno… I guess they both seem detached from the other, like… she's acting for him, and he only cares about his own pleasure but not really wanting to connect on a deeper level. It feels… liberating.”

“Yeah?”

“I'm not sure that I've ever done that. You know, I can't fully commit to sex if I'm not cared for, and vice versa.”

“I know what you like, baby.”

“I wish I could do that sometimes… just not to care, you know?”

“But I love that you do so much, and that you have such a big, beautiful heart.”

“Well, it's broken right now,” you sigh, “I'm sorry, I'm such a downer right now. I just…”

“You wanna feel something different. I get it. Don't apologize to me. I got you, okay?”

“Okay,” you glance over your shoulder, smiling at him.

Watching other people having sex it’s entertaining, but not as much as you wanted it to be. Maybe in a different headspace, you'd be able to enjoy a little more being witness to those snaps of intimacy right in front of you.

Afterwards, you go back to the main space and take a seat on one of the alcoves.

“Who pays for all this?” you wonder, settling glued to Julian's side, draping your legs over his thigh.

“It relies on member fees and donations.”

“Hmm. But you don't come here often?”

“Yeah, I don't get as much here for a night as I do out there, but I still pay a fee. It helps keep it running. Make it safe and all for other people.”

“How much would you get here?”

“I don't know. Three or four hundred? Depends on the day.”

“And that's not enough for you, Mr. Greedy?” you utter playfully, “you rather take the risk out in the open?”

“Makes it more interesting,” he palms your denim covered thigh.

“Well, how about we make this more interesting,” you drink from your glass, settle it down on the table and tuck your hand in his pants' pocket to collect his wallet.

Julian stares at you, intrigued about what you’re concocting, as you take out a hundred dollar bill from it before giving his wallet back.

“Let’s say, for a hundred bucks you can do whatever you want with me,” you gesture with the bill in your hand, “what would you do with me?”

“You want me to pay to have sex with you?” he snorts.

“Would you?”

His head tilts to the side, considering, “I would… but a hundred bucks? You’re selling yourself cheap, sweetheart. I’d pay thousands to be with you.”

“What if I wanna be a cheap whore?” You fold the bill in your hand, slide under the hem of your v-neck blouse, and tuck it in one of the cups of your bra.

He clicks his tongue and sends one hand to hold your face, brushing his thumb ever so slightly on your bottom lip.

“Why do you wanna be a cheap whore?”

“Cause…” you exhale and pause for a beat, “I don’t wanna be me right now.”

“You can be whatever you wanna be, baby,” he sighs, pulling down your lip a couple of times, picking up on what you’re inquiring of him, “you want me to use you? Is that what you're asking?”

You nod.

“Yeah?” He brings your face closer, so you feel his warm breath on your lips, “want me to treat you like a little slut?”

Your cheeks heat up hearing him saying that, and you simply hum.

“You don’t mind people watching?”

You shake your head in his warm palm, spread across your chin now.

He quickly licks his lips and then swipes that same tongue on yours before ordering, “then get on your knees and earn that money.”

You swallow and slide between his thighs to kneel on the floor as he opens his fly and belt. You lean your head and kiss his bulge over his underwear.

You’re taken again by that urge of escaping from your entire being that you don’t give a fuck where you are or if there’s people around watching or not as you go down on him. You get lost in pleasing him, you exist only for that right now. And it’s easier to slip into that mindset than you’d ever thought.

You peel back his boxers, and watch him go hard in your fist as his fingers toy with your hair. Immersed in your role, you pump his length with ease, occasionally gazing at him. He bites his lip as you open your mouth to get a taste of his pre-cum with just the tip of your tongue. You swirl around his head, and trace his slit before wrapping your lips around the stately flared cock. Filling your mouth with hit, you bob your head, spreading your spit along his velvet skin. Julian hums and pushes your head down for you to go faster. It’s what you asked for anyway.

You rub your thighs together, feeling the arousal pooling between your folds as he mutters and praises what a good slut you are.

His cock twitches between your teeth, and he buries a grunt deep in his throat as he feeds you his warm load.

You suck him dry, swallowing every drop of him as if it was sweet honey. Pulling your head back, you lick the remains that stick to your lips under the sultry shadow of his stare.

While he catches his breath, he brings his hand closer and inserts two fingers in your mouth, slipping them in and out, as if he was still fucking your lips.

“You're something special, sweetheart.”

Playing your part, you hum pleasantly around the motion of his fingers, shamelessly blowing them off until he pulls them out, letting your spit dribble down your chin.

“Did I taste good?”

“Hmm,” grinning, you reach for the napkin near your cocktail to clean your mouth, as he tucks himself back into his pants,

You get on your feet, and he pulls down onto his lap, sideways, letting his hands roam your body, and his lips nibble your partly-exposed chest while you hug his neck.

You tilt your head back as he covers more ground, noting his hand sneaking under your blouse at the back. His fingers press and glide with electricity all over the plane of your skin, as his opposite hand grips viciously at your ass.

The scent of your skin intoxicates him, making him groan at the top of your breasts.

“Can we get a room?” you pant.

“Yeah, we can get whatever you want, baby.”

He pulls his head back and holds your face momentarily as he kisses your lips. Then, you both shift and stand up to get a key from the bartender.

You hit the ladies' room first while Julian settles himself in the bedroom. He moods the LED lights to a soft purple and lets the curtains cover the mirror, cause he’s not sure if you wanna be watched or not. He also makes sure that everything is cleaned and that they’re stocked with the complementary condoms, lube, and wipes in the nightstand. Everything’s perfect as he waits for you.

After ten minutes, he starts to worry that you’ve suddenly gotten sick, or have changed your mind when you don’t show up. He lets another two or three minutes pass by and then peeks out the hallway to see if you’re close. You’re not. He strides promptly back to the main space, and heads straight to the restroom. He calls your name, knocking on every stall’s door, asking if you’re okay, but there are no signs of you in there.

A woman coming out of one of the stalls gives him a look, and he apologizes. He’s about to get out when he glances at the floor and sees the half-moon necklace you were wearing. With a deep crease in his brow, he picks it up and swallows. Something it’s wrong here, he realizes all of a sudden. He inspects the bathroom further and sees a small trail of blood on the side of one of the sinks.

You’re dead. It’s what first crosses his mind. He’s let his guard down, and he’s killed you.

Julian rushes out of the bathroom and starts asking about you to everyone in his way. The bartender plainly tells him you just left, but he doesn’t buy it.

He makes another swipe around the lower level before heading up. A woman stops him and tells him that she saw you passed out, being carried by one of the security guys, and that you had blood trickling down your temple.

Rushing up the stairs, he collects his cellphone and yours and steps once more into the club. His eyes frantically search for you all around, but you’re still missing. Then, he notices security keeping an eye on him, and there’s no doubt in his bones that there’s been foul play in your disappearance. Someone has taken you. He’s sure.

Julian makes a quick decision and dashes straight to the employee's closed area, and enters Enzo’s office, locking the door behind him before anyone can get to him.

“What did you do with her?” he questions his friend, and quickly eyes a flashy gun with a gold finish on top of a filing cabinet.

“What are you talking about?”

“You knew exactly who she was when you looked at her… Nothing happens here without you knowing it. Who did you call?”

“She’s been all over the news. Everyone knows who she is.”

“Bullshit.”

Suddenly, there’s a relentless banging and pushing on the door behind him.

“Tell them to stop.”

Enzo pulls his palm up calmly and raises his voice to tell his men to stand back.

“Look. The best thing for you to do know it’s to get a drink, calm yourself, and go home, Julian.”

There’s a pounding in his chest that urges him to grab Enzo’s arm, twist it to his back, and push his front flush against the wall.

“What the fuck did you do?” Julian mutters, having Enzo pinned with all his force.

“I had no choice,” Enzo struggles to speak, “I owed a lotta money.”

Julian keeps him secure with his dominant hand, and reaches with the other to pick up the gun he saw before, cocks it and puts it against Enzo’s nape

“You fucking sold her?”

“I didn’t… someone was already after her.”

“Yeah, he’s in jail.”

“No,” Enzo tries to shake his head, “that wasn’t him. Logan was set up, just like you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s already gone… she's untouchable now.”

“Give me a fucking name!”

“You know his name.”

Julian sighs and lowers the gun, uttering, “Stratton.”

“He was after you,” Enzo explains, “and got obsessed with her.”

“Where is he taking her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he presses the muzzle of the gun again against his temple now, “I thought we were friends. Where is he taking her?”

“I swear, I don’t know!”

“Then, you’re no use to me, are you?”

“Wait, Julian… I can call him and find out.”

He gives the desk a once-over and locates Enzo’s phone. Without lowering his aim, he lets him move freely to get to it and make the call.

“Put it on speaker.”

Enzo clears his throat and dials Richard Stratton.

Julian can barely keep his thoughts straight for more than a second as the dial tone goes off three times before Stratton answers.

“What do you need now?” the man on the other side asks curtly.

“I uh… I just need to know that we’re squared now.”

“We are. You delivered. Your debt is gone, Lorenzo.”

“You’re not gonna hurt her, are you?”

“I promised I wouldn’t. She’s safer with me than with that degenerate, trust me.”

“Where are you taking her?”

“That’s none of your business.” There’s a pause before Richard speaks again, “is he there with you?”

“Who?”

“Julian. He’s there, isn’t he?” Another moment of silence as Julian's rage levels go off the roof when hearing Richard talking to you, “you wanna say goodbye, sweetheart?”

“Jules,” he hears your shaky voice come out of the speaker, and he lowers his gun, “are you there?”

“I’m here, baby, I’m here. Where are you?”

“I don’t know, I can’t… they hit me,” he can identify the fear in your voice as you speak and half sob, “we’re moving, but I don’t know… I’m scared.”

“Shh, shh, I’m gonna come for you, okay?” Julian’s own throat betrays him, as he tears up, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Promise.”

“I promise, baby. I’ll find you.”

“Time’s up,” Richard utters, and he hears you yelling his name in the background before the call is cut off.

“So help me God, Enzo, something happens to her, I’ll come here, and I’ll kill you myself. Tell your men to back off.”

“Logan,” Enzo utters in a last attempt to make him feel better.

“What about him?”

“If someone knows where Stratton is going, it’s Logan. He’s been covering all his tracks. Knows more about him than he realizes.”

Running against the clock, Julian takes Enzo’s gun and sets a lead foot in the pedal, driving straight into the big house. His thoughts go as fast as the car. He calls Detective Sunday on the way and tells her what happened, and to meet him there. He knows he can’t do this alone, as much as he wants to, he’s going to need her help.

Chapter 6: Clipped Wings

“Where are we going?” You keep asking in the back of a very luxurious vehicle.

Next to you is Richard Stratton. On the front seats, behind an opaque glass, are the driver; and the guy that you tried to fight off in the bathroom and hit you in the head with the butt stock of his gun, so you would stop struggling. You saw them briefly, when you woke up about an hour ago, you believe. Stratton closed the glass partition after that, and the car hasn’t stopped since.

You finally managed to stop crying after talking to Julian. Your wrists are restrained with a zip tie over your lap, and your head is still hammering from the blow. The door windows are completely blocked, too, so you can’t see where you are or where they’re taking you.

“If you're going to kill me, at least tell me why.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I'm not going to kill you. I'm saving you from him.”

It's utterly appalling the way he uses that pet name.

“You call this saving?” you show your join hands up in exasperation.

“That's for your own protection. Once you see what I've done for you, you won't need that.”

“You're crazy.”

He slides his hand over your thigh, and you flinch at his touch.

“Don't touch me.”

He laughs at you and squeezes your knee before removing his hand.

“Don't worry. After a period of adjustment, you'll beg me to touch you.”

“I'd rather die.”

“You already did. Four times.”

It takes you a moment to process, but by your count there are five women dead, not four.

“You killed all those women? Why?”

“They were imposters. See, they looked like you, but they didn’t feel like you or smell like you, or talk like you.”

“Why?” you keep repeating, having tears threatening to pour out of your eyes.

“Because I love you, don't you get it? I only want you. I was trying to ruin Julian's life, but when I met you… being with you was the only thing that mattered all of a sudden. I guess taking you away from him is sort of a tragedy for him. Two birds, one stone.”

“You don't know me.”

“Oh, I do. I've been watching you and learning everything that is to know about you to build the perfect place for you.”

He's truly out of his mind.

“Why did you want to ruin Julian's life?”

“If you must know… a few months ago, I found this letter that Michelle wrote to him but never sent. I guess it was too much to explain over paper… she was telling Julian that our son, my son Colin… was never mine, that was the offspring of that fucking bastard all along.”

“And you killed Michelle for that too,” you mutter, slowly processing this new shocking information.

“She had it coming. She's just a whore like him.”

“You weren't married anymore.”

“She was trying to take away my son. I gave that boy everything for 14 years, and one day she decides I'm a bad influence?”

The shoe seems to fit. Of course, you don't say that out loud. You swallow the dryness of your throat and try not to break into tears. You know you'll meet a similar fate, no matter what he says.

“What about Logan? Why did you bring him into this?”

“Hmm, you're such a curious cat, but I'll bite. Logan hurt you and had to pay for it. You know, actually, he's the one who tried to drown you. He thought that you'd be safer if the world was watching you… he never intended to kill you. He did kill Martina to get back at me. Tried to stage it to pin it on me, when we both knew he'd be taking the blame for all of it. Thing is he did me a favor, she was insufferable. It blew my cover, but I'll find another one.”

“Oh, it must really suck to be you.” You spit out ironically before you can stop yourself, “psychologists are going to have their field day when they catch you.”

You must have hit a nerve there, cause your head suddenly jerks to the side, having the backside of his hand striking across your face terribly hard.

“The others weren't this insolent either.” he mutters, “I was going to wait for you to settle in our new home to do this, but I guess this is a good time to start.”

You glance at him and see him produce a small case from a compartment that holds some vials and syringes. He takes out one of the syringes from its wrapper and loads it with one of the injectables.

“What the hell is that? Is it what you gave them?”

“Oh, no. I had this made especially for you.”

You try to squirm out of his reach, but he locks an arm around you, pulls at your hair to have your head tilted to the side, and shoves the needle in the crook of your neck. It goes stiff as you feel the strange liquid invade your body. You wince and tears slip out of your eyes.

“I’m sorry I had to do that,” he removes the needle and pets your head, “It’s going to feel good really soon, sweetheart.”

“What is it?” You let out a sob.

“Attitude adjustment. It’s a drug we’ve developed to help you be more… compliant.”

“You’re a fucking psychopath.”

Your head falls back against the headrest, hearing his evil laugh mocking you. Closing your eyes and clenching your teeth, you focus on fighting the pain of the oddly, cold sensation under your skin, and try not to panic. It’s going to be fine. He promised he was right behind you. Any minute now, you think. Any minute…

Whatever he drugged you with, it works fast. Soon, your jaw goes slack, and so does your body. Your pulse speeds up, and it goes faster the more you try to move. There’s an overwhelming sensation building up in your chest as your anxiety levels skyrocket. You’ve never done any hard drugs or have ever been medicated with something stronger than Vicodin from when you got your wisdom teeth out, but this one has a huge kick.

“Relax. It’ll feel worse if you try to fight it,” you hear him say and notice that he’s touching your head again, cleaning the blood from your wound, “I’m sorry he did that. I told him not to hurt you, but you were a little feisty.”

“Go to hell,” you barely exhale.

You close your eyes again and wait and hope and pray for this to be over.

Then, something creeps out from inside you when you feel his lips touching your neck, as he sniffs the scent of your skin. You wanna move, hit him, kick him, anything… but your body isn't responding to the signals your brain is sending.

“You smell like him,” he utters, as one of his hands slips under your shirt to grope your breast over your bra, “we're going to fix that later.”

“Please, don't,” you babble, bursting into tears.

“Relax, baby. It’s going to feel really good.”

He grabs at you harder, and sucks disgustingly at your neck. You yelp between sobs pleading for him to stop, over and over. You try to move your arms, but they're not strong enough at the moment to get him off you.

His grip hurts so much that it awakens just the ounce of strength you need, strong enough for you to send your hands to dig your nails into his neck and draw blood, forcing him to stop.

“I see you like it rough, huh?” he slaps you again, “you should've said that b-”

Someone must have heard you pray, cause on a dime something explodes, making the car jerk violently before it stops, shoving Richard against the glass partition.

It sounded like the front tires.

You had a seat belt on and all you felt was the whiplash. Stratton however didn't, and ended up with his head smashed against the glass mid-sentence. He still looks alive, but he's completely out, curled in an awkward position between his seat and the partition.

You fumble trying to unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car for a long moment until someone tries to open the door on your side. It’s locked. You freeze and don’t say anything at all, wondering if someone is trying to help you, or if it's just one of Stratton’s men.

Then, a gunshot goes off, and you duck your head. There are a couple more afterwards, spaced out, and you hear a man shouting to stay down. It must be the police.

You try to unlatch the seat belt again. With your wrists restrained, and your senses impaired by the drug, it’s almost a victory when you do.

Feeling helpless afterwards, you tuck your arms to your chest and freeze, drowning in your own tears, waiting for someone to come to your aid.

It feels like hours, but it’s only a minute after that you hear sirens going off and someone successfully opening your door.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

You shake your head, unable to look at this new person.

“Are you hurt?”

There’s nothing you can compare this moment to. This is the most pain you’ve ever felt. Inside and out. You can’t respond. There’s something blocking you from doing so, must be the drug or the shock. Your mind feels warped and dizzy in a way you can’t really explain. All thoughts are seeping in your mind like water through a colander.

“Can you move?”

Can you? You’re not sure. You swallow and hold your trembling hands forwards, so this person can see that they’re bound. You can’t really tell if it’s a man or a woman speaking to you, but you’re aware enough to see that it's someone in a uniform.

You feel a couple of people maneuvering around you with great care. There is a click, and finally you can pull your hands apart from the other.

Someone offers you a hand, and you hesitantly take it and test if you can step out of the car. It's a learning experience. Your legs quiver on you as you stand up to feel the striking heat of the sun in the middle of nowhere.

You let them guide you to take cover in one of the two patrol cars while the other officers take care of the men that held you hostage.

They bring you water and keep asking you questions you can't really answer.

With a lost stare, you watch the scene as they remove the device they set on the road to stop the car. Julian must have called the cops, it dawns on you out of nowhere, otherwise, you'd still be in that car. That thought quickly dissipates when Stratton wakes up as they pull him out of the car and is handcuffed immediately. He yells all sorts of threats at the officers, and he’s quickly locked in the second cruiser.

Ambulances show up next. They care for the two men shot, and your captor. A paramedic mends the gash on your temple and notices there's a bump on the curve of your neck like a bee sting. It itches the same, but you know it was from the needle.

Then, you are set aside like a science project, waiting for CSI to roll by and collect the evidence from your fingernails and take pictures of you.

“She's in shock.” You hear them say. You must be cause you're completely unable to respond to anything the more time passes. It feels like an out-of-body experience. As if you were watching someone else's life.

You can't seem to snap out of it. It's numbing and utterly disturbing. You try remembering what you did earlier in the day to dig yourself out of that hole… You were mad when you woke up. You had to go to the station, and you weren't really up for it. Julian, being annoyingly sweet, drew a heart on your palm to make you smile. You rolled your eyes instead. It was one of those moments you were mean to him for no reason. You should have stayed at home, kissed him, and told him that you love him. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if you had.

There’s your anchor. You focus on Julian and the way he traced a piece of his heart on your palm, while someone brushes the gunk in your nails. You open your opposite hand and pretend that the comic-shape heart is still there, carved over the lines of your palm.

“Baby, can you hear me?” he's choked up, you can tell by the way his voice breaks.

He's there now, and you can’t tilt your head up to look at him. Your gaze states fixated on that imaginary spot until you see his fingers move ever so carefully to wrap around your hand as he crouches in front of you.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, sweetheart,” he bows his head and kisses your knuckles, “we’re going to get you out of here now, yeah?”

Time fluctuates and in that daze from when you were injected to the moment you wake up in a hospital bed for a second time, and there are several pieces missing. It’s night now, you can see through the window having its shutters pulled up, and Julian is seated on a sofa, reading a copy of your book, with a deep crease of concentration in his brow.

After that trip you feel utterly lucid now, sleepy but lucid, thankfully.

He doesn’t realize you’re awake until you mumble a husky, “hey, do they sell those at the hospital now?”

His stare is torn from the pages and looks at you, having his expression soften as he rises from the two-seater, placing the book down open on the page he was reading.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he sits next to you, and tentatively reaches to caress your face, “someone left it in the waiting room.”

“Where are we?”

“I got you a private room.”

“Fancy,” you feel your lips pull up on their own.

“How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, trying not to think too much about what happened, “better, I think. How long was I out?”

“Sleeping? Just a couple of hours… before that? Three or four without… Do you remember anything?”

“Some of it. He… he gave me something,” you point at your neck with your hand.

“Yeah, they found his stash in the car… Said it was PCP mixed with something else. They’re still trying to figure it out,” he glances at your neck, “the swelling is gone now. I should go get some-”

“No,” you stop him, “not yet. In a minute.”

You ask him to fill the gaps you have. And he tells you how they found where Richard was taking you by doing something impossible. Between him and Detective Sunday, they convinced Logan to give up the location. Apparently, Stratton was blackmailing him and threatening to kill his family. In exchange for their safety, he followed you for months, kept tabs on you and sent all that to Stratton. Logan was just a pawn. He tried to get out of it and keep you safe at the same time by making it look like someone tried to kill you, he never intended to actually do it; like Stratton told you in the car. That last part you knew, but it seemed like a vague memory of a dream until Julian confirms it. Logan kept quiet and let Stratton pin the murders on him, cause there was still a gun pointed at his family.

In trade for that information, he had Sunday reassure him that she’d see that his girlfriend and baby would be protected.

Afterwards, you try to fill some of those too for Julian. You remember questioning Richard, but there are some facts you’re completely unsure if they’re real or not. If your memory serves you right, he killed Michelle after finding out their son was actually Julian’s. He confessed to killing the other women too, except for Martina. He said Logan killed her. The situation was less than ideal to gather information like that, but you’re almost 90% sure that’s what you heard before being drugged.

“You have a son,” you say under your breath, and he looks at you as if you were making it up, “I’m not sure if it’s true, Jules, but it adds up.”

Shutting your eyes, you attempt to pry the name he gave you out of your mind. It starts with a C. Maybe Cole or Charlie. It sounded close to that.

“That’s impossible,” his brow narrows as he stands up to look out the window, “she’d have told me.”

Would she? You remember something about a letter that wasn’t sent. Maybe she did, but didn’t have the courage to send it while he was in prison. It’d probably broken his heart. Just as it’s doing now.

He can’t accept it, but part of you knows it’s true.

Chapter 7: Epilogue

They say time heals all wounds… Abigail’s were temporarily patched at best because the moment she stepped into that house, she felt the demons buried in that place prying at every opening of her being. Time stood still between those walls. The same furniture her mother kept spotless was occupying the same space to the millimeter. Except for pictures. There were no pictures of her in the house anymore. There used to be two on the wall leading up the staircase that were replaced by some of her cousins. The Angels. On the mantel was another one when she got her portrait taken at the back of the dollar store when she was 7 or 8. It had one of those fake sky backgrounds. She was wearing the dress she wore for church only, and wasn’t allowed to smile.

Days before she had that taken, Adventurous Abby had fallen on her face while she was roller-skating, and one of her front teeth was chipped after hitting the edge of the sidewalk. It made her feel ugly that her own mother told her to keep her mouth shut cause she looked like a fucking pirate. Sans the curse word, of course. Her palm covered her mouth more often than not when she spoke until she got that fixed years later. She did. Not her mother. And definitely not her father chipped in for her chipped tooth. They say it was a punishment of God for being cheeky. That was their logic. In all truth, those skates she rode belonged to her best friend, who wanted to show her to see how fun it was. Abby never had any of the fun toys. Only a couple of stuffed animals on her bed and a creepy porcelain doll that she couldn’t care less about. She hated her– Christine. That’s what her mother called her doll. She sat on a shelf looking over her bed with her perfect, glossy hair and skin, and beautiful dress, mocking her while she slept. She was convinced it gave her nightma---

“You gotta eat something, sweetheart,” Julian interrupts your flow, holding a plate with food close to your face, while you're typing on your laptop your second novel, “you’ve been at it for hours.”

“So? Can’t you see that I’m on a roll here?” You protest animatedly.

“I can see,” he scoffs, glancing at the screen, “but I can also hear your stomach growling from across the room.”

“That’s not my stomach, that’s the lil guy snoring,” you slide your chair back to show him that the puppy has fallen asleep by your feet, under the desk.

It’s three months later when everything starts to go back to some sort of normal. A new normal. Not better or worse, just different.

The tremor you've had in your hands since the day you were kidnapped finally stops altogether. You’re counting the days it lasts, six so far, and your pulse is as steady as ever. They believed it was psychosomatic, cause physically you’re perfectly fine. Therapy helped. Having a weekly session didn’t seem much at the beginning, but it truly has been a game changer.

Right now, your steady hands are full with your new puppy, working on your second novel, and helping Julian with his situation.

Inspiration struck you a few weeks ago, and you’ve outlined and drafted fully a new story that you feel pretty confident about. You finally got an agent, a trustworthy one, and two publishing houses are interested in your new novel after reading the early draft of your manuscript. Not having to worry about financing another book of your own pocket takes a load off your mind. You’ve broken even, and you’re just starting to see the fruits of years of work.

But the thing that has brought the most joy to your life is your new puppy– Flynn. You decided to adopt one of those doggies from Bailey, and now you have a black and white Siberian Husky with crystal clear, blue eyes. He's cute as a button; joyful, and active as they come. You’ve had him for a month and besides Julian, you’ve never loved anything as much as you love that dog. Caring for him, taking him out and getting into training classes with him is part of your new routine that’s keeping you uplifted. For a while, you thought you’d never leave the house again and now, with a few exceptions, you’re able to go out on your own with him. He follows everywhere you go and tonight, after eating his food, he started licking your ankle and fell asleep on the floor while you wrote. That’s how much time you've been spending writing, you've bored the little thing to death.

Julian on the other hand has been preoccupied with another matter. It took him a while to accept that he had a son. With the help of Sunday, you found out that Colin Stratton was living in England under the care of his grandmother and guardian, Evelyn.

There was no trace of him online, despite him being 15. The only photo you could find was one in Michelle’s Instagram account from when Colin was around 10. You could see a certain likeness to Julian, but it was very inconclusive. He didn’t look like Richard, for sure. He took after his mother, definitely.

It wasn’t a decision that was made lightly, no. The last thing Julian wanted to do was to disrupt a young boy's life. He merely lost his mom months ago, and the man he knew as his father just went to prison.

After long conversations and consideration, Julian decided that he wanted to meet him and go from there. Ideally, he wanted to be in his life at any capacity the boy considered. If it was none at all, he’d have to accept it. He was ready for it. He’d stepped up, had he known, back then; and was determined to do it now. There was nothing he could’ve done from prison, but he deserved to know the truth. If there’s something he could resent Michelle for, it was that, but he understood her reasons. He got a copy of the alleged letter that was in Stratton’s possession that was meant for him all along.

Via lawyer, Julian made his intentions clear to Evelyn Stratton, and added that letter. She didn’t reply right away. The request was simple enough, he just wanted to meet Colin. The lawyer called a couple of times, and she kept dismissing him.

There was another force at work, cause one evening, a week ago, when you two came back home from a walk with Flynn, you found the 15-year-old-boy waiting in the lobby. Up close, it was clear that Colin had grown to look more like Julian. Except for his eyes that were hazel, like Michelle’s, his features were a fresh-printed copy out of Julian’s. His hair was just as dark and abundant, and when you saw them walk side by side, you could see that they both carried themselves the same way. Julian didn’t believe you, of course, but you could tell.

Colin had a proposition of his own, he had been wanting to leave the boarding school he’s been enrolled in since he was 12. He loathed it and wanted to come here with Michelle, but Richard never allowed him to do so. Even now, his guardian was carrying Richard’s plan of not letting come here. He took the opportunity of visiting his aunt, Michelle’ sister, in Burbank during holidays, and found out where Julian lived. He knew about him, his mother told him about his real father a couple of years ago. Colin just needed a paternity test and the chance of fighting Evelyn and Richard for custody, so he could emancipate and live with his aunt.

It wasn’t an instant connection or anything. The boy was very stern in his intentions and was very skittish about meeting Julian, but he did, cause he had been looking to get away from that family that never truly treated him or his mom right. She always feared he’d hurt them if they tried to get away, and she was right. Now that Richard was locked up, this was his chance.

Julian agreed. His mind was already made before the boy came here that he’d help in any capacity he could.

“Did you love her?” Colin asked. It seemed very important to him to know that about him.

Julian stared at him for a long moment before standing up and picking up a book from the shelf. He sat back down and opened the front of it to collect a picture strip of him with Michelle. He just showed it to him.

“She looks really happy,” Colin kept his eyes on the pictures of her mother framed by love and joy in her eyes.

“She was,” Julian simply said.

Close to midnight, you save your document, leaving Abigail to rest for the night. Then, turn off your computer, put Flynn in his crate, and check that the door is closed before getting on with your nightly routine and joining Julian in bed.

“Thought you weren’t coming to bed,” Jules grins, placing the book he was reading down on the nightstand, while you slide into bed.

“Hmm, have you missed me, handsome?” you lean closer, and he links his arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“Always,” he hushes, having his thumb back and forth rubbing your shoulder.

“Yeah?” you sigh, tilting your head up to look at him, letting your palm smooth his chest up to his neck, “sorry I’ve been absent the last couple of nights.”

“Don’t be. I’m proud of you.”

“I’m really proud of you too, baby,” you say back, touched, and lean closer to capture his lips.

Kissing him slowly, your fingers slip into his hair that it’s gotten longer, and you play with his curls at the back of his nape.

Julian gingerly shifts your body, removing your clothes in the process, so he can make love to you with all of him– lips, tongue, fingers, and cock, all work together to stroke every inch of your body. He claims all of you, including your heart and soul, during those delightful orgasms he gives you in return. His body buzzes, collecting the pleasure that vibrates out of you every time you moan and scream at his name.

He makes you feel vivid and precious, more than you ever imagined, with every caress and word.

“Look at me, sweetheart” he says, locking eyes with you, holding your face, getting you closer to the edge a third time. Your lips part against his, and you can barely mumble a felt I love you as you melt all around him.

#expensive delights #julian kaye x reader #american gigolo #julian kaye #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction #jon bernthal smut #fanfiction #darlingwrites #this post is excessively long #let me know if you prefer separate posts for each chapter

134 notes · View notes

thatbanditqueen · 1 year

Text

Against the Wall Chapter 3

Knock Me Down

A brief note: I need to go back and edit the previous chapters' posts, because this fic has taken on a life of its own. I envisioned it as this epic three-chapter story I would write over the winter holidays as a sort of sweet Christmas anti rom-com about Austin and an OC in the late 1980s/early 1990s. Then it took me twenty days to finish the third chapter. And it's pretty clear to me that I have more to write. At least one more chapter and an epilogue..... so whatever.....

I don't usually take requests, but I do appreciate input and feedback and suggestions, although I cannot guarantee how the writing process will work itself out, I will say that your feedback has kept me going and I included a few little scenes especially for @slowsweetlove although I probably didn't do him justice and completely defied his persona, I changed Keanu to suit my narrative needs and I hope it isn't too horrible to bear....

Catch up here:

Chapter 1: Bruised Bananas

Chapter 2: Red-Headed Woman

Summary: Picking up where we left off in chapter two, Hannah and Austin cope with the fallout from her arrest, and try to make the best of it, but fate gets in the way and they break up again, Austin begins to give in to some bad habits of his own while Hannah tries to forge a clean start but has some hard decisions to make on the way....

Rating: Explicit

Warning: smut, so 18+ only please, vaginal, oral, threesomes, sex with prostitutes, toxic, dark consensual sex, drugs, alcohol, pregnancy

Words: 15.4 K

IF YOU ENJOY PLEASE LIKE, REBLOG AND/OR LEAVE ME SOME FEEDBACK LETTING ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT.

so many typos sorry

Hannah's Rehab Playlist (basically grungey alt from late 80s/early 90s)

Hannah & Austin's Romantic Mixtape (get it on music from 70s - early 90s they would've liked... i don't know, it was part of my creative process...)

May 12, 1991, 7 am

Culver City Police Department

The wall greeted Hannah’s head with a thud, and she knocked her self back into it harder, wanting to absorb the cold concrete, it was awelcome relief to her warm, throbbing, anxious neck as she blocked the fluorescent glow of the overhead light with her hand. She sighed, head pounding, longing to sleep, but the adrenaline coursing through her blood made sleep impossible. That, and the general grey, dour, imprisoned atmosphere of the Los Angeles County holding cell where she found her self confined. That also made sleep impossible. So instead, she lay there, mentally flaying herself for being so stupid, so unlucky, and so utterly fucked. The severe, angry figure of Austin’s publicist Min greeted her at the discharge desk. Tall, slender, Black, with high cheekbones and an elegant, refined style, Hannah shuddered at Min’s terse smile as it led her to a white Mercedes.

“Thanks… for getting me … you didn’t have to….” Hannah looked down.

“I got a call from Austin’s agent, Brett, at 4:30 this morning informing me one of Hollywood’s hottest, highest paid actors is trying to leave an active, overseas production, one already running behind, and costing the studio hundreds of thousands of dollars a day, to rescue his girlfriend, so, um, yeah, I did have to….its going to take all my effort and connections to keep the damage to a minimum…”

Sighing as she looked out the window, Hannah realized they were going over the 101 to the valley, a direction that was decidedly not towards her apartment. About an hour later, after a shower and some coffee, Hannah sat on a bar stool in Min’s pristine kitchen trying her best to respond to a series of questions and rules.

“Let’s not beat around the bush. My job is to minimize the amount of people who know you were arrested last night. This is best for both your career and Austin’s.” Hannah nodded to Min, but reminded herself that Min gets 10% of Austin’s salary, and his career was her priority, not hers.

“Alright, Hannah. Have you ever been arrested before?” Hannah shook her head. “Good, that’s good… OK… now, be honest, has Austin been doing cocaine and heroin as much as you or Downey, or any of the other reprobates you have been running around with?”

“Um… Austin likes to party but uh … he doesn’t need to, you know? I… uh… he stopped partying when he’s working on a project … he, uh, never tried H. He doesn’t even know I’ve done it…”

“Well, he knows now. Right, ok, and how long have you had a drug problem ?”

Hannah looked down, her breathe caught in her throat before she murmured. “I don’t know if I would say I have a problem…

“Hannah, you were arrested for DRUGS, illegal ones, bad ones, coke and heroin ——”

“I’ve only done H a handful of times —”

“I wish you could hear yourself. Most people never utter those words…. If this gets connected to Austin, it can make him an insurance liability. Which is BAD. And, honestly the publicity is a career killer for you too, no director wants to hire a drug addict. So we need to contain this. And you need to sound contrite, apologetic, like you understand that all drugs are bad. Got it?” Hannah nodded again, accepting her role in this conversation: silent acquiescence.

“Right, last question - you’re on a film right now?”

“Yeah, uh … we finished the Point Break final mix Friday, that’s why I was out last night… the delivery party is next Friday …”

“You are one lucky girl.” Min put her coffee down, pointing at Hannah as she spoke. “You may actually get out of this with your reputation intact… if you do EXACTLY as I say. Rule one, no more dressing up like you’re auditioning for a Guns n’ Roses video. Think sleek, think simple, think modest. I want you to look like a PTA mom who is also an accountant. Got it?”

Hannah mumbled how she hated Guns n’ Roses, but her chin bobbed up and down with assent.

“Good. Ok, rule two, and hopefully this is obvious, but no more partying. I don’t care if you’re at the wrap party and Patrick Swayze offers you shots off his tight, perfect ass. You are now the paragon of sober, chaste behavior. I’m setting you up with an attorney, good one, Sheila, she specializes in these… sorts of…things… You need to prepare yourself. Sheila is going to tell you to start going to twelve step meetings, it will look good. She’ll ask for rehab in exchange for no jail time and a dismissal of charges.”

Hannah’s head fell into her hands, and her voice was shaking. “But I —“

“Possession of heroin, cocaine, unregistered guns, those are felonies here in California. Trust me babe, you don’t wanna fuck with prison. Rehab is the sensible choice, the choice that keeps this off your record, and then boom, clean slate…. ok, last rule: no more carbs.”

“Wait, why shouldn’t I eat carbs?”

“People always gain weight when they go to rehab, darling, and it would just make my life so much easier if you started saying no to carbs. And maybe yes to cigarettes? Now there’s a drug addiction I can get behind, keeps the appetite down, looks cool, might even help you get through all this.”

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk, Min, you make me feel horrible about myself.”

“Good, channel that when you think you want a doughnut. And smoke instead.”

Chewing sweet, glazed doughnuts in the passenger seat of her friend Robin’s car, Hannah let the gooey carbohydrates do their work comforting her as she prepared to call Austin. It was nighttime in London, and the cool, self control in his voice threw her off. Hannah could almost feel his abs tensing as he tightened up inward and put up a calm front. His timbre was steady, confident, unflappable. There was a slight British twinge to his voice, she could hear the Jagger in it, and he sounded like a bizarre version of himself. Hannah tried to lighten the mood, teasing him about his accent, but it was hard to combat every variation of his vague “the main thing is that you are ok, right Banana?” It betrayed how worried he was. Guilty for making him worry, guilty for ruining their travel plans, Hannah explained how she wouldn’t be flying over in two weeks and didn’t know when they would see each other.

“I totally get it if you want to take a break…” Hannah offered.

“What, from us?”

“Yeah,” she added, wiping her eyes, letting the word salad tossing around her mind tumble out. “I just… I … I’m a mess and its already been so long since we had sex and being with me is putting your career at risk, and I would never fuck with your money…. or your art … you are so talented … and I fucked up and I just… I would understand —if you need a break from the drama… ”

Austin paused, her comment about his talent was unnerving, raw praise was not something Hannah did, it usually was hidden in back handed mockery or laced with sarcasm. Watching Hannah struggle to admit he was good at anything made it so charming when she did, that, in those moments, he actually felt like he deserved her approval. She was perpetually the same to him since they met: brutally honesty and never obsequious, no matter his success. Or hers, for that matter. Hannah’s authenticity drove his need to have her in his life. That, and the way her feisty stubbornness provoked a subconscious desire to conquer her, she was a challenge he would surmount, and he secretly longed to marry her, fill her with children and make her his forever. But Austin never really entertained those inclinations. He couldn’t explain how he felt that, and then was also turned on by how ambitious and smart and talented Hannah was. He loved mentally sparring with her, exchanging witty barbs with each other was like foreplay. Then also, he loved catching her at work at the end of the day, still editing a scene. Her eyes lit up, biting her lip in concentration as if she was solving a complex puzzle. Then there was the way she never expected or demanded anything, never took it for granted that he would pay for dinner, concert tickets or trips, had refused to move in with him. Her plucky, unassuming self-reliance made him want to take care of her even more and give her the life she’d never had. There were moments when Hannah let down her walls and became vulnerable, moments when she let herself be raw, ask for help, or reach out to be touched, Austin lived for those moments. His favorite view of her was from between her legs, when she was completely naked, and his mouth was in her cunt, licking her, pleasing her, devouring her in ways she had always been wya too self conscious to let another man touch her. Austin lived to watch her face twist in tortured ecstasy as she writhed beneath him, moans begging him to continue, while her eyes betrayed her fear of the unbridled feelings she couldn’t control. It was sticking his tongue into a live current of lightening in the middle of velvet hurricane.

Austin had been in London for a month and he ached for Hannah’s companionship. Work was a useful distraction, his days started on the set at 6 am, and then he was often not back to the hotel, often, before 8 or 9 pm, sometimes grabbing a bite with the other cast members or crew. He told himself he was glad not to have Hannah there, it wouldn’t have been fair to leave her all day six days a week, and then giving her the worst version of himself in the evenings, exhausted and just wanting to recover and recharge. Acting demanded so much intense work, that being alone on an overseas shoot made it easier to stay in character. Which was the part of his job he loved, the magic of subsuming himself in a character that wasn’t plain, boring Austin from Anaheim.

Sundays were his only day off, and today, on this Sunday, listening to Hannah blabber on insecure and nice and completely vulnerable sparked something primal in Austin. He wanted to throw his phone down and run to Heathrow and fly too her immediately. He banged his hand on the table, frustrated at how stuck he was, and made a mental note to tell Min that money was no object for a lawyer or rehab or whatever else was needed to to take care of Hannah right now. Ashley, he needed to call his sister Ashley and ask if she could drive to LA and help out as well. Making this mental list, Austin roused himself from his reverie and returned to their conversation.

“HAN - NAH,” Austin’s voice growled in a low, husky rumble through the phone receiver slowly and surely. “Stop…. sshhhhh… baby…. you’re tired, you’re scared, it’s ok baby…. I get it… but….I. Love. You. Do you hear me Red? … I FUCKING BLOODY WELL LOVE YOU. I am not some sex crazed teen age boy. I’m a grown man. I’m not going to break up with you the day you get arrested for heroin because I need to fuck something… I would be there with you if I could, baby. It kills me that I can’t be there to take care of you -”

“But you shouldn’t have to take care of me, you should be with someone easier —”

“Banana! You were extremely easy …. that’s partly why I love you - you didn’t play hard to get, you opened up those legs the second I met you and then fucked me in an alley before you even knew my name —”

“That’s not what I meant. Plus, I knew your first name… and I could tell you were an ok guy, I saw your soul in the bathroom that night … But that’s not the kind of easy I’m talking about… I meant uncomplicated… simple… easy to live with…”

“Nothing worth having is easy, Red … look… you’re the only one I want… I don’t want anyone else. I love you. I love your messy, big beautiful…. brain… those two heaving sides of your cerebellum, working up new insults to hurl at me… I honestly don’t know how you do it… I love your big, beautiful tits…” his voice was low, husky now, slowly as he relished the mental image of Hannah the last time they’d been naked in bed together. “I love your big, beautiful Banana butt, and I really really love your sweet, little, tight —”

“Austin stop! I’m at Robin’s house, she is sitting ten feet from me —”

“MOUTH… what did you think I was gonna say? S’ides, she can’t hear what I am saying—“

“But she can see my reaction, even though she is on the couch, politely pretending to read a magazine and being very very cool about everything…”

“Wait, are you blushing? OH baby, you’re so fucKing cute when you blush…. Especially when your lips are around my—

“Austin!”

“Ok, ok. Look. I can’t help it, your voice is so sexy its distracting me… Look, I’m fine. I’m so busy with work, its probably good you aren’t flying to London, because we’re doing twelve hour shoots. I’ll just come home after we wrap, I need a break, you do too, so its good we aren’t gonna travel around Europe all summer. I need to recover…. I’ll be home in August, and until then, it’ll be just like any other long distance thing, and we’ll be fine. We’re already pretty banging at phone sex… and you can use all that free time in rehab to write me dirty love letters —”

A loud guffaw escaped from Hannah’s rough, cried-out throat.

“Oh baby, I love it when you snort. Loudly.”

“Shut up, Austin, you really are a dirty, little pervert. I swear, I can hear your hard on…. I can just tell from your goofy voice… how can snorting turn you on?”

“The world works in mystical ways, never question a hard on… just say thank you….”

Hannah chuckled, “I can’t decide if I want to punch you or make out…?’

“I wish we could do both, preferably, in that order… oh Banana, everything is gonna be ok. Maybe this is a good thing.”

Hannah paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sighing, Austin looked up and let his eyes wander, unfocus, following the rectangles of light bouncing off the crystal chandelier in his hotel room. He wondered if Hannah would be in this trouble if he had just been man enough to confront her before he left LA last month. If he really wallowed in self pity, his guilt spiraled back to their first break up, when he cheated on her. Because after getting back together, the biggest change he observed was Hannah’s new daily coke habit. It was a drug she used to hate it, and now she did it first thing in the morning. One evening before he left for England, SJP had cornered Austin at the Viper Room and confided that she was pretty sure Bob and Hannah were doing heroin with Johnny Depp, Winona Ryder and River Phoenix in the club’s back office. That Hannah had started experimenting with smack in Venice with Bob, behind her back. Austin had told her she was being paranoid, they were doing blow, like everyone else. Sure, Hannah enjoyed blow, maybe too much, but then again, coke was everywhere, e was everywhere, and everyone was doing it, including them. But heroin? No. Hannah was no junkie, she had no track marks, wasn’t passing out, or missing work, or stealing things. She was just going through a party girl phase, needed to let off steam now that she was getting better jobs, and needed to get it out of her system and find her rhythm. Now, after the arrest, he wasn’t so sure, and the prospect of Hannah being locked away in a rehab, getting rest, forced off drugs, was actually a salve comforting the overwhelming sense of powerlessness and fear running through him because he was so far away.

“Banana... I’m just saying maybe some rest and relaxation will be good….”

May 17, 1991

Hannah tried to be good while her lawyer, Sheila, sorted out her case. She wore boring clothes. She clenched her fist and powered through the week totally clean until the Point Break wrap party, when she looked down to find herself sipping on a beer and couldn’t even remember picking it up. Fuck it, its just one, you deserve it with the week you’ve had. Three beers and two shots of tequila later Hannah was smoking a joint out back with a mix of actors and crew, including Keanu Reeves, Lori Petty and others. The night went on, the atmosphere was giddy with the thrill of completing such a large-scale action movie and Hannah chased her warm buzz into a drunken fuck-it cyclone. Staggering toward her car, wondering if she should drive, she was rescued from indecision by a bounding Keanu running into her, long hair flapping behind him as he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards a group heading to Sunset in a limo. Hannah couldn’t see straight leaving the The Standard at 2:30 a.m., and found herself sharing a cab alone with Keanu, and his hands, one of which found its way to her knee, a glint sparkling in his eyes, his brows arched in a question. In that moment, the sheer flattery of his proposition sent a of flock butterflies fluttering through Hannah’s belly, and she looked up at Keanu’s rugged jawline through blurry eyes, focusing her eyes on the rough stubble calling out for her fingers, imagining how sweet it would be to look up at him as he fucked her softly, slowly, tenderly. No one would know. She felt like she was dancing above a ravine, daring herself to tumble in to her own demise. Hearing his velvety, warm voice, Hannah almost propelled herself forward.

“You know, Rosenfeld, you’re the cutest editor I’ve ever met…”

Hannah let out a sardonic, “ha,” taking a deep breath. It took all her will power to remove Keanu’s hand from her knee.

“Not sure if that’s a compliment… most editors are gross, nerdy, old white dudes… kinda low bar there, K-Rock… but, thanks anyway… it’s just … I have a boyfriend…”

“Still with Austin?”

She nodded, leaving with a hug before wobbling out of the cab and into Robin’s house. The base of her head was still throbbing Monday morning when Austin’s sister, Ashley, showed up to take her to lunch and help her get ready for rehab.

August 17, 1991

Golden Key Treatment Center, Half Moon Bay, CA

Hannah stood in front of the mirror, tee shirt lifted up, moving her hand over her belly and hips, stopping at the top of her grey sweatpants and snapping the elastic in frustration.

“Ughhh, I think I’ve gained 10 pounds since I got here… what the fuck can I possibly wear tomorrow?” She whined to her roommate Sonal, who looked up as she flipped through Cosmo.

“Shut up Hannah, you look healthy, I would kill for your tits…..”

Hannah shifted from side to side. “And I would kill to be 18 again, like you, with your stupid metabolism and great genes … you could be a model… I would hate you if you weren’t the only other sane person here… but you need to tell your mom tomorrow, no more bringing tubs of Indian food for us to eat at family visitation … Ok, from now on, every time I want to eat, I’m gonna smoke… coming? ” Hannah slipped on her birks and grabbed her pack of Parliament methols. Sonal followed her downstairs and outside to the ring of metal chairs and benches in the designated smoking area. Golden Key was like a jail mixed with a posh psych ward housed in a Mediterranean style villa overlooking the Pacific Ocean above levels of manicured gardens punctuated with fountains, a pool and tennis courts. The most comfortable smoking section was a deck off to one side of the lobby at the entrance, hidden from the drive by a line of tall evergreen shrubbery, but convenient for those stressful moments Sundays during family time visiting with guests in the main building.

Today, Hannah and Sonal were alone on their walk through the grounds. Saturdays were the only day patients could get a day pass to leave campus with a buddy or approved guest. It was also one of two days they got to sleep in, and Hannah and Sonal had conspired to stay in, eat cookie dough and veg out watching television, for once not having to compromise with others on what they watched in the common room. Hannah had regressed back to habits from her freshman year at UCLA, spending the day in pajamas without make up, smoking menthols and watching TV.

Sonal exhaled her cigarette, “How long did you say it’s been since you saw your boyfriend?”

“Early April… it’s been over four months ago… he’s probably boarding his flight right now … today’s actually his birthday, but he couldn’t get over until tomorrow… I’ve been trying to think where we can sneak off during visitation tomorrow … though he probably won’t want to fuck me when he sees how fat and boring I’ve become here… ”

“Hannah… if its been four months, he won’t care what you look like. Why was he in London again?”

Hannah bit her lip, “Yeah, he, uh … his company transferred him, but he’s—”

Standing, Sonal looked through the shrubs out toward the circular driveway. “Shhh, Hannah, a black convertible just pulled up front, it looks expensive… ”

Hannah bounced up, moving to peep around the shrubs. “That’s a Lamborghini….” she murmured, watching a tall white guy with shoulder length blonde hair covering his face grab a bouquet of roses and step out of the car. A shot of electricity went through her stomach as she realized who it was, and, stabbing out her cigarette butt she became a woman possessed. She scurried around the deck’s stone balustrade columns and ran down the steps towards the car, the flop of her sandals falling off didn’t phase her. The force of her body knocked Austin back onto the hood of the car as she jumped onto him, legs around his waist, a high pitched squeal escaping her mouth before it smashed against his lips.

“Hey Red…happy to see me?” Austin looked up, through a sly grin in-between kisses, blue eyes bright and twinkling at Hannah. She slide off him, panting and giggling, then realizing she was barefoot in sweatpants, she punched Austin in the shoulder.

“Asshole - I did not want to look like like this the first time you saw me…..I fucking hate you!”

Austin smirked as he rubbed his mouth, raw from Hannah’s assault on it, his hands were now on her waist as he pulled her back into his embrace. “Shut up, you look fucking hot… I might have to ravish you right here on my new car…”

“NOPE…. I know how much you like public sex… ugh, actors… consistently looking for an audience… well, the joke’s on you, babe… now you have to wait for me to shower and get some clothes on.”

“What’s the point when I’m going spend the rest of the night tryin to get them off…?”

“Hmm, we’ll see if you have a chance with that British accent… where’s the man I said goodbye to in March? Did you leave my boyfriend back in London?”

“Yeah… I … uh…” Austin ran his hand through his long hair, pushing it behind his ear, embarrassed. “I’m working on that… I’ve been speaking like Mick Jagger for almost six months… longer if you count the dialogue coach I started with last fall… at this point… I don’t even know what my real voice sounds like, I mean, this feels like my real voice… certain things trigger it and other times as well it’s, I don’t know… I can’t help it, its like a part of the fiber of my being… fuck, that sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

Hannah caressed the side of his mouth, noticing how tired he looked. “No, it doesn’t sound stupid… that’s the nature of being an empty vessel… a beautiful, tall, sexy empty vessel… sometimes it takes a while for the contents to drain out, right?” She pulled Austin’s neck forward, and stood on her toes to kiss his check. “I love you Austin Jagler…”

A kiss to his other cheek, and Austin’s face melted into a lusty haze, beaming down on her with a broad, affectionate grin. Her witty barbs and insults were an aphrodisiac. Hannah could have asked him to drive his brand new Lamborghini into the ocean and he would have. Just watching Hannah’s boobs bounce up and down (had they gotten bigger since April?) as she ran toward him without a bra on, her hair bobbing out of a messy bun, shoes falling off as she pummeled him on to his new car, tits first, smooshing him down under a mountain of soft, billowy breasts, and he was transfixed. Knocked down, figuratively and literally, He could have stayed there, on the Lamborghini’s hood, fully clothed, watching her hover above him, the outline of her nipples visible through her shirt, and he would have been content for hours. Although now that she had steadied herself, and was once again demeaning, insecure, doting and violent all at once as she slapped him, called him an empty vessel and told him she loved him, he was even more bewitched then ever.

“Austin?” Hannah snapped her fingers in his face. “You must really be jet lagged… I said, you have to fill out some forms inside while I change, I’ll be real quick.”

An hour later, Austin’s left hand was pushing up the hem of Hannah’s knee length yellow and green flowered dress, finding its way to rest on her knee, slowing moving up higher, his left hand steering them out of the Golden Key’s gates and down the hill towards the coast. She leaned on his shoulder, and he kissed the top of her hair, lifting his arm to pull her in closer.

“You are such a bastard, showing up a day early … you’re lucky you’re so pretty… and that it’s your birthday…. and that I missed you …” she said, her voice becoming breathy, low, and Austin gasped at the way her hand moved to caress the top of his inner thigh. She chuckled as his cock twitched and he reached down to remove her hand.

“Mmmhmmm… you’re gonna make me crash, baby… I only just landed in San Francisco this morning, and this is a new car, and I’m not used to this windy road … so, where are we going?”

“You bought this car this morning on your way here?”

“No, Alex picked it up for me and drove it to meet me at the plane.”

“Fucking movie stars … don’t even buy your own cars… making your assistant drive nine hours from LA with a shiny new toy instead of just renting a car like a normal person… pathetic… “ Austin grinned, eyes remaining forward on the road, it made him feel powerful to hear Hannah recount his extravagance through mockery, the way her eyes widened told him she was secretly impressed.

“Ugh, Half Moon Bay is really a one horse town… there’s a fisherman’s wharf touristy area, some beaches, a square with a few shops… I just have to be back by 9, and, um, we’re not supposed to leave the town…”

“Right, but how would they know?”

“I would know… I um… I’m really trying to do this … I want to graduate sooner rather than later…”

“Graduate?”

“Yeah, remember? I wrote about it, in one of my very long, dumb rambly letters … it’s stupid, but the program length is variable here, three months to a year, based on how long it takes to complete their ‘three phases’ and ‘graduate’ from the program…”

“What phase are you on?”

“Two… I have a sponsor in NA and I’m plugging along … rah rah rah…”

“That’s good, though, I mean… right?”

Hannah squinted, looking ahead of her, and then looked down, fidgeting with her dress. “Yes.” Her voice was low, sincere. “Yes. I’m glad I’m here. I wasn’t at first….. but now I’ve been here for two months and… I … I have been able to admit that ….. the drugs were a problem for me… and… I don’t want to do them anymore … I want to be free… is that the lamest thing ever? Don’t worry, they haven’t totally brainwashed me … I’m still a devout atheist… I still like sex and rock ’n roll …but, I um… look…. we should talk tonight I guess, because if you need a girlfriend who you can get fucked up with and share that party lifestyle with I totally get it…but being clean, for me, means no booze… no recreational e and dancing at parties in the desert…”

Austin’s face grew pensive, and he drew Hannah in tighter, planting a long kiss again on the top of her head. “Shut up with that… First, we did that once because YOU wanted to… raves are not exactly my scene… and Second, You’re my girl, ok? I’m gonna take care of you. I want to….And, uh…I’m like, really proud of you, Hannah Banana, I really am… so let’s figure out more pressing issues… like,it’s 1:30, I gotta get you back by 9… that doesn’t give us much time, we should probably go straight to my hotel…”

Hannah guffawed, “Not even gonna buy me dinner first, huh?”

Austin’s heart swelled and he felt himself harden more, Hannah’s teasing lilt made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he rubbed her knee. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something to feed you,” he tried to play it straight, looking ahead, but unable to stop his deep chuckles as Hannah playfully slapped him. “I meant to talk…” he laughed, “like we should just go to my hotel, so we have somewhere private to talk… we have a lot to talk about… we don’t even have to have sex today… or even go to the super deluxe suite I got with a big, comfy king bed … we can just hang out on the hotel grounds, the lobby is nice, there’s like a path along some cliffs and an outdoor fire place, there’s a golf course somewhere…”

Hannah hummed, her hand sliding around his waist, “Ok, yeah, you know how much I love golf …”

“What the fuck, Austin… the Ritz? I didn’t even know this was here, leave it to you to find the most overpriced poncy, rich asshole place to stay.” Hannah exclaimed, as Austin led her through the lobby of the Half Moon Bay Ritz Carlton. He shrugged, walking towards the outdoor bar where a fire was indeed roaring from a large, stone pit, and you could see the Pacific Ocean churning beyond green cliffs. Hannah shook her head, and pulled him to her, standing on her toes to whisper into his ear, “I need to use the bathroom, can we go to room?” Her teeth grazing the bottom of Austin’s earlobe, and she grinned as his eye brows lifted and he nodded his chin, tapping his hand over his thigh during the elevator ride up.

Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, Hannah’s confidence faded a bit, she pulled on the waddle that had expanded under her chin, and pushed it back to up, looking at herself with both hands pulling back the excess skin around her face. Stupid fucking cow, you were almost a size 8… now you can barely get into your size 12 clothes… But Hannah’s confidence surged back when she came out to find the eager, almost innocent look of awe in Austin’s eyes glued to her from the couch where he was untying his oxfords, camel hair jacket already off. He jumped up and sauntered over, pushing his long hair to the side. She shivered at his hands closing in around her waist, savoring how the back of his index finger lightly feathered up and down her sides. His blue eyes were dark and half lidded with lust above a dopey smile.

“Hey…” his voice was husky, slow, and Hannah’s pulse quickened, quivering at his touch, the fire building in her core swelled and her chin jolted down, embarrassed of how intense her desire felt. Her breath was uneven, nervous, and Austin’s right hand moved to her soothe her cheek, cupping it and turning it towards him.

“Hey… is this ok? You ok?” Hannah nodded, her fingers moving to play and tug at the belt loops on his hips, pushing into him. Now both of Austin’s hands were cupping her face, thumbs gliding over the tops of her cheeks, his lips soft on hers, then pausing to swallow anxiously. Her eyes widened, as she nuzzled the tip of his nose, and his head bent down, the warmth from his forehead meeting hers, eyes squeezed shut, shuddering as he mumbled, “Oh god baby, sweet baby, I missed you so much… so… so much….”

A warm tingling pricked at the sides of Hannah’s eyes, she thought she might cry, but she kept it at bay, nodded, her hands tightening around him as his nose grazed her cheek and his lips were on her earlobe, then kissing the nape of her neck softly. He drew her closer to him, taking her left hand in his right palm to sway around the room, half speaking/half singing the lyrics to the song “Lady in Red” softly in her ear. Austin’s slow, gravelly, semi-British inflection pulled her in and she followed his lead, moving in harmony, their bodies softening and relaxing as they remembered how they fit together.

I've never seen you looking so gorgeous as you do tonight…

I've never seen you shine so bright

You’re amazing

I've never seen so many people want to be there by your side

And when you turned to me and smiled

It took my breath away

And I have never had such a feeling

Such a feeling of complete and utter love

As I do tonight

The lady in red is dancing with me

Cheek to cheek

There's nobody here

It's just you and me

It's where I want to be

Well, I hardly know this beauty by my side

I'll never forget the way you look tonight

Austin’s voice cracked, and Hannah heard it and felt it, with her head was resting on his chest. It sent a wave of electricity up her belly. Austin paused by the window, smoothing her hair, his fingers trailing down her back.

“I love you, Red, forever and always..,”

“I love you too, Austin, always and forever.” He gripped her closer as he felt her voice reverberating through his chest.

Austin pulled back to look into Hannah’s big brown eyes, wide and vulnerable, her pupils blown with longing, and he answered it with a kiss, stroked her back with his thumb. The kisses became deeper, his mouth enclosing her upper lip, softly, then pulling on it, before their tongues collided, each beckoning the other to consume them completely. Hannah fingers worked their way down the buttons of his black, flower patterned dress shirt, slowly, biting her lip as it finally fell to the floor and her hands moved, shakily, over his smooth, firm skin. Austin grabbed her right hand, kissing the back of her palm. Her other hand brushed a lock of his long hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear.

“I like the long hair, by the way… you look like a handsome, rock star surfer.” Hannah whispered, grasping a handful and pushing it behind his right ear.

“Thanks…” Austin muttered distractedly as he pulled at her dress, exhaling with awe as he slowly raised it up over her head, shaking his head and popping his lips at the sight of Hannah’s heaving pale breasts. He bent down in reverence to kiss the line of freckles above them, grinning like a school boy at the sound of his fingers successfully pulling off the last hook of her bra clasp. Now his hands were moving slowly down her back, playing with the elastic of her panties as his lips forged a trail from her décolletage to her mouth. Feeling her tense, he looked down to see Hannah sucking in her stomach, using her arms to cover the slope of her belly and hips, and he stepped back, as if reading her mind, he pulled her hands away so her could admire her whole figure.

“You’re gorgeous, Red… really… I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

Hannah rolled her eyes, “Stop…”

“No, really…” Austin lowered himself on his quads to grab Hannah by her ass cheeks, lifting her up and carrying her under her knees and back over to the bed, then laying her down gently. Hovering over her, Austin’s eyes smoldered. “I need to tell you something baby…. you look better, you look healthy, you look like you did when we met… this is how your body is supposed to look…” his hand stroked the roundness of her hips, grabbing and rolling her soft, supple flesh, as he leaned in to kiss Hannah’s shoulder, smirking as she whimpered in response to the soft touch of his fingers tracing a line up her belly to her breasts to flick her nipple. A bolt of lightening ran down Hannah’s spine and sparked at her core, a fire building as Austin mumbled on, the arousal in his voice shuddering through. “These curves just kill me… I’ve seen you naked hundreds of times now, and every time it’s still …. a fucking revelation, I just want to sink in, explore every contour, feel every bounce, taste every inch of you…” as he said this, Austin pushed himself lower, until he was on his knees at the base of the bed, looking into Hannah’s eyes as he slowly slide her panties off, eyebrow arched in a question, then hastening to rip them off once Hannah nodded her chin in assent. Austin dragged her legs towards him until they were over his shoulder and Hannah’s rosy pink pussy met his face with a wet slap at the edge of the bed. He held her still when she twitched, responding to the intense flick of his tongue over the center her clit. Austin spoke into Hannah’s sex, his hands soothing the top of her thighs.

“Shhhh… s’ok… don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt you baby…”

“Mhmmmm I know, I’m ok,” Hannah’s eyes met Austin’s, looking up at her between her legs. “ I just… I don’t think I’ve ever done this sober, not really, not like this where I’ve been clean for months…”

Austin leaned forward to lav at Hannah’s core, maintaining eye contact, and then pausing to rub her clit with his thumb, savoring the pitter patter of his finger against her slick flesh.

“I’m into it, I want to see you, the real you, I can’t wait to watch you come undone, unfiltered, knowing that I am making you feel pleasure, and not some chemicals…”

Throwing her head back, Hannah cried out when Austin returned his tongue to her nub, her fingers seizing the duvet cover to steady her through the intense waves of pleasure washing over her as the tip of his tongue rolled on her, up and down in a syncopated trance, then shifting to circle around her core, bringing his thumb to messaged her entrance and gently open it up, his tongue back home on her clit, fingers gliding inside her, calling out to her center as his rhythm intensified, responding to the thrust of Hannah’s hips now fucking into his mouth was she chased the sensation building in her belly until she screamed out a refrain of “oh gods,” her face contorting in agony through her release, hips bucking slowly as the waves crashed outward and the heat of her orgasm rippled out across her body. The sparks flew up through her nose and tingled down to the skin at the base of her feet.

“Oh god Austin… I FUCKING love you…” she cried out, her head flinging back as she panted. Austin grinned up at her, his thumb riding her through her climax over her clit, before she pulled him off by his wrist, unable to take the over stimulation. Hannah perched up on her elbows and caught her breathe, her fingers aimlessly twirliing Austin’s long hair. He smirked a self-satisfied smirk, wiping his mouth on the duvet, then lifting himself up effortlessly from his shins.

Hannah admired his bare abs, rising in a V shape to broad, muscular hard shoulders, he spoke while looking down to unbuckle his pants. “I honestly don’t know how long I’ll last today baby…. It’s been a while… unless you count jerking off to the sound of your voice…” Still panting, Hannah’s mouth turned into a bright gleam, and she sat up, making him trip over the edge of the bed as she pulled him down toward her, kicking off the last leg of his trousers and jostling to land over her with a burst of laughter. Pushing the blonde hair out of his face, Hannah looked up into his eyes with an affectionate grin, the reverence she found there made her gasp.

“I still can’t get over the fact that you’re really here with me, that it’s really you,” she whispered, pinching his arm. “I’m afraid any moment I’m going to wake up in my bed at GK and this will all be some sort of wet dream.”

Austin leaned in, meeting his lips with hers, his tip grazing her entrance as he met her eyes.

“If this is a dream, I don’t wanna wake up, I just wanna be here with you.” He started to push into her, slowly, grunting low as a he watched Hannah’s eyes widen and her breath hitch in her throat with a gasp, exhaling through the snug fit of her cunt and the way she involuntary clenched around him.

“Hey, you ok?” His eyes darted up to search hers.

“Mhmmmmm…uh huh…” she answered, moaning out, “I just… may be out of practice…”

“S’ok…” Austin slowly thrust out, and then, rocking back into her, he grabbed her hips and swiveled onto his back so that Hannah was now on top. “Take the wheel, baby, let’s go at your pace.”

Pausing to reposition her knees on either side of his hips, Hannah pushed her hands onto his chest to steady herself, her breath sharp as she lifted off of him and then slid back down, a glint in her eyes.

“I like ... uhhhh… how I tell you… I’m …ummff….. out of practice and… ahhhhh…. out of shape and that I don’t know what I’m doing…. And …o f fuck…..you put me in charge…” She grunted, her voice was playful as she began to bob up and down on Austin’s cock, biting her lips as she found the angle that made a spark jolting up through her core with each forward movement.

“Oh god, fuck I missed you so much….” Austin groaned, his hands digging into her hips as she rode him deeper and he rose to meet each thrust, his hands tightening to slow her down. “Whoo, wait, hold on…” Hannah paused, as Austin pushed himself up, his legs folding under her as he pulled her knees up on either side of him. Hannah felt his cock push deeper, as she met his body, straddling him at eye level as he wrapped his arms around her waist, and she lowered her legs on either side of his, her arms now hooked around his shoulders. Their bodies were twisted together upright in an embrace as Hannah began to grind against Austin slowly in lotus position, feeling his length glide up and down within her, the muscles in his arms tensing as they moved with her hips to support each push up and down. Face-to-face in the middle of the bed, their mouths hovered across from each other as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Austin’s breath synced with Hannah’s and she grasped the back of his neck, twirling his hair into a rope away from his face as she kissed him deeply, passionately, heaving back and forth as her pussy opened up further for him with each thrust.

“I missed you too…” Hannah murmured between low gasps, her hips dipping up and down deliberately, a loud moan escaping her mouth.

Austin’s fingers drew her in closer. “Let’s just live here in this bed and… never… uhhhh … leave… ok?” Amused, Hannah nodded, as Austin pulled her in for another kiss, his lips wet, tongue furtive, bodies pressed tightly together, Austin savored the swell of Hannah’s breasts against his heart as they fucked into each other in a slow, soulful rhythm. Austin’s hands began to move Hannah’s hips more energetically.

“I love you… Hannah Banana”

“I love you too pretty boy…” her fingers slide down to his chest and began to tweak his nipples, and Hannah bit her lip as his blue eyes met hers with an intense heat, plunging down onto him, hips rippling as he worked them with her and she felt a tension building in her core. “Fuck Austin, I think I’m gonna cum again…”

He bit his lip, nodding his forehead against hers. “Hey, that’s my girl… just relax… don’t fight it…. Uhhhh god….you feel so soft when you cum… ride me through it… FUCK I fucking love you….”

Letting loose Hannah cried out, trembling as she continued to rock back and forth over Austin until he jerked harder up into her, his abdomen tightening, her name on his lips as he convulsed and exploded deep inside her.

“Oh god...” Austin muttered, his brow bending into hers as he stilled her hips and Hannah pushed down, squeezing her arms around him until they fell sideways. She landed on his chest as they exhaled, a heaving pile of spent limbs.

The sun set over the ocean, and Hannah and Austin spent the rest of the afternoon in bed, crawling to the phone to order room service, sitting on the bed lazily drinking Pellegrino and feeding each other French fries, finding new ways for their bodies to fit together when splayed across each other. Austin murmured in her ear how he wanted Hannah to move in with him when she graduated, and she nodded, all the pride and snark and insecure stubbornness fucked out of her.

“Ok. If you mean it.”

“Let me take care of you Hannah.”

“We can take care of each other, ok? I’m not some helpless patient… I’m just… trying to get better… but… I am so, so SO grateful, lucky? For your support… it makes it so much easier to be here now that I an escape with you….” She answered, and he kissed her forehead.

“You’re right… we take care of each other… and I’ll be back next weekend, cuz I need you…. Being here with you, it’s like you fill up this empty, Hannah shaped hole in my life….”

She giggled, and slapped his shoulder. “I feel like you fill up an empty Austin-shaped hole deep inside me…”

Austin rolled his eyes. “I meant figuratively… like a part of my soul is incomplete without you.”

Hannah turned to look at him, as he spooned her from behind, their eyes met and Hannah waggled her eyebrows, leaning up to kiss Austin’s lips and then moving around so that they were once again tangled in an embrace, kissing deeply as their bodies softly heaved into one another, and before he knew it, Austin was above Hannah again, hard, looking for her nod as he spread her legs and guided himself into her once more.

“Oh gawd, baby, when I’m inside you I just feel like I’m home….”

Hannah’s big brown eyes, widened, a deep laugh burst out of her throat, followed by the sharp gasp she exhaled as Austin’s cock lunged into her.

“Austin, that is so corny, that’s like the Hallmark card for vaginas… CUM home Austin…”

“Shhh, Hannah…ughhhh” he smiled down at her, hovering above as he continued to thrust into her. “Don’t ruin the romantic mood——”

“Ok..baby… you’re right…. It’s so… ughhhh.. romantic when you tell me how my pussy is like …ahhh” their conversation was punctuated by groans of pleasure. “House….”

“Like home, like it is so comforting to be inside a familiar pussy, a homey pussy…ughhhh”

She laughed and shook her head, and then gripped his sides as Austin began to pump into her harder, and Hannah could no longer form full sentences, her whole body buzzed from the electricity generated by each pound against her g spot. Within a few more minutes, she was coming unraveled, and Austen soon followed.

Dozing off in a post coital nap, it was 8:15 when Hannah eventually rose and began to dress, looking over her shoulder with a heavy heart. Austin followed, hand through his hair, retrieving his own clothes and dropping her back at her rehab with the promise that he would be at family visitation the next day. Before she got out of the car, Hannah handed him a small jewelry box with a bow wrapped around it.

“Happy birthday, pretty boy…”

He opened the box, finding a cassette tape labeled with Hannah’s handwriting, Songs that Make Me Think of You.

“ I was planning to give it to you tomorrow… there are no cool shops in Half Moon Bay… and you have so much money and stupid things anyway…. so I thought I’d make you something… there some Cure, REM, Pixies, Elvis Costello…. some love songs… ugh, it’s stupid… I mean, you just bought yourself a Lamborghini…”

Austin grinned, shaking his head, as he cupped her face and drew her to him. “Shut up. This is perfect because you made it for me… I can’t wait to listen to it…”

Mid August though Mid September, 1991

The next few weekends would follow much the same, as Austin drove up from LA to visit and September came to call, bringing with it a cooler bite to the coastal California sea air. The mood at rehab changed perceptibly, and Hannah waltzed through her days on a pink cloud, scribbling daily journal entries, speaking openly and positively in groups, meetings, sessions with her counselor and her NA sponsor. As she started to make plans to move home, phrase three was in her sights, all she had to do was connect with a temporary NA sponsor in LA and set up a meeting, and she could start planning to graduate the first week of October.

It was a balmy, early Tuesday morning when Hannah bounded down the staircase from her dorms to the foyer, whistling REM’s “Shiny Happy People,” when a note stuck in her throat at the sight of Min waiting for her on a bench. Austin had been up to visit the previous weekend, and had said nothing about his publicist visiting her before he departed Sunday. She started to open her mouth, and Min motioned for her to follow as she led Hannah back to what was usually her counselor’s office.

“James, is it? Said I could use his office.” Hannah nodded, and watched with horror as Min unfurled several tabloids in front of Hannah with the previous days’ date on them. There, on the front, were photos of her and Austin: kissing, walking, holding hands, at the hotel and then saying goodbye at the front of the Golden Key’s main building. The headline read “Butler’s Romance with Downey’s Junkie Jailbird.”

“Fuckkkk… what the fuck Min?”

“Someone tipped off the paparazzi. Either someone who saw you at the hotel, or walking around this charming institution. Doesn’t matter who, at this point, it’s out there. And they have the whole story, your name, the details of the arrest, everything.”

Hannah gulped, flipping through the pages and gasping in horror as she found the double-page spread with photos someone had taken driving by the arrest with her and Downey, next to her mug shot and a photo of her and Austin walking down the red carpet at US premiere of his last film, David Lynch’s Crazy at Heart. Min straightened her glasses, her deep Black skin somehow radiant even first thing in the morning, when Hannah imagined she must have woken up very early in order to drive or fly up from LA.

“Austin doesn’t know I’m here. And I think we both know that boy is like a Labrador retriever. He will not do the smart thing, he will be loyal, he will not break up with you. But he must. You are a liability to his career. I cannot stress that enough. I’m sorry, I have to say it as it is. Bob is not getting any offers, and he was nominated for an Oscar, because he can not get insurance coverage until he finishes treatment and stays out of trouble for at least a year, I not more. His career may very well be over… I begged Austin, BEGGED him, not to have you walk down the carpet last year, to keep his private life private, but did he listen? No. And I, foolishly, didn’t put my foot down, because it didn’t really matter, did it? Who cares if an actor dates a random normal person, it’s not as fun to read about as two celebrities dating, so the gossip mongers have pretty much left you two alone. No one ever saw this photo from then red carpet before, it was all they cared about were pictures of him with Laura Dern or Lynch. Even with the arrest, all eyes were on Downey. You were literally cut out of the photos so the papers could get a better close up framing Downer with the cops. And with your plea deal, we managed to keep you under the radar. But now, the only way to make this go away is to stop providing them fodder and distract them with something new.”

Hannah met Min’s eyes, confused, as she sat down, and Min followed suit, perching on the edge of the chair across from Hannah.

“Just tell me what to do. Like a statement that we aren’t involved.”

“What? Actually comment on this? God no. No. It just needs to stop. You need to break it off, and then I will set him up with some very public dates. Maybe with some of his costars from Jagger, like Halle Berry, Rosie Perez, Christie Brinkley, they played his main love interests….” Hannah nodded, and then Min reached over and put her hand over Hannah’s and squeezed it. “You know, Hannah, if you want to be truly happy, though, you should just pull off the band aid and really break up with him today. While you’re in here, safe from temptation, and cared for, where you can heal. Actors should date other famous people, who know what this lifestyle is. This thing, its never going to work long term. Look at you, dear, are you better or worse off after doing this tango with Austin on and off for four years? Dating someone famous, its extremely difficult…. its like a swan dating a rat, he should be with another swan…”

Hannah pulled her hand back, brow furrowed.

“So I’m a rat now?”

Min breathed deeply.

“I was trying to emphasize difference. He’s above-the-line talent, you’re below-the-line crew. He grew up with money, you didn’t and you are always going to worry whether you are enough, no matter what he says, or how much you trust him. You and Austin different species, that’s all I’m saying. If you are honest with yourself, you already know in your heart I’m right.” Min patted her own heart. “Look, you can do whatever you want. But dear, no one was interested in a story about a young woman going to rehab after getting arrested, not until they saw Austin up here, then someone told the paps and they started poking around. You need to look out for yourself. What is going to happen to you? And your career? If you stay together, I guarantee this is not the last time you’ll be in the tabloids. It’s the first. Of many. Either way, you need to convince him to stop coming up here to visit. To have public dates with a few famous women. The paps will loose interest and it will all blow over….. Unless you keep adding fuel to the fire. If this stops, you may still be able to salvage your reputation, there will be people who didn’t read this tabloid. But if the coverage continues, week after week as he visits, or when you come back, or if you relapse… at some point, things that normal people get to keep private will come out, and it’s possible Variety or the LA Times will do a story on you guys.”

Hannah nodded, starting at her fingers in concentration. She knew what she had to do.

October 15, 1991

The drive back down to Los Angeles was long, and Avi was silent, giving his daughter the room she needed to be with her thoughts as she mentally prepared for her new life, her clean life, life after rehab. Hannah sighed. Ugh, its worse than being 18…. I’m a single, unemployed 28 year old loser. She pulled in one of Austin’s hoodies she had kept after a visit, wallowing in the melancholy that washed over her.

Austin had become irate when she broke up with him over the phone in her counselor’s office the day Min visited her three weeks ago…

“Are you fucking serious? Because of some tabloid bull shit? You know I don’t care. Fame doesn’t fucking interest me, I just want to be with you, work with great people and make art. ”

“But, Austin, being famous gives you the profile do that —“

“Sure, but so you take the good with the bad. You know that, you grew up in this business.”

“And look at how fucked up I am. Plus, its not like the paparazzi chase after editors, Austin, that is definitely a bonus from dating you …”

“You think I like them? Those people are parasites… they are the SCUM of the earth, I cannot believe you are letting them control your life—”

“Austin, I am not LETTING them do anything, I am just trying to live life on life’s terms, one day at a day—“

“Don’t you dare start throwing those AA cliches at ME, Hannah. At least be real. We love each other. Nothing else matters. You’re just hurt and scared and you’re reacting like a baby…”

“NA cliches, please, if you are gonna insult me at least be accurate… look it doesn’t matter…. You re not being fair… I AM trying to be real. You know what’s real? I don’t have a job lined up. In this business, you are only as good as your next job, and this type of stuff might make it impossible—”

“So what? You don’t need a job, Just come live with me. I’ll take care of you …”

“Do you know how demoralizing it is for you to talk to me like that? As if I haven’t been working like a dog for the last seven years to get where I am? Let alone how bad just sitting around your house waiting for you to come home and fuck me would be for my recovery? The tabloids, the paparazzi, they aren’t the problem. They’re a symptom of the real problem, which is how incompatible we are. You’re a swan, and I am a rat, we are defying the laws of nature—”

Austin growled. “Are you high right now? They should give you a drug test. You sound ridiculous. I literally don’t even know what that means with the swan and the rat. Ugh! You are being so stupid. You always do this, you get stuck on how I’m a ‘movie star,’ and then you blow it out of proportion because you are insecure and stubborn. Most woman would be overjoyed to have someone offer to support them while they figure out their shit. And work through this together.”

“Austin, you don’t get it, and I can’t do this, we’re talking in circles… look, my sponsor told me not to date anyone for my first year sober, and I completely ignored her. But clearly I was wrong, because this whole thing is a trigger for me, you are a trigger. We have too much baggage, from before, from now. I love you, I love you so much…” tears started to well up in Hannah’s eyes, and her voice wavered. “But love isn’t enough and I have to put myself first.”

The sound of her sobs made Austin even angrier. “No. The answer is NO. I’m not letting you do this. We are not breaking up, you are being hysterical.” Her sobs got louder, and Austin sighed, running his hand through his hair and tried to calm down. He could almost see Hannah’s pale face becoming blotchy and red and wet as she cried. It was beautiful and ugly and he couldn’t bear it. “Oh Banana, look, you’re upset. We can’t have this conversation over the phone. I’m gonna get in my car and drive up right now.”

“NO! No, Austin, no, don’t come up here - they took those photos of you coming here, it might even be another resident here. Please, please, don’t come up.” She sniffed, wiping her eyes, breathing deeply to steady her voice. “Look, this isn’t up to you. You don’t get to let me do anything. It’s over. Do not come up here, do not call, do not try to see me. I’m taking you off the guest list. Can’t you understand? I need to do this for…. my recovery. I just need to be single and focus on staying clean.”

“I canNOT fucking believe you are doing this, after everything. I have done nothing but support you getting sober. You can’t take me off the guest list, I PAID for that fucking rehab, did you know that? And now what do I get in return? Gratitude? NO. You’re fucking punishing me for staying with you. For getting ‘caught’ on camera being the good guy. Ugh!!!!” Austin had slammed down the phone and then paced the living room, punching the wall.

Hannah collapsed on the desk sobbing, and when she calmed down and tried to look up, she would see the corny twelve step slogans framed on the wall and start crying again. Because part of her knew he was right, that it was unfair to use recovery as an excuse. But she was also convinced this was the best thing for both of them. Definitely for him. The fact that he had ended up paying for her rehab only solidified how wrong she was for him, how he deserved better. She’d had no idea, her lawyer Sheila had told her that her health insurance had covered it, but she had left all the details to Sheila. Who Austin had probably subsidized as well, once she started to think about it, realizing how little the legal invoice had been. She hadn’t even questioned that at the time. You’re a fucking idiot. And so is he, I wish he had kept his fucking money to himself and let me go to whatever shit hole the Motion Picture Health & Welfare insurance would have covered.

Sitting n her father’s Honda, Hannah pulled the collar of Austin’s hoody tight, letting the faint smell of his cologne comfort her. The break up conversation felt so fresh it could have been yesterday instead of three weeks ago, probably because she replayed it over and over again in her head. The intervening days had gone by in a blur, going through the motions of putting on a brave face, finishing her phrase three preparations, doing whatever she had to do and saying whatever she had to say so she could leave. She’d have to be careful, she knew now that because Austin had paid for her stay, he probably knew he was out, and his house was only 15 minutes down the coast from her father’s mobile home community. That is the first thing, figure out a new place to live.

Avi gave her a soft, sweet look as he unloaded her luggage. “You look like you could use a cup of tea, Noodle. And perhaps a meeting.” Hannah smiled weakly, her heart breaking as she considered how much it probably hurt her father to see her like this, how worried he probably had been after the arrest.

“Yeah pop.” She jumped out of the car, and took the other suitcases out of the trunk, following Avi into the trailer.

October 31, 1991

Playboy Mansion Halloween Party

The sound of the waterfall broke up the cocktail chatter as Austin felt the ice cube in his glass hit his teeth, the smooth whiskey warming his throat as he gulped it down. He pulled on his white silk tie, straightening it over his pink dress shirt. He ran his fingers through his long blonde hair, and looked over at Emilio chatting with a Latinx bunny in a cute Kelly green corset with matching bunny ears. He rolled his eyes as Emilio asked her flirty questions, using is had to wave her over to him and pointing in his empty glass.

“Alma, is it? Keep ‘em coming, okay sweetheart?”

Emilio shook his head in mock disgust. They’d met on the set of Austin’s first movie in 1988, he’d played a the main villain, a frat boy that Estevez’s character was investigating for murder. The Playboy Mansion wasn’t really Austin’s scene, but Emilio and Rick, a producer they both knew, had invited him and he pushed himself to get out of his house and come mingle. It was hard to distinguish the bunnies from the starlets and aspiring actresses dressed up for the Playboy Halloween Party in some sort of costume that involved a corset with heels. There was corset Wonder Woman, corset black cat, corset witches, was that a corset cow girl?

An hour or so later, he was mindlessly nodding in conversation with his friend Rick, Rosie Perez, who had played the role of Jagger’s first wife, and a few bunnies whose names he didn’t really catch when he felt a strong hand slap his back, and turned to see Keanu Reeves behind him.

“Butler,” he said, softly, and Austin turned to shake his hand as Keanu’s arm lingered around his shoulder. His smile was open, vulnerable, but there was a mystery in his stoic eyes. “So, still knee deep in the editing bay?” Keanu grinned, then stepped aside to grab a glass of champagne from a waiter walking by.

“What?” Austin sipped his own drink, watching as Keanu lit a cigarette.

“You’re girl, I met her on Point Break, she here with you?”

“Oh right,” Austin emptied his glass and slammed it down, looking around for a waiter or bunny, suddenly very very thirsty. He had only met Keanu in passing at aa few events, and had been so preoccupied with his own film project he hadn’t really paid much thought to Hannah’s work over the last year. “Yeah, we actually just split last month…”

Keanu blew cigarette smoke up into the air, shaking his head. “There was something about her, man, those tits, am I right?”

Austin frowned, then pushed Keanu lightly in the chest. “Hey man.”

Keanu’s eyes narrowed, and a dry smirk formed across his lips. “Yeah, no I get it. Must have been some good snatch if you’re still hung up on her. Tell me, did the curtains match the drapes?” Waggling his eyebrows, his voice was dry, sincere and earnest, Keanu’s grin widened as Austin pulled back his fist and jabbed him in the face, his dark hair flopping as he staggered back, laughing, as he lunged forward and landed an uppercut in Austin’s chest. Seconds later Austin was pulling him down on the ground, and they rolled on top of each other needing, kicking each other until Austin landed over him, and was about to pummel him again when the strong arms of security guards pulled him off and escorted them both out of the party.

Standing at the front of the mansion’s gothic Tudor front building, Austin rubbed his chest as he waited for the valet to bring his car around, he looked to his side as Keanu stood there, wiping the blood from his cracked lip. Keanu laughed, and went toward a black Porsche that was being brought around.

“Hey Austin, I’m sorry man, I was just fucking with you. I’m in a weird head space tonight, c’mon, let me make it up to you. I know just what you need.”

“What about my car?”

“Leave it, it’ll be here in the morning. “

Still buzzed, even though the fight had sobered him up, Austin shrugged and thought to himself, why the fuck not, as he leaned to sit passenger seat next to Keanu and they roared off down the hills toward Sunset.

Keanu lit another cigarette, and tapped a speed dial on his car phone.

“Hey, Polly? Hey it’s Josey Wells,” he winked at Austin, and whispered, “code name,” grinning at Austin’s confusion. “Yeah, hey, yeah, I’m wondering if its too late to put in an order for the night? Yeah. Something red, and thick. Mhmmm. Yeah, that’s the one. Send it to my house.”

Austin sat back, and rolled down the window, watching as they winded down Sunset toward the ocean.

Walking towards Keanu’s front door, Austin took in the collection of motorcycles in his garage. They were in a canyon in Malibu, up above the Pacific Coast with a view of the ocean.

“You know I live just down the road, I shoulda followed you…. So, you gonna keep me in suspense or what?”

Turning on lights, Keanu walked to his bar and poured them both drinks.

“You know, I’ve been in love. I know what it is to have your heart broken. Bad. Like where it hurts just to think about her. I can see it in your eyes, amigo.”

Austin drained his glass, tilting his head back he closed his eyes as he breathed deeply, and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, loosening his tie. He took his white sport’s jacket off and draped it over a chair. Turning to Keanu, he pursed his lips, jaw tensing. “OK, so?”

“Well, the best way to get over someone is to —”

“Start seeing someone else. Yeah, I’ve heard from all my friends. Problem is, I don’t want to date anyone else.”

Keanu walked to his fridge, and grabbed a bag of frozen peas, which he placed over his face as after he lay down on his couch. Austin followed, listening to Keanu’s dry voice emanate through the peas.

“Exactly. Which is why the best way, the actual best way to get over someone, is to find a hooker who looks just like ‘em, work out all your issues through sex. It’s very cathartic, trust me.”

Austin’s sullen face transformed to a bright beaming grin, his cheeks squeezing up as he exploded in laughter.

“You cannot be serious.” Austin’s bottom lip hung down in disbelief.

Keanu looked up from the bag of peas at Austin, who was now sitting in a leather chair across from him

“Hmmm… just wait, she’ll be here any minute. Trust me, Polly Fleissman is the best madam in this town. First one’s on me.”

Austin stroked his chin with his right thumb and forefinger. “How much is it?”

Keanu grinned like a giddy school boy, “S’ $1500 a night… and worth every penny.”

It was midnight when Keanu ushered in a white, red headed woman with curly hair, about the same height as Hannah, plump and voluptuous. It distinctly was not Hannah, but he would have done a double take passing her on the street. The tell was how clean cut she looked in a simple, expensive beige drape halter dress, and her sexy, confident voice, greeting them, introducing herself as “Jacqueline, but you can call me whatever you like.” Welcomed her in, offered her a drink, and the pulled out a small bag of white pills from his pocket, and held it up, jiggling the pills.

“I got some mitsubishis, what do you guys say, wanna party?”

Jacqui smiled, and stuck out her tongue. 30 minutes later, they were rolling, Austin’s skin was tingling, sweat lined his brow, and he kept swallowing. Keanu had put some low house music on, and Jacqui came to perch on Austin’s lap, her hands caressing his face, wiping the sweat from his brow, as his hands moved down her body and under her skirt, just the touch of her skin made the blood rush to his cock, he pulled on her red curls with his other hand, telling her how she was the most beautiful girl in the world, how he loved her, as she giggled, and kissed his neck, her hand moving to his pants and finding the outline of his erection. Stroking it, she whispered, “Does that feel good baby?” Austin nodded, looking into her eyes, then looking up as Keanu joined them, his own hands settling over Jacqui’s neck. He winked at Austin.

“I think we’d be more comfortable in the bed room, eh?”

Jacqui stood up, taking Austin by the hand, they followed Keanu together into a dimly lit master bedroom, the walls were a light grey, and the bed was a dark metal, very modern, with black sheets, pillows, blankets. Shirt off, Keanu stalked to Austin, and put his bar arm around Austin’s shoulder, messaging his neck was they watched Jacqui undress. Keanu’s hands stroked the back of Austin’s neck, and he leaned into, groaning, he felt like Keanu fingers were drawing out all the negative energy in his body, in his brain, replacing it with golden light that was making his skin glow. Looking over at Keanu, it looked like his pale, white body was gleaming with an otherworldly iridescence.

“Keanu, fuck, I love you man, I think you’re my best friend.”

Keanu’s hands moved from Austin’s neck and snaked around his chest as his chin pushed into the top of Austin’s shoulder, a low chuckle on Austin’s ear as he pulled into him.

“I think the e has kicked in… so, AB, ever been to a Hawaiian pig roast?”

Austin turned to Keanu’s cheek, shaking his head.

“No? Well I’m gonna show you how to skewer a live one from both sides.” Keanu winked, and kissed Austin roughly on the cheek, thens stepping back towards the bed. Jacqui giggled as Keanu beckoned her to him, his long nose dipped down to nuzzle her bare heaving breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra, just beige lacy panties, and her alabaster skin shone in the dim light. Completely uninhibited, Austin couldn’t get his clothes off soon enough. He watched with an open mouth was Keanu dipped down, slowly removing Jacqui’s underwear, then looking over at him as he unbuckled his belt, pulled down his pants to reveal his thick, stiff manhood, then jumping on the bed, scooting back towards the headboard and beckoning Jacqui to follow with his finger. She turned to look at Austin, smiling, her breasts bouncing as she climbed on the bed with Keanu.

“Coming?” She giggled.

Austin’s long, blonde hair swayed as he nodded, watching as Jacqui’s ass lifted up in the air while she leaned down to suck Keanu’s cock. In that moment, Austin eagerly followed, watching as Keanu’s raven hair hit the bed frame when the actor leaned back, eyes squeezed shut, uncontrollably biting his lower lip as Jacqui’s head bobbed up and down on his length. Austin rested his hands over the roundness of Jacqui’s bottom, kissing her right cheek as his left hand took hold of the other.

“You sure this is ok with you?” His voice wavered, his blue eyes met Keanu’s as he grinned, pulling on the mess of curls above Jacqui’s head for her to pause.

“It ok with you if my friend there roasts you from the other end?”

Jacqui grinned, and turned her head over her shoulder.

“Such a gentleman… hmmmhmmm… I think I can take it, big boy. Let me make you feel good.” Austin laughed, it was cliche, but high, every word was a sweet sensation and he went for it. Her skin was electric, and he bent his lips down below her cheeks to find her entrance, kissing at her lips, which he noted were waxed, bare, silky smooth, unlike Hannah’s wild mane, and his tongue sought out her clit easily between the soft, manicured folds, moving up and down as her body rocked with the rhythm of her mouth gliding up and down Keanu’s dick. The breathy sound of a feminine groan joined Keanu’s murmurs of “fuck” and “take it” and “oh my god this feels amazing….” Austin moved one finger, and then another inside of Jacqui, messaging her open and searching for her pleasure point as his tongue flicked over her nub, smiling into her and pulling her ass up as he felt her twitch under him. It was not long before Jacqui cried out, and Austin was pulling his lips off her, and straddling her from behind, thrusting in and out of her pussy, slowly at first, the sensation heightened by the ecstasy, the excitement of the threesome, and the way her body and the bouncing mess of red hair conjured up his intense longing to be with Hannah again.

Keanu looked at him over Jacqui’s writhing body between them, Austin’s lips puckered in an growl as he rolled in and out of her.

“Who ever whips his cream first has to pay for the pizza,” Keanu grinned, his eyes narrowing, and Austin chuckled, happy for the distraction because he was just on the edge, and Keanu’s conversation jarred his attention. He slowed down his pacing, and looked at Keanu, shaking his head.

“Man, you are crazy.” That night Keanu paid for the hooker, Austin paid for the pizza. But Polly Fleissman, the Hollywood Madam, would soon begin to get a steady stream of revenue for her services from Austin.

The next time Austin fucked Jacqui they were alone in a suite at the Chateau Marmont during what would become regular Thursday night consensual role playing sessions. Calling her Red, he would take out his frustrations with Hannah as he pummeled into the prostitute from behind, talking in a low, gravelly voice as he thrust into her, slapping her ass, pulling her shoulders, holding her head down into the pillow.

“Do you feel that? You fucking bitch. That’s how much I fucking love you… how could you do this to me. To us.” Austin groaned. The release as he came inside Jacqui was immediate. Addictive. And never fulfilling as it was with Hannah. Austin missed her brown eyes, innocently looking up at him, her voice teasing but her body and movements untrained, completely charming in how awkward or stilted she was. He missed that moment, with Hannah, when he could see her expression change, from being guarded to the moment she gave up her pretenses and opened up for him, her eyes filled with pure adoration. Austin couldn’t bare to look Jacqui in her eyes, at least not while her fucked her, especially with the degrading way he usually spoke to her. Jacqui was not shy, and she never blushed when she undressed, making sounds of approval whether Austin railed her aggressively until the sound of him slapping into her cracked through the suite, or whether he licked her soft and tenderly.

He paid double to have her visit him on Thanksgiving, having her suck his dick, and then, for a change, Austin motioned for her to get on top. Was their rocking motion increased, he put his hands around her neck, lightly choking her, calling her a selfish bitch, and then ordering Jacqui to punch him and tell him what a bastard he was.

“Tell me.” His right squeezed tighter around her neck, and his left hand pulling on her red curls and then tracing down her back to slap her ass, his biceps flexing as he grasped her up and down faster towards his chisled abdomen. “Tell me, tell me I am a spoiled, mediocre yuppie, a hack, a fraud, an empty vessel with no. creative. talent. TELL ME. Tell me you hate me!”

Jacqui’s face darkened, and then she repeated the list back to him in a condescending lilt, her performance somewhat contrived, a watered down rendition of a melodramatic scene from Dallas or Dynasty. Then she punched him, soundly smashing her right fist into his left eye socket and Austin came shortly after, groaning out like a man possessed being exorcized from his demons. As soon as he was sated, he was pushing her off him, looking ahead as he stalked off to the bathroom and dismissing Jacqui with a “You can go now,” without looking back. Sitting on the toilet, head in his hands, he wept and swore he was done with this. No more. But then the next Thursday, he would find himself back in his regular suite, fucking Jacqui into the wall from behind while he whispered all of Hannah’s character defects in her ear.

Austin spent November and December distracting himself from his the gnawing need to find Hannah, throw her over his shoulder and head for a secluded cabin somewhere remote where he could have the space and quiet and solitude to make her understand that they could be happy and good and healthy together. They needed to be together He knew it would be different if he could just talk with her in person, but he felt guilty for the way he had acted when they broke up. The way he belittled her recovery. Her career. The way he threw his payment for her rehab in her face. The only person he trusted to talk about this stuff with was his sister, Ashley, and she convinced him to leave Hannah alone for a few months, give her some space to get back on her feet, and possibly forget the way he had hurt her over the phone to retaliate for the way her decision had pierced him, seemingly coming out of nowhere, and to Austin, making no sense.

So, inside of kidnapping his ex girlfriend, Austin fucked a high-end prostitute that looked like Hannah and focused on work. He met with his agent Brett to look over scripts for his next project, finished up final voice over for Jagger and mapped out his promotion schedule for the film with his assistant, Alex. Humoring Min, Austin went out to several parties and events with dates she arranged for him, taking Halle Berry to the premiere of Cape Fear, Richard Gere and Cindy Crawford’s wedding, and planning to take her to the premiere of their film the week before it was released nationwide on Christmas.

Alex was also under a strict Hannah assignment to update Austin on her whereabouts, to the extent that he was able to. Sometimes, late at night, relaxed driving home from a meeting at the Chateau, Austin would drive by the trailer park at Point Dume, circle around the nearby grocery stores and coffee shops on the off chance that he might catch a glimpse of Hannah from afar, but he never did. So, he bided his time, checking in with Alex daily for any news.

December 26, 1991

Westwood Beach, Malibu, CA

Tide was out, and the slow rhythm of the small waves lapped up Hannah’s shins, leaving her legs cool and wet and sinking into the sand below them. She sat at the shore, hands under her thighs, looking out at the infinite expanse of the sea. The waves grew in size, and she sat there, waiting for one large enough to knock her down so her head was under the water, the salt water enveloping her. She willed the waves to wash her away into the night, staying under water until she couldn’t take it anymore, before finally jumping up and screaming at the moon. As a teenager, she would sneak down here at night to smoke pot, fantasizing that the golden reflection of the moon on the silvery waves was a faery path that would take her up into the sky, away from the dismal mortal life she inhabited on earth. Back then, the worst thing in her life was AP Bio and her unrequited crush on Rick Schlessinger, the object of much angst-ridden poetry written while sitting on the beach, smoking cloves and summoning all the pain her sixteen year old self could muster. That seemed like a cake walk compared to today.

She had quit smoking when she got home, Avi hated it. Her father was a quiet man, when he wasn’t working as a sound editor in town, she would find him on the sofa in their small trailer overlooking the bluffs, reading science fiction next to a pot of tea and a stack of chocolate dipped biscuits. However, he did turn to her two days after she moved in and explain that he would rather see her doing heroin again than smoking cigarettes. Hurt, indignant, but also humbled by the very real need to save her money and live back at home, Hannah kept her mouth shut and quit smoking. Avi’s quiet British sarcasm was all it took. Apart from that, they got along, and her father reverted to his den mothering ways, cooking dinner most nights and queuing up classic movies on the VCR for them to watch and analyze as they ate. Their love language was film criticism, it was the main vehicle for most of their meaningful conversations.

Hannah spent her days pounding the pavement, and looking for work. She visited some of her friends from college, reached out to a few directors she had worked with, saw her uncle Abe, the executive at Paramount, and the reoccurring feedback she got was to lay low for a few months, let the tabloid story recede, and then she would get some traction. In the meantime, she found a job in Vancouver, a Canadian friend from college had started a company editing for the new booming television industry up there that took advantage of those sweet sweet Canuck media tax breaks. She was set to leave for Vancouver in three days.

Hannah had flown up to Vancouver in early November, got the job, and started making her arrangements to leave. Then, a week later, she noticed that her breasts were more sensitive than usual, and gasped when she realized she hadn’t had her period in a while. Like, a while a while. Hannah was not one for tracking her cycle, she didn’t keep a calendar, she was on the pill so she didn’t worry too much. But the minute the thought crossed her mind she knew, she knew before she drove to the drug store and bought the test. She knew before she handed the test to Robin a waited for her friend to read her the result. She knew because she hadn’t bought tampons since she got home from rehab. According to her gynecologist, she was eight weeks pregnant when she found out in mid-November. Since then, Hannah had been in a holding pattern, avoiding dealing with this new reality in any meaningful way. Her sponsor had lectured her to tell Austin, no matter what her decision was, she was supposed to be living a new, honest life, and she shouldn’t try to manage his emotions or reality by keeping it from him. But she couldn’t bare to call him. The OB went over her choices with her, it was 1991, not 1961, but cautioning her that she really needed to make her decision before the end of her third trimester. Just like she had known she was pregnant, Hannah had already known what her decision was.

“So,” Robin asked, at brunch with Hannah and their other friend, Sarah the Sunday before Thanksgiving. “ I thought you were pro-choice… we just signed up to campaign for Bill Clinton….”

Theoretically, Hannah had always thought that if she got pregnant before she was ready, or not in a committed relationship, she would just have an abortion. But theory didn’t take into account how she actually felt when it actually happened in actual real life. What Hannah really wanted was a time machine to go back and not get pregnant at all. She knew she couldn’t go through with an abortion, and but she was terrified of having a baby.

“I am pro-choice. Emphasis on choice, Robin. Fuck…. You know I promised Avi when I was 15…”

Robin gasped.

“What do you mean you promised your dad when you were 15? That you would never have an abortion?”

Hannah nodded. “Yeah, it was the only sex talk we ever had. Driving a long PCH one day, he turned to me and told me if I ever got pregnant, he would raise the baby. I guess Georgie had two secret abortions when she was a teenager. The women in my family ….we are pretty fertile, I guess… I managed to somehow get knocked up on birth control…”

Robin shivered.

“Anyway,” Hannah continued. “My mom didn’t tell him until years later. She always regretted it. He always regretted it. Also, apparently a psychic once told my father she saw more children in his future…”

Sarah chimed in, “Well of course we’ll support—”

“Wait, you feel like because some psychic told your father —” Sarah slapped Robin. “I mean, yes, of course we will support you. And if you want to keep working, well, Austin just gonna have to shell out some of that movie star money for a nanny…”

Hannah sighed, picking apart the paper straw wrapper on the table. “I don’t know if that is exactly the approach I want to take when I tell him… I don’t want him to think I’m using this to get something from him… I need to be able to support myself, no matter what. I mean, obviously I need to tell him…”

But she hadn’t, and now she was at 14 weeks, and moving to Canada for work. In three days. But it was only for four months on a new TV series based on the Highlander movie. So, in theory, she could go work this job, come back at seven months pregnant and then have the baby here in LA. Maybe even pick up another job before the baby came. How hard could it be, she was already sitting down all day anyway? And what about after that? Where is your theory then? Fuck fuck fuck a duck.

“Stop being a pussy and just bite the bullet.” She said out loud. “Just call Austin.”

Wet and shivering in the cold (for California) January air, Hannah felt the nervousness in her chest tingle and move to the top of her shoulders. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Walking back up the hill from the beach to Avi’s mobile home, Hannah looked down at her waist, her swimsuit under an oversized Les Mis shirt Austin bought her in London. She didn’t really look pregnant yet, the bottom of her belly hadn’t started to bend upward and expand. Her ankles looked thicker, but if you didn’t look at them every day, you probably wouldn’t know.

The longer Hannah put off calling Austin, the more awkward the prospect came, and she found herself flying off to Vancouver without calling him.

taglist @powerofelvis @woundmetender @slowsweetlove @xstrengthxinxtragedyx @cryingabtab @whositmcwhatsit @artlover8992 @crash-and-cure @daffieapple @eliseinmemphis

#austin butler #austin butler fic #austin butler smut #austin butler 1980s fic #austin butler 1990s fic #austin buter x OC #banditqueenwrites

42 notes · View notes