by Avery Aster
“Such a Big Monster.” Now on my knees, my skirt up around my waist, I slide my right middle finger inside me as my left hand jacks him off. My lips press against his flesh as I take him, all of him, down my throat. My head jerks back and forth. His moans grow deeper, louder.
The tension between us swells, filling the air with a heated passion.
“I’m going to—”
Before he can finish speaking, the first shot hits the back of my throat.
I flick my clit, allowing myself to orgasm. Hands wet, my body tremors with release.
More of him, sweet this time, gushes down my throat.
We come together.
Between his legs, I rest on my knees, admiring his cock. It’s still hard.
“Clean me up, Wonder Woman.”
I lick him clean before crawling onto his lap.
Licking my hand, he admits, “I love the way you taste. Especially when you come.”
Feeling safe in arms with my face on his chest, I mutter, “I like being with you.”
“Likewise,” he replies, caressing my legs. We sit in silence for a while, our breaths syncing with one another’s. He inhales and so do I. He exhales and again, so do I.
I smile up at him. He returns the gesture before saying, “There’s one more thing I’d like to know about you.”
“Sure. Anything,” I reply, adjusting my skirt before sliding over to sit next to him. I push the button on the oak panel, lowering the window.
Fresh fall air fills the cabin. I notice we’re pulling into the resort. The sign on the driveway says ‘Welcome to Long Meadow Creek Vineyard.’
“How old were you when you lost your virginity? And to whom did you lose it?”
I laugh nervously.
“Well?” He expects an answer.
“I’m a virgin, Shel. I’ve never had sex.”
“Huh?” He bites his bottom lip. His warm eyes search mine for an answer. “But what about that sex tape of you that came out last year?”
“Fake. All of it.”
“He never had his cock inside you?”
“Nope.” I study Sheldon’s face, noticing the confusion. “Don’t get me wrong. Waris Sugar and I both needed to do that sex tape. He had an album coming out and I needed to tie my name to his.”
“Why?”
“My association with Waris Sugar took me from being on the C-list to the A-list overnight.”
“Does anyone else know about this?”
“Taddy, Blake, and Kiki, of course. It was Taddy’s idea.”
Stunned, he sits back in silence as the SUV comes to a complete stop, the driver, Carlos, grabbing our bags from the back.
“You gonna be okay with this bit of information, Shel?” I express my skepticism.
“Uhhh. Yeah. I mean, my wife is a virgin. Doesn’t get any better than that, does it?” he said with quiet emphasis.
We laugh and find our way out of the SUV.
“Who says I’m going to give you my V-card?” I throw over my shoulder quietly as I step onto the gravel. I notice a red thing blinking from the driver’s seat.
He comes right up behind me, his hands on my hips. “Trust me by the end of the week, I’ll have you begging for it.”
“Is that so?” I reply playfully, but my mind if fixated on the driver’s dashboard. Were we being recorded in the limo? If not by camera, then by audio?
Sheldon nods with such an arrogant level of confidence.
I try to clear my mind. Carlos would have no reason to record us. Right?
My attention focuses back on Sheldon as I push that thought out of my head.
I’ll admit. I’ve had my fair share of proposals over the years for sex, from Hollywood actors like Sean and George to NFL players such as Eric, Tom, and Clay. Oh Clay. Can’t forget him. But I’ve always said no. Even to Waris Sugar. I liked Waris, a lot. His black skin and beautiful muscles were a nice surprise, but his agent had wanted to see him wed a black girl. They felt a white blonde, such as myself, might upset the African-American community too much.
I don’t think Waris fucking me would’ve upset anyone but himself. See, Waris appeared relieved when he realized we weren’t actually going to have to do the nasty. My suspicion, which he later confirmed, was that he didn’t like women. Nope, he had a boyfriend.
Recently Waris took my reality TV star nemesis, Tarla Storm, as his bride, which made me even more confused. I’ve heard of being on the down low before, but that is just utterly ridiculous. I mean, who marries someone for his or her career?
Wait. That would be me.
I roll my eyes in my own disappointment. As Blake scolded the other day, I’ve sunk to a new low.
Tarla Storm got her start on TV playing the lead in Bad Girls Do Brooklyn. With half the cast eventually leaving due to feuds with Tarla, the show went on to become number one in its Thursday night time slot.
Tarla and Waris make a cute couple. I just wish Waris had picked someone nicer to shack up with. Sure, I’m a bitch on TV, but off screen not so much. Tarla is a royal bad girl to the core. Ice runs in her veins. I also wish Waris had picked someone he truly loved. And trust me when I say this, it wouldn’t be a woman.
One of the many things my foster mom, Calista, taught me was to “Only give your virginity to a guy who’s willing to play for keeps.”
And by keeps she meant happily ever after. Calista’s big on true love. She also didn’t want to see me pregnant as a teen, so when it came time for Waris and I to make the tape, we faked it.
Was he pissed? Of course not. What homosexual wants to have straight sex?
Rumors have circulated for years that Paris faked her sex tape. At a party for her sister Nicky’s new handbag line, I asked her. She’d skirted the question.
I hold Sheldon’s hand as we made our way up to the front door.
“What is this place?” he asks, glancing around at the horses to the left, the fields of grapevines to the right.
“It’s a winery.” I sigh. I don’t like to drink, especially not on camera, but I knew exactly what the TV producers were going to have us do—get wasted.
“Shit.” Sheldon’s face is etched with an unusual level of concern.
Before I can ask him what his beef is with us staying at a winery, I spot two production assistants, one with the microphones and the other with a camera over his shoulder.
“Hey, guys,” I say. Knowing the drill, I allow them to run the wire down the back of my blouse. Sheldon does the same. “Testing. Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” replies the first tech.
I thank the guys and introduce them to Sheldon before I ask, “Are we recording?” When they say yes, a rush of excitement goes through my entire body.
This is it. This is my chance to turn my shitty-ass career around. With a new level of optimism, I hug Sheldon. “I love you so much.” I say the words to get into the part of playing his wife, a moment of emotion coming over me as he says he loves me too.
Then I hear her voice.
“Is that my favorite person, Neve Adele?”
From my scalp to my ears, all the way down my back, and even to my toes, I freeze as if someone poured a bucket of cold water over me.
It couldn’t be. I’m imagining things. I keep walking. Yes, that bitch was just on my mind, but she couldn’t be cast on this show….
“Neve, honey. Aren’t you gonna say hi?” The voice, now louder, is coming from behind us.
I turn. My eyes focus. Sure as shit, she’s standing next to Carlos, the driver.
“Tarla, is that you?” I let go of Sheldon’s hand and take a step toward her.
“Of course it is, silly. Who else would it be?”
Livid. I’m going to kill that Taddy Brill. She had to have known that this wench was booked on the show.
I air-kiss Tarla on her left cheek, then right before replying, “I didn’t recognize you, what with all that weight you’ve gained and all.”
“Very funny, Neve.
You little bitch, you.”
I glare down at her belly. It’s as if she has a six-pack of beer under her blouse. “I’m serious, Tarla. What the hell happened to you?”
She laughed, spinning herself around as if she were Gone with the Wind fabulous or something.
A year or so ago, Tarla and I starred on Million Dollar Pyramid. She kicked my ass, whizzing out all the answers. It wasn’t until the very end of the show that the judges realized she’d been cheating. Yup. Apparently someone in production had fed her the answers through a small earpiece.
Can you believe that?
Anyway, the bottom line is that the girl is ruthless and will do whatever it takes to win. Then she married Waris.
Small world, isn’t it? Small world indeed.
“Haven’t you heard, honey?”
I glance up at Sheldon for a second, who seems just as confused as I am. “Heard what?”
“I’m pregnant with Waris’s baby.”
An unexpected fit of laughter rises from within. I can’t stop laughing. Tears streak my face as I call out, “Bullshit.”
The cameras zoom in. I’m in shock. I can’t believe Tarla Storm is going to be on this show with us.
That means… “Waris. Is he here?”
She nods and then rubs her belly. “He’s inside, getting us unpacked. Waris can’t wait to see you. Congratulations on your wedding.” Tarla shakes Sheldon’s hand, exuding such niceness that I seriously don’t know what’s come over her. This is all too fishy for me. Something is up. I’m just not sure what.
As we make our way back up the stairs to the entrance, my mind is spinning in confusion, so I turn back to look at Tarla just for clarity.
That’s when I spot Carlos. He’s handing Tarla something, which looks like a little black box. In return Tarla is handing him a fistful of cash.
“What’s going on?” Sheldon’s staring at them with me.
On my tippy-toes, I lean into his ear, covering my mic with my hand, I reply, “Appears our limo ride was recorded.”
“Really?” he asks innocently.
“Welcome to reality TV, Shel.” Fear and concern edge my throat as I finish, “May the best couple win.”
Take Two
Long Meadow Creek Cellars
Sheldon
Holding Neve’s hand, we walk the grounds. A guide leads the way, telling us all about the history of the winery.
Situated on over a hundred acres off the Long Island Sound, in the wine region known as the North Fork, Long Meadow Creek Cellars feels a bit hippy to me. Except for the main building where the wine is made, which looks like a space-age concrete and glass factory. It’s a unique contrast compared to the cobblestone mansion that we’ll be sleeping in tonight.
“Long Island’s maritime climate and glacial soils make it the perfect climate for growing grapes,” says the guide.
“What’s with all the horses?” I ask.
“The winery uses a biodynamic method powered by horses.”
“Do you know how to ride?” Neve asks, leaning in to me.
With a nod to her question, I realize I love when her body touches mine. Her frame isn’t frail or petite; she’s curvy and tall, and I like that about her. “Warner and I rode horses in New England when we were little.”
“I’ve met your brother a few times, at Taddy’s social functions and such.”
“I’m nothing like Warner. He’s rich and powerful.”
“You two sure do look a lot alike.”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “We’re the same height.”
“And the same build.” She sizes me up and down.
“You noticed?” I smile, feeling my cock jerk with surprise.
She giggles.
The guide, who’s several feet ahead of us, shouts, “I’ll meet you back up at the house. Dinner is at seven sharp.”
“Thank you.” Neve waves her off and turns to me.
“This is the first time we’ve been alone today,” I declare, cupping her face in my hands.
Neve leans up as my lips meet hers. I sweep her into my arms and lower us both onto the green grass, which smells freshly cut. She straddles me as if she’s going to ride my balls blue.
“I want you. I want to fuck you right now,” I growl into her ear. Her hair, blonde like silk, falls over me as she kisses me again.
“Let’s do that again,” a producer shouts.
Fuck.
“This time let’s have Sheldon be on top. Neve, you lie on the ground. Your face will catch the sunset better,” another producer demands.
“For a minute I forgot they were even here,” I admit to Neve.
“That’s a good thing, Shel. It means you’re a reality TV star natural. The more you act like the cameras aren’t here, the better it’ll be for the viewers at home.”
“I wasn’t acting just now.” I lower my voice. “I want to fuck you so badly.”
She laughs as we switch positions, her back on the grass, my torso stretched out over her.
“Action,” shouts the producer.
I laugh. This seems so silly. We’re not really acting, but we’re not exactly being real either.
“Repeat your conversation, please,” the second producer mutters.
“I said, Neve, I want to bury myself deep inside you until I can no longer tell where my flesh ends and yours begins.”
“Oh you’re good,” she whispers as I kiss her lips and gently massage her breasts. She likes it. I can tell because her breath is quick and her nipples are pointy.
Leaning down, I bite at her clothed bosom. “I want to make babies with you.”
Her legs come wide around my back as we kiss some more. She rips my shirt off, raking her nails over my chest. “Would ya look at all this ink.”
“Shhh,” I mutter in her ear. “Act like you’ve seen it all before.”
“Right. Of course. Thank you.” She nods and objectifies me by saying, “I never get tired of staring at your beautiful body.”
I’m not one for compliments. I’m fine when someone says, “You have a nice shirt on,” or “Your handsome son looks just like you,” or they compliment my apartment or an engine I’ve repaired, but to accept a compliment on my sexiness? Hmmm. It’s something I’d never grown used to. Not even when Ruby told me time and time again that my man-stock was worth every fuck.
“And cut!” a producer screeches as he and the other guy head back to the main house.
“Are we still being recorded?” I ask.
“Turn around.” Neve reaches up the back of my shirt and flips the volume switch to ‘off.’ I do the same for her.
We sit on the lawn catching our breath.
“Things are certainly heating up between us,” I admit, fixating on if she feels the same way. “I know this isn’t real, but I’m starting to like you a lot.”
“That’s good. Save it for the cameras, you know?”
Her words sting me a bit. I don’t know why. I mean, I know better, that this is just work for her and money for me. No feelings included. But fuck, Neve is so good at this acting real, but it’s not real, thing. I get lost in her face just by staring her. When she talks I don’t hear anything else but her sweet voice.
“I’m going to go work out before dinner.”
“Okay,” she says as I help her to her feet. “I’ll get us unpacked. I also want to try and find that driver, Carlos.”
“Why?”
“Something tells me that Tarla is up to no good.”
“See you at dinner.” I kiss her one last time on the lips. I can’t get enough of Neve Adele.
I change into an old airlines T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers, then make my way to the gym.
Bigger than a hotel gym, but not as large as the one back home, the facility is about two thousand square feet. With high ceilings, mirrored walls, free weights toward back, and circuit machines in the front, the oversized space is painted white, airy and without the usual thumping of loud workout music.
In
the weight area, doing chin-ups, is him.
A man who knows a lot—if not all—of my dark secrets.
A fellow drunk, who attended John Doe Alcoholics with me. Like Alcoholics Anonymous, JDA is a non-profit support group designed with full anonymity.
He glares back at me with that usual fear in his eyes. A look I’ve seen all too often, especially when I’d bump into another member at the grocery store or out on the street. The rules of JDA are that we don’t approach or acknowledge unless they seem open to it, and this man does. It’s me who’s hesitant. But what choice do I have?
“Hey, Sheldon,” he says.
“Hi, man, what’s up?” I shake his hand. “Sorry I’m drawing a blank on your name.”
“Cash McGowan.”
“Right. Haven’t seen you since—”
“Last week’s meeting,” he finishes.
“Are you on the show?”
“Yup. My agent thinks it’ll boost my career from hard news to more fun breezy stuff.”
“Are you on TV?” I ask, unaware of who is he. To me he’s just another guy in JDA.
He laughs. “Guess you don’t watch the evening news on USA Talk TV.”
“Can’t say that I do.”
“Well, I’m the weeknight host.”
“Cool.” I study his face. Blue eyes wide, brows groomed, teeth white and perfect. It all suddenly makes sense. He has that David Muir look of Ken doll perfection. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”
How would I? We’re not supposed to reveal anything other than our first name and our history with addiction. Some people talk about the stress of their jobs and how it leads them to drink, but not often. Usually the triggers for getting drunk stem from family life and events that took place during our formative years.
“No need to apologize. My wife and I are here, ready to do this newlywed boot camp.” He smiles at me almost as if he’s trying to convince himself that he’s made the right decision in being here
“Who’s the lucky gal?”
“Lima Kloss.” He picks up two dumbbells and starts to work his biceps.
“The model?”
“That’s her.”