The Jerk Who Saved Me: A Romantic Comedy

by Ellie Rowe

  “What… sort of reward are we talking about?” Pike asks me.

  “Just seemed to me like the Coast Guard could have benefited from a dozen new, top of the line boats.”

  Pike stares at me.

  As I meet his stare, I secretly give Veronica’s ass a grateful little squeeze.

  Thirty-Nine

  Veronica

  The journey for self-discovery is fraught and full of hidden dangers. Some of the heart, and some of the open sea. I, Veronica Swift, took just such a journey and lived to tell the tale.

  I hear a commotion behind me and see Hank and Bruce yucking it up as they descend the marble stairs to the pool. And by pool, I mean small lake. This thing is huge.

  We’ve been on the grounds of Hank’s sprawling mansion for just over a few hours. In case you’re concerned, the Coast Guard took the bait hook line and sinker. They get the boats, we get Bruce.

  Bruce’s got nowhere to go of course but has dreams of getting back into the scene. Let him have it. My award-winning performance days are over. I’m a writer, and I’m proud of that.

  “How’s the article coming there, sweetheart?” I shake my head. I should tell him to fuck off with that sweetheart stuff, but the way he says it these days sounds more like he means it. Like I am his sweetheart and not some ‘toots’ he met at an Oscar party.

  Also, he’s shirtless. Real hard to argue with him when he’s only got a little pair of swim trunks on. Goddamn.

  “Swimmingly. I’ve got one whole line down.”

  “That’s my girl.” Hank chuckles. “Was about to head to the pool house to get Bruce situated if you care to join us?”

  “Oh, I love a tour. Do I get an earpiece and a map or should I just follow behind?” Hank holds his hand out and helps me up, giving me a little slap on the ass for good measure. Cheeky bastard.

  The pool house as it turns out is an actual house. I thought it was kind of Hank to put his friend up, even if it was in the shack where they kept the pool floaties, but no. This is just as swanky as the rest of the estate.

  I’m about to step inside after Bruce to have a look at the place when Hank pulls me back. He brushes past me, his fingers sliding against my panty line and I eye him suspiciously.

  “Self-explanatory here, Pal. Kitchen, bathroom, beds, booze. Pretty well stocked. Just do me a favor and close those blinds there. Trust me on this the sun comes in so hot in the morning it’s murder. I gotta get that looked at. Thanks pal. Goodnight!”

  Hank waves and shuts the door before I can get a word in.

  “What was that about?”

  “If you’re at just the right angle, you can look through those blinds and see into the pool area. I’d like a little privacy tonight. Wouldn’t you?” The way the words fall off his lips make me want to fall into him, but I hold my ground to keep the game going.

  “Whatever could you mean?” I ask innocently and spin around to sway back to the pool. As I’m walking, I slowly pick up the sides of my shirt and drag it over my head. Hank had quite an array of spare bikinis at the house. Go figure.

  Though not usually my taste I picked the skimpiest red bikini I could find. I hear him stalking from behind and pause for a moment to shimmy out of my shorts. The thong of the swimsuit lays tight against my skin to give him the best view of my ass.

  Hank whistles and I shake my ass a little.

  “You coming—?” I’m about to ask when Hank starts barreling toward me. I shriek in laughter as he scoops me up and we go crashing into the pool. I’m drenched, in more ways than one as we come up for air.

  Hank’s mouth is immediately on mine as he grabs my ass and thrusts me hard into him. Before I can get to him Hank pivots me around and presses me up against the tile, and my hands grasp the handles of the steel ladder to sneak away.

  “Oh no you don’t.” Hank damn near growls and pulls me back in. “I’ve been dreaming of having you here for what seems like forever.” He breathes into my ear and I reach back to stroke his hair.

  “Kept me going on the bad nights, back on that yacht. But none of this…” he continues, his voice husky, “none of this matters without you.”

  He kisses my neck, my shoulder blades, my spine, down to the little tie of the string bikini. His teeth nip at my back before he takes the strings in his mouth and pulls it undone with one rip.

  With my back exposed I rip the bikini off my chest and over my head, letting it float away to get sucked in the filter. Hank slides his hands up my front and cups my breasts, squeezing my nipples until I gasp.

  I spin around and wrap my legs around him, kissing him deeply as we float away from the edge toward the stairs. My hand trails down between us and I slip my fingers underneath his shorts, finally clasping his rock hard dick.

  Hank grunts into my mouth which only makes me hungrier. I pull my legs from him and push him against the stairs, crawling up to him to tear off his shorts. Once released from its swimsuit prison, that wonderful dick springs up, wet and waiting.

  I slide up to him squeezing my breasts between my hands and letting his dick slip between my cleavage. Hank watches in ecstasy as I slide my breasts up and down on his shaft, licking the tip as it reaches my mouth. He has a look of pure bliss and I’m more than delighted to be the cause.

  “Come here.” He says and I slink up to him, our bodies sliding against one another in the crystal-clear pool water. He takes my face, tenderly and kisses my cheek, my nose, my forehead and finally my lips.

  The gentle, feather soft kisses make my whole body tremble. I want nothing more than to have him buried deep inside of me. Connected as tightly as we can possibly manage. I don’t ever want to lose this moment.

  Hank slides his hands down to my ass and hoists me up into his lap. His erection is pressing against my stomach as his fingers meet my slick folds. He thrusts one, then two inside me, using his dick to thrust against my clit.

  The cool air stings my wet nipples sending shocks as if they were being sucked and pulled. The feeling of Hank so close to having his dick thrust hard inside of me mixed with the pure unadulterated bliss of luxurious freedom makes me come hard and fast.

  The sounds of my orgasm are too much for Hank and he rips the bikini to the side to slip inside me while I’m still cumming. I gasp at the entrance and he rises up to meet me, our wet bodies slamming together as he rocks his hips into mine.

  It feels so amazing to hold him this close. To feel him rock in and out as his tongue and teeth make their way to my nipples. I rake my fingers through his hair and look up at the stars, relishing in every feeling of this moment.

  I stare down at Hank, my mouth open in rapture at the feel of our collective grinding. Hank releases my nipples to spin me so I’m sprawled against the steps.

  He hoists a leg up and thrusts so deep inside of me I cry out.

  “Oh God!” I moan to the sky as he swivels his hips in tantalizing circles, rubbing and fucking every inch of my tight wetness. It’s all I can do to hold the fuck on as Hank grinds into me with precision.

  The tile is starting to dig into my back so I sit up and bring his face to mine, kissing him roughly before sliding him out of me. It pains me to do it damnit, it really does, but I have a feeling he’ll enjoy fucking me just about anywhere in this house.

  He stands up, and I can’t help myself. I slide him into my mouth if only for a moment before he pulls me to standing and we make our way out of the pool to the fire pit.

  Hank already has the fire going and the warmth is immediate. I stretch myself out along a giant outdoor bed and Hank immediately crawls on top of me. The feel of his weight on mine is electric and I need him desperately.

  I pull aside the thong and Hank presses inside of me once again, achingly slow. I grip his ass as he arches his back before slipping inside me, filling me to the brim. The fire crackles and I close my eyes and hold him tight to feel every single inch.

  His moans are hot against my neck as we writhe together, slowly but picking up more and more
speed as we grow unable to contain ourselves.

  Still inside of me Hank rolls us over so I’m on top and grip at his chest, throwing my head back so he can watch the way he makes my breasts bounce. He reaches down to my folds, his thumb circling my clit as he thrusts up into me.

  I reach down and pull him up so we’re locked in together, grinding our hips into one another as we near our breaking point.

  “Oh Hank.” I moan as he digs his fingertips into my ass, sucking and biting at my nipples, overwhelming me with pleasure as I lean my head forward to bite his earlobe.

  “Come for me, come for me.” He whispers and the sound of his voice puts me over. I clench my walls as I pump into him damn near suffocating him as I clutch him close to my chest.

  “Oh God, Veronica!” Hank moans and I feel him tense and explode inside of me, our mutual ecstasy spilling out onto the plush bed. We pant and hold each other close, giddy In our orgasmic bliss.

  I finally release him from my breasts and he looks up to me, his hair wet and ruffled. I run my fingertip along the side of his face and to his lips. He kisses it softly. He gets a curious look.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Did I ever tell you, Veronica Swift, that I love you?” I grin and hold his face in my hands.

  “I love you too.”

  Forty

  Veronica

  The cameras flash and I arch my back and tilt my head just like Sheila taught me. Picture perfect. And believe it or not, after all this time I can even manage a decent smile.

  I’m not wearing a stitch of underwear as the stylist wouldn’t allow any lines to compromise his design. But I don’t mind one bit. I look fan-fucking-tastic. Perhaps the limelight really does suit me.

  I feel a warm sturdy hand slide over the open back of my dress and rest on my waist. There he is. But he’d better watch it with all that. I’ll tear this dress off from a wayward look, and the designer would kill me.

  Hank stands beside me, posing beautifully on the red carpet. I press my left hand to his heart and the glint of my wedding ring dazzles in the bright lights. I would’ve gone with something much simpler, but Hank was insistent so a big old rock it is.

  If you’re wondering how I got here, join the club. I still pinch myself sometimes to see if it’s real. Well Hank usually offers to do the pinching, but only when I ask him nicely. We got here together. But it all started because of my book.

  “Mrs. Wilder, congratulations on your nomination for Best Picture! Can we get a smile!” I turn to the reporter and wave, smiling broadly. With Hank’s hand brushing my back it’s easy to give them a smile that’s actually sincere.

  Being nominated for Best Picture is also plenty reason to smile, and I’ve got our relationship to thank for it. See, I couldn’t just sit down and write another travel article. There was just too much, and of such epic proportions.

  Besides, most of my travel experiences don’t end in wedding bells and mansions. Eat your heart out Ross Yeats. It’s such a treat to hardly think about him anymore, that’s what being happily married will do to you.

  In the end I took our dangerous and absurd and wonderful experience and turned it into a novel, based on our real-life adventure story. Adventure and love story. The book sold millions of copies and Hank was over the moon, but he wanted to amp it up even further.

  So, he called a guy who called a guy and viola. We were set up to make a movie. That’s Hollywood. I opted out of any performing, even if I was just supposed to be me. Hank and I thought it best given my track record.

  Instead I worked with a screenwriter to adapt the novel to the big screen. It was quite the challenge, and surprisingly delightful to work with Hank and lean on him when I wasn’t sure it was coming together.

  He was a huge support, and for this and many other reasons, I’ll be forever grateful. That handsome sonofabitch. Actually, I shouldn’t say that, my mother in law is a delight.

  “Mr. Wilder over here, sir!” Hank spins us a little to the reporter on his right. “Mr. Wilder! Sir, tell us why you didn’t take the lead role? Shouldn’t it have been yours, you know, by right?”

  Hank tosses his glorious hair and gives me a kiss on the cheek, sending little sparks shooting down my spine. He loves this question, because his manager says it makes him appear humble. The fans eat it up.

  “Well, to be honest, Bruce Richardson is the better part! My wife somehow managed to write Bruce even better than that charming devil, Hank Wilder.” The reporters chuckle and I squeeze Hank’s ass while my hand is hidden from the cameras by the backdrop.

  At least these questions are pretty tame. Sometimes we get the reporters who want to know intimate details. Did you really fuck in the yacht when you’d only just met? Why did you really run out of gas during your escape on the pirate ship?

  Or my personal favorite, why didn’t you choose to go younger for the casting of Veronica? Weren’t you concerned your viewers wouldn’t want to see intimacy between the leads?

  I wanted to murder the reporter, but Hank wouldn’t let me. We compromised by sending a strongly worded email that led to the ‘reporter’ being fired. I guess that’s the polite thing to do. Living with pirates puts strange thoughts in your head about dealing with conflict.

  “And what made you choose Wes Joliet as the lead role? Weren’t you always sort of rivals?” I try not to smirk as I feel Hank tense up beside me.

  West Joliet was and is a fucking prick. I can hardly blame Hank for deeming him a nemesis. That little bastard made the entire process an absolute nightmare.

  He asked for the most ridiculous accommodations, wouldn’t take direction, and in an extremely tense moment told Hank he didn’t know how to play his own self. Shit show from day one that goddamn diva.

  “Well,” Hank smiles to the cameras but I know by now which smile is genuine and which is fucking fake. This one is as fake as they come. “He’s a wonderful actor, and I couldn’t think of anybody better to play a part so near and dear to my heart.”

  I stifle a laugh and Hank leans down again to kiss my cheek.

  “Don’t you dare, Mrs. Wilder.” He whispers in my ear. I pat his cheek and mouth ‘I love you, too’. He grins broadly. There’s my genuine smile.

  It all worked out in the end really. Wes Joliet, though handed an exceptional role to play, was not nominated for anything. Not best actor, not best on-screen kiss, not even for a rotten tomato award.

  He does alright to bring the piece together, but Hank always outshone him, just by being him. Plus, like I said, he has the better ass.

  In fact, that petty little shit may not even be here tonight. Probably off pouting in his rose gold trailer, yes you heard me. Rose fucking gold. Ridiculous accommodations.

  That wasn’t even half of it. He required a personal caterer, a masseuse in between takes, refused to be “too wet” during the boat scene and cut off half of Veronica’s lines. And don’t get me started on the fucking ‘improvising’. Actors.

  “Mrs. Wilder! Mrs. Wilder over here, what’s next for you? As Hollywood’s hottest creative couple, will you be co-producing another project?” The question catches me off guard, although I should have expected it.

  Damn, can’t they appreciate all the work that went into this project? I’d like to give them a piece of my mind, let them know all about the rose-gold trailer boy and the slew of shitty studio days but instead I smile.

  “Well, to be perfectly honest, now that we’ve moved to our more quaint West Hollywood bungalow we’re planning to work on special projects. The ones that really appeal to us.” There’s a murmur that goes up as reporters quickly scratch down my quote. Wait’ll they get a load of this.

  “The next thing on our agenda is a trip to the south pole. My writing firm has provided an excellent trip, as a belated honeymoon gift.” I smile and pat Hank’s arm. He’s looking absolutely delicious in his suit and tie.

  Maybe it’s just the contrast from seeing him all roughed up, but let it never be said that Hank Wild
er can’t clean up, because damn he can. Looking up at his immaculate cheekbones I remember where there used to live a little bruise from all those months ago.

  Sometimes I think about Hank, as he was when I first fell for him. Dirty and un-showered and condescending and willing to throw himself in harm's way to protect me, to preserve us. Dirty or clean, I think I’ll keep him. My Hank, my husband.

  “Mr. Wilder,” a reporter chuckles as he calls out to Hank, “with all due respect don’t you think you’re getting a little old for that kind of thing.” Hank’s genuine smile melts off his face and he looks like he wants to punch that man in the throat.

  I swoop in, sliding my hand down Hank’s chest as I do. (Not that it wouldn’t be a little hot to see him tear this guy apart, but we don’t need a lawsuit.)

  “Hank Wilder may not be the youngest man in Hollywood my friends…” I look up to Hank who gives me that signature, ‘what are you doing’ eyebrow.

  “But he’s got more vigor than any man I’ve ever met in my life.” I give the cameras a wink and press myself into Hank. The bulbs flash like mad and the press eats it up. Chuckling and scribbling their notes, asking their camera crew “did you get that?”

  I turn to Hank and he beams down at me. I take his face in my hands and kiss him deeply, lipstick be damned.

  “Nice line.” Hank chuckles as we finally break apart.

  Sure, it may have been a line for the press. But lucky for me, it’s absolutely true.