by Evie Claire
“I love you, Carly,” he says from the doorway, and I nearly drop the phone in the bathwater. My eyes meet his navy stare and my fumbling nerves are calmed.
“I love you, too.” My words are a whisper, but in my mind that makes them mean more.
With a smile and a quick wink, he’s gone. I sit in the bathtub, numbed by our exchange until the front door opens and closes, rattling the house and me back into consciousness. He loves me. Devon Hayes loves me. Like really, really loves me.
My hands tremble dialing the phone.
“Hello? Carly, is that you?” Maria’s voice sounds like she’s in a tunnel.
“My beauty queen!” I answer, leaning back into the bubbles. I am certain it will take surgery to remove this smile from my face, but higher prices have been paid for love.
“How are you?” she asks, the smile on her own face evident from her voice.
“Oh, Maria!” I sigh into the phone, causing all sorts of static, scratching sounds. “Better than I ever thought life could be.”
“Do tell.”
“We’re living together. Devon and me. We’re sharing a house. Like, I’m in the bathtub and he kissed me and left for a run. It’s...it’s everything.”
“Oh, Carly. I’m so happy for you.” She says this, but I can tell by her voice she has reservations. Jealousy. How could it be anything else? But considering the lame-ass wannabe she’s fucking, I can totally understand.
“I saw your picture on TMI. You’re looking hella hot, girl!” I scoop a handful of bubbles and blow them into the air.
“Just taking a page from my little sister’s playbook,” she shoots back.
“Please, my tits aren’t that fabulous.” It’s a lie. My tits are way better than hers. Even though they’re smaller, they’re real. Flesh beats plastic any day. But I know how proud she must be of her new knockers.
“Guess what?” Maria says, her voice trembling with excitement.
“What?”
“I got a call from Valley General. They want me to audition!” She practically screams this into the phone.
“Good for you!” I exclaim. On the scale of acting roles, soap opera work is right above recurring commercial bits. But the pay is good and the work is steady. A few months ago Maria couldn’t get a decent porn deal. This is a gigantic leap in terms of her career. “Tell me all about it.”
Maria launches into an epic tale of where her life is now. I listen with half an ear because I really couldn’t give two shits about what that little shit-stain Ryan has or hasn’t done for her comeback. I’m only asking because I feel like I should. Absently, I begin doodling in the bubbles again with a pruney finger.
CK + DH
CKH
Carly Klein
Carly Klein Hayes
Carly Hayes
You’re an idiot, Carly! I think, realizing what my tracing has devolved into. But I have to admit, it sounds pretty good.
Carly Hayes. It doesn’t sound anything like Carly Klein. Takes on a whole new tone. It sounds grown-up, not adolescent like my name always has.
“Carly Hayes.” I mouth it so Maria doesn’t hear. Oh, what am I thinking? Devon would freak the fuck out if he knew I was already that far down the track. Any man would. I splash my hand over the air doodles like they need erasing and start over. Maria still yammers on about her fabulous new Hollywood life.
CK + DH
CKH
Again, I scold myself for being an idiot. “Have you talked to Spence?” I ask, jumping in to fill a silent pause and get her off the topic of Ryan Shit-Stain Algood. If she had two brain cells to rub together, she’d ditch the zero and get with a hero like Spence.
“No,” she says, her tone turning serious. “We ran into him in a club and he totally ignored us.”
“No shit. He was into you, Maria. And you chose Ryan.”
Maria’s sigh whooshes through the phone. “All Spencer Hugo wants is a fuck buddy. Ryan actually cares. He told me he loves me.”
“Lucky you.” She can’t see my eye roll, but she knows I don’t approve. If Flavor Flav and Kevin Federline had a love child, his name would be Ryan Algood. He’s a ridiculous waste of space. “And for the record, you’re wrong about Spence. He just hasn’t found the one.”
“Get your ass in here, bitch!” a muffled voice yells in the background. I gasp.
“Is that Ryan?” I sit up in the bathtub, unable to believe what I’ve just heard.
“Yeah,” Maria admits sheepishly.
“You let him talk to you like that?”
“Pfft. His friends are over. It’s his macho man bullshit.”
“I’d slap his macho man face!” I say, insulted enough for her to do the job myself.
“He’s not so bad.” She defends him.
Maria’s not as brash as I am, but she’s no pushover either. There’s only one thing this could possibly mean. “You’re totally dick whipped.” My accusation quiets Maria. Then she giggles.
“Like that surprises you? You know I love a good lay.”
“Maria! Ew...”
“Actually not. He’s got a surprisingly large dick. Not at all what you’d think given his height.” She sounds genuinely perplexed by this conundrum of cocks.
“You’re awful!”
“Ha!” She laughs sarcastically, because we both know what utter sluts we are these days. “I’ve gotta go, but I’m gonna send you pics of my new tits. You won’t believe how invisible the incisions are!”
“Gee, thanks,” I answer just as sarcastically as she laughed.
“Can’t wait to see you. Hugs and kisses!” She smooches the receiver and the call goes silent.
Wow. Awesome tits and big dicks. Maria’s star is definitely on the rise.
Chapter Sixteen
Somewhere in the night I roll over in my sleep and the heat of his body wakes me. Startled from a dream, I lick parched lips and swallow dryness from my throat. Under a down blanket’s weightless warmth, I’m naked, an arm tucked under my pillow, the bare length of my side open to him. I’m not cold at all, but sleepily roll further into his radiating warmth.
My torso curls neatly around the expanse of his back. We meld together, rhythmically rising and falling in synced breath. My breasts graze his back, nipples pricking to points. My belly flattens against him. I pull myself closer, wanting to feel every inch of him I can. Lower down, the wiry tuft of blond hair between my legs brushes against his bare ass. It tickles in a way that stirs me further from sleep. Instinctively, my hips grind into his backside. Our legs curve together, him the little spoon, me the big. Unconsciously our bodies meet and find each other’s nooks.
Not a sliver of moonlight finds its way through the windows. Steadily his breath comes, each exhale rumbling with a small snore. I move my head closer, the tip of my nose barely brushing his skin, and inhale deeply the faint soapy scent lingering from a bedtime shower. Lazily, I pucker my lips and press a silent kiss into the muscled flesh.
Under my lips, he moves, a first gentle stir pulling him from sleep. Then he stills. Seconds pass. I don’t move. Neither does he. But his breathing has changed enough to tell me he’s no longer asleep. I didn’t mean to wake him. I didn’t mean to wake me, but once I felt his skin touch mine sleep became impossible. Again, I pucker my lips, this time allowing the suction from their parting to break the silence.
It’s all the foreplay he needs.
The mattress shakes. Sheets rub against sheets. My body chills for an instant when he pulls away, then warms to his touch again. Under my lingering kiss, his back disappears, quickly replaced by his own pillow-soft lips. Is this a dream? Is this one of those frustratingly naughty dreams that leaves me wet and needing a dick inside me? God, please don’t let it be.
I throw a leg over his
side, opening myself to him. Using the angle of my position and a calf, I pull his surprisingly game-ready cock closer. The silken tip leaves a cool trail of wet along my inner thigh. No way this is a dream.
His lips work against mine, clumsily finding their way in the darkness. I’m startled when an unseen hand curls around the side of my neck and snakes down my chest to my breast. He takes a nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezes it tightly enough to coax a moan from my throat. My hands work down the side of him, sliding around to his ass. I repay the favor of squeezing, because his ass is too delicious not to. The feel of it in my hands—hot and hard—makes me squeeze too tightly. He groans and rolls me over.
Hovering over me, he comes down onto one elbow, sliding his hand under my back and up to my shoulders. His fingernails zip against the sheets. The other hand rises to his mouth. A sucking sound breaks the silence and a slight rush of air over my face tells me his fingers are in his mouth. I know what’s coming next.
Steeling myself for the assault, I raise my knees on either side of him, feet flat against the sheets. Opening myself fully so he can give me what my body is certain it needs. An anxious feeling builds down low in my belly. A nervous energy only he can calm. I close my eyes, take in a deep breath and exhale loudly.
His hand teases my stomach, trailing slowly between us, not intentionally touching but brushing here and there as it goes. I know exactly where its target lies. Too easily his fingers slip inside me. I buck off the bed, pushing them further than he intended. Immediately, he reaches for the tip of his penis and guides it into my center. I fist the sheets. Take a deep breath. Stiffen my hips. Open my mouth and wait for the most glorious feeling in my world.
Slowly he enters me, pushing the held breath from my throat in an audible sigh. I pull against the sheets and don’t stop exhaling until he reaches the top. He lingers there, deep inside. Neither of us moves, not even to breathe. Too terrified of interrupting the delicious feeling of our bodies coming together, because the first stroke is always worth savoring. Head rolled to the side, I relish the fullness inside, the stretch his pelvis’s width pulls from my inner thighs. The sheer pressure is glorious. He remains still, his knees pressed hard against the mattress to keep his position, his back and arm muscles flexed, pulling himself deeper, and the strain of it all erupting from his throat in a single guttural pant.
I lick my lips, biting the bottom one and letting it out in a slow roll. The sensation begins to wane and I search for his lips in the darkness, a delicate kiss silently telling him it’s time to move again. And again. And again. Which he does. But it’s different than our normal lovemaking.
It’s a surreal kind of sex. A raw, unplanned, unseen, fucking-under-the-cover-of-darkness-type sex. It pulls on every sensory nerve I possess, yet it’s so soft and delicate I can’t be sure if it’s real or a dream. I’ve had dreams like this. Plenty of them. Dreams where he takes me and ravishes me. Only, those end with me curled in the fetal position grasping desperately at my crotch trying to finish what the dream of him started.
No way this is a dream.
Inside, a swell builds low in my belly. A swell swept into a larger wave by his sleepy, lazy rocking. Over me, he alternates between kisses and resting his forehead on the pillow by my ear. His breath is hot, each slow thrust punctuated by an audible exhale. Normally, we fuck hard and fast. Our need for each other so desperate by the time we get around to it that we can’t help slamming into one another and bursting with sexually frustrated bliss. That’s what happens when you’re in a clandestine love affair. Usually we race to orgasm—last one there a loser in the best sort of way. My body is always tense, working just as hard as his to find what we need.
Tonight it’s slow and easy and hypnotic. Each thrust rocks me softly against the sheets and pillow. My body loosens under his touch, opening to him so completely I lose the ability to fuck him back. Limply I lie against the sheets, letting him coax me to orgasm instead of fighting my way to it. Over and over, again and again, the slow sensation comes and goes. It’s so sweet I don’t want it to end.
I’m beyond confused when a tear trickles from my eye, slides over my temple and into my hairline. What the hell? I try to turn my head to wipe it on the pillow. But with his head so close to mine I can’t. His lips turn into me, whispering up my cheek. How he knows what’s happening to my body in the darkness I do not know. But when his lips reach my temple they kiss the salty trail from my face. When they meet mine, I taste my tears on his tongue. Not a word is said.
With his mouth covering mine, I come. My moan muffled under his kiss, my hands twisted in his hair. This man. This god of a man I’m holding in my arms. How is it possible he can undo me so completely while he’s doing me?
Chapter Seventeen
We walk side by side back to our trailers after a particularly grueling day on set. Method actors, I think, and smile sweetly at every eye I meet. Rumors are rampant. How could they not be with the chemistry we share? But only an idiot would risk their job to accuse us of the truth. Lies come easily enough. It’s Hollywood, after all. We’re not stupid enough to give them a money shot. In public, we keep a professional distance.
Heather has yet to accept Devon’s offer, so technically, I’m still the other woman. Which infuriates me to no end. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to send her a picture of us in post-coital bliss. Show her what real love actually looks like. Devon won’t let me. He tells me to have patience. That the lawyers are doing their jobs. I told him he needs new lawyers.
Today he follows me into my trailer, script in hand as if we’re going to run tomorrow’s scenes. No one on set knows we’re living together. As far as they’re concerned, we occupy neighboring housing at an undisclosed location. Thus the shared SUV. Our life is routine. A routine that keeps us together every possible second of every waking hour and the sleeping ones, too.
I’m sitting in my makeup chair letting a stylist remove hair extensions when his phone rings. He looks at it, frowns and presses the ignore button. It’s very un-Devon. He normally answers before the first ring finishes. I’ve tried telling him how lame it is to jump the instant someone calls, but he insists it’s the only way to do business. Whatever. The phone continues buzzing in his hand. He ignores it. I can’t ignore the frown covering his face. But come to think of it, he’s been like this all day. Like he’s on autopilot or something.
“Who is it?” I ask, like it’s any of my business.
“Um...Heather,” he answers, biting his lip.
From the mirror, I steal a glance at the stylist. She’s got her earphones in, silently singing along to some song, oblivious to our conversation. Heather hasn’t called since she was served separation papers, probably on the good advice of her attorney. So why is she calling now?
“What does she want?”
Devon looks away. Runs a hand through his hair, over his lips and down his neck. The look on his face twists my gut into knots.
“That’s all for today.” I wave the stylist away and dismiss her. The door shuts and I turn my full attention to him.
His temple throbs. He stands and begins pacing. I silently wait for him to speak. “I talked to my lawyer today. She’s countered my initial offer.”
“And?” His pacing is making me dizzy.
He stops midstep, closes his eyes and shakes his head. “She wants everything. The plane. The island. The Malibu house. The Aspen house. Four hundred million cash. And...” He draws in a deep breath. “And sole custody.”
My mouth flies open. Chills race the length of me. I knew Devon was rich. I knew Heather was a bitch. I’d never have guessed how grand the scale was for either. “Devon...” I start to speak, but there are no words. Luckily, he raises a hand to silence me.
“Don’t. I need some time to think about this.” Instead of leaning on me in a time of crisis, he turns his back and
walks to the door. I’m gutshot and speechless. “Have Tiny or Eddie drive you home. I’ll be there later.” Without another glance, he disappears into the cold, black night.
* * *
“You don’t sound fine.” Spence’s voice coos into the phone. I’m bundled in my parka on the porch chain-smoking cigarettes. The silence got to be too much. I needed to hear a familiar voice.
“It’s been a long day. Get my mind off work. Tell me about L.A.” I’m trying not to cry. I’m trying to do everything I can to keep from admitting how wrong Devon was about Heather’s greed.
“Same bullshit. Different day.”
“Maria told me she saw you. Said you totally blew her off.”
Spence makes a production of sighing so loudly it vibrates his tonsils. “I have zero use for Ryan Algood.”
“You and me both.” I nod my agreement.
“How’s Devon?” It’s a harmless question I’m not at all prepared for. Spence knows me well enough to know that by now I’ve fallen back into Devon’s bed. A man he probably finds as useful as Ryan Algood. But even he couldn’t guess the magnitude of the quake that’s ripped through my life today.
“Fine,” I answer, my voice breaking. I suck it up, and take another drag.
“Shit. What’s he done now?” Spence calls me out.
“It’s not him.”
“Then it’s Heather, which is infinitely more dangerous.”
“What do you mean?”
Spence sighs and sucks air through his teeth.
“Be careful, Babygirl. This is a grown-up game you’re playing. The stakes are sky-high, and that bitch doesn’t play.”
“You have no idea,” I whisper barely loud enough to be heard.
“Actually, I do.”
“What do you mean?”
“She fucked my dad when she was a nobody whoring her way to relevance.”