Hooked Up: Book 2

by Richmonde, Arianne

  Indira pushed the door with a mighty thud, and Laura cried out:

  “Ouch, that’s my head thank you very much! What the fuck . . . ”

  Indira’s eyes scanned down to the floor, where Laura was sprawled out naked, still clinging onto my ankles.

  “Jesus,” Sophie said, speaking in French. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Help me!” I mouthed silently. “Take Laura away, call James.” But I started laughing again, clutching my stomach with bellyache howls.

  Indira’s hand came down hard on my face. The slap stung like twenty wasps biting me all at once. “You slut! And into dirty bondage games to boot! You disgust me!” She spat in my face and shuffled away, nearly tripping over her flowing sari. I knew what really irked her: that she had wanted to experiment with bondage one time, and I wouldn’t play ball.

  I rubbed my face against my shoulder to wipe off her spittle. I’d had enough female saliva for one day.

  I said with a silent growl, “Sophie, please, help—it’s not funny,” but between a racing heart and hitched breaths, I chortled again with another round of hysteria, tears streaming down my face, my jaw sore with all the grinning.

  Sophie stood there, glaring at me, her eyes two empty holes, her lips twitching.

  Like a scolded schoolboy sent to a corner, her disdainful look made me roar all the more.

  AS THE DRUGS wore off, my amusement at the situation waned. Although, the more I thought about Laura, the more I sort of admired her gusto. I had to give her an A+ for effort. But I felt as if I was wrapped up in a psychological suspense movie with the mad ex stalking me, and if I wasn’t more vigilant I could wind up dead, poisoned in a back alley somewhere, Laura weeping over my dead body; the body she herself had topped off.

  One thing was for sure though: you had to give her ten out of ten for an active imagination.

  Once again, my sister had bailed me out of trouble. Indira stormed off in a huff and Sophie rescued me, untied the sailor’s knot, and sent Laura on her way, waiting patiently while she got dressed, but not leaving my side until Laura was safely out of the hotel. Sophie called James but he still wasn’t answering his cell, or returning calls.

  Once I was alone again, and with my dick still Viagra-hard, I called Pearl for some Skype sex–I had to do something to tone down my raging erection. My libido was hungry enough as it was; the last thing in the world I’d needed was bloody Viagra—I didn’t know how long the effect would last but I was desperate for a release.

  Pearl was in the bath with the soundtrack from the beautiful 1960’s film, Un Homme et Une Femme in the background. She wanted to chit-chat about this and that—her meeting with Samuel Myers and how they’d gotten the gay actress Alessandra Demarr on board, and that they’d be working together on this feature film Pearl was producing, Stone Trooper. I wondered if Pearl would be tempted by a gay woman? After all, her first orgasm had happened with her schoolgirl friend.

  But I didn’t want to talk about the film; I needed a release. And fast. I conjured up girlie images of Pearl and Alessandra together, sucking each other’s tits—anything to get my wooden dick to climax and then get back to normal.

  “I know you have a penchant for pretty women,” I breathed into my iPhone as I gazed at the screen; Pearl’s beautiful breasts lathered with bubble-bath foam. “Remember when you told me about your first time? When your best friend stroked you with a feather? Fuck,” I groaned, my hand moving up and down my mammoth cock. I had Pearl’s wet pussy in my mind’s eye, me licking her, flicking my tongue on her clit, fucking her hard. Her squirming beneath me as I thrust myself in and out of her slick wet warmth.

  “I’d love to suck your cock right now.” Pearl was holding her iPad, her big blue eyes staring at me as if she were right there in the flesh.

  I curled my grip harder about my erection, jerking my hand up and down vigorously. “Tell me, baby. Tell. Me. How. You’d. Suck. My. Hard. Cock.”

  “I’d take your big, beautiful centerpiece and guide its silkiness all over my face, licking off your pre-cum, dancing my tongue on your huge, thick crown.”

  “Oh, yeah . . . oh baby . . . ” My hand clenched harder, pressuring my swollen tip.

  “I’d breathe in the smell of you, Alexandre . . . the one thousand percent pure, unadulterated, all-male, luscious helping of Alexandre Chevalier.”

  I flinched at the word “unadulterated” and wished it were true—wished what had happened to me as a boy hadn’t been real. I focused on her other words, “luscious helping” and imagined myself being served up at some banquet. I started laughing manically again—the drug laugh—taking my phone away from my face so Pearl couldn’t see my crazy eyes; the mad Frenchman who wanted her to be his bride.

  “Go on,” I urged, trying to make my voice sound serious.

  Her mouth was pouting and I imagined my cock deep inside it. She continued in a whisper, “I’d tease my lips along your balls and let my hot tongue flick up and down along your rock-hard, thick, throbbing cock, thinking how it makes me come when it fucks me so hard—every time. Every single time. No man has ever been able—”

  “Don’t ever put the idea of another man into my head,” I interrupted her. “I don’t want to know who’s touched you. I don’t ever want to even imagine that you’ve been with anyone else. You’re mine, Pearl. Do you understand? You’re fucking well mine.” My eyes flashed like two balls of fire, my jealousy surging through my veins in an emerald-green rush.

  She was moaning, pleasuring herself, turned on by my outburst. For some reason, she liked it when I showed jealousy. Her iPad was all skewwhiff, balanced precariously amongst a pile of scented soaps and fluffed-up towels—maybe it would end up tumbling into the bath again. It had happened before.

  “Tell me about my cock in your mouth,” I growled. “About how you can’t live without it, that you can’t live without me fucking you, fucking your hot, tight, juicy cun—” I stopped myself “—pearlette—”

  “It’s so sexy, so virile, so huge, and even after that big bad boy has spurted into my mouth, he’s ready for round two.”

  “Round three, round four,” I moaned. The truth was that I could have fucked Pearl all day, every day, but I knew neither she, nor any normal woman, could have taken that much of me. I looked down at my cock. It was still swollen as fuck. “When I get back tomorrow, Pearl, I’m going to lick that clit, tunnel my tongue deep inside you, reach your G-spot with my tongue, turn you over and fuck you so hard . . .”

  I tightened my grip, racing my hand up and down my erection until the heat rose within me, my orgasm catching up with visions of Pearl’s tight pussy, hugging and climaxing all around my cock, me fucking her hard from behind and coming, fucking her mouth and coming, and in my deep, dark, secret fantasy—shamefully buried and snuffed out from my conscious mind—easing my cock very, very slowly into the forbidden part of her where I would never venture. Off limits. Not allowed, even though she’d suggested it several times.

  Somewhere I dared not go because of what had happened to me. The shame. The fear. The humiliation. I had the scar to prove it really did take place that wintery morning at dawn; right there in the crack of my ass.

  He was a monster, no doubt about it.

  Justice had been served.

  PEARL

  I’D BEEN PARTED from Alexandre for less than twelve hours, yet I still ached with his absence. I had gotten so used to living alone before I met him that it seemed normal to be doing everything solo, save a dinner here or there, with Daisy or a group of friends. All I’d ever done was work. Now I was part of a busy household, loved by a fiancé who called me every few hours, and I even had a dog. Everything had changed—I wondered how I’d survived before.

  The day had been so full-on with those two meetings with Samuel Myers, swimming and Daisy that I was now soaking in the tub with some magazines, a glass of wine and some great chill-out music. Heaven. Made all the sweeter by Anthony’s call to me earlier; Bruce had been stabil
ized, the operation a success, and he was going to be okay. Panic over. I was searching online on my iPad, for hotels in Los Angeles, when a Skype call came through from Alexandre.

  “Hi baby,” I said, and waited for the video to come on. His handsome face appeared on the screen, and my stomach gave a little lurch. I couldn’t believe that still, every time I saw that face, or woke up with him next to me, it was as if I was setting eyes on him for the very first time.

  “Hey sexy,” he said, his voice deep, his eyes heavy-lidded. You’re in the bath?”

  “Had a busy, very eventful day.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t call earlier—was in that fucking meeting forever.”

  “And?”

  “All good. Sophie ate them alive. We’re going to do extremely well with this. Got an edge on any future competition—got the British government eating out of our hands.”

  I thought of how Alexandre promised me that he would sell his share of HookedUp to Sophie and concentrate on starting new projects of his own, but now I realized that would never happen. He and his sister were as entwined as ivy in this business together. It seemed he needed her on some deep, psychological level. But I didn’t want to nag him on this issue so I was careful not to mention it. Especially as she was being so sugar-sweet to me—I really didn’t have a leg to stand on.

  “What about you?” he continued, his eyes scanning my naked shoulders soothed with big white, foamy suds from the bubble bath.

  “Well, after that little porn film that you whipped up this morning, right in the middle of my million-dollar meeting, thank-you-very-much, dear fiancé, I have to say it was a little tricky to concentrate, but Samuel Myers and I have made a deal.”

  Alexandre smirked irreverently; his wicked mouth a little crooked, making a tiny dimple appear in his cheek. “I knew you’d handle it. Nothing can faze you, Pearl, not even my dick.”

  I laughed. “Of course Samuel Myers is delighted. He really enjoyed your video, thinks you could be a big star. He’s branching out into doing porn movies and would like to sign you.”

  Alexandre’s face flinched for a second, but then broke into a broad grin. “Very funny.”

  “No, but seriously, the meeting went better than expected. Two meetings, actually. We’ve got Alessandra Demarr on board,” I told him proudly. “An LA trip could be coming up shortly.”

  “Really, you’re joking . . . Alessandra Demarr?”

  A rush of surprise coursed through my body. “You know who she is?”

  “Of course I do. I saw her at the National in a play. She’s an amazing actress—stunning too—looks like a young Sophia Loren.”

  I smiled sweetly but felt nauseous inside. Why am I jealous? It’s absurd. Perhaps it’s because I’m blonde and girl-next-door-ish and Alessandra Demarr is a ravishing beauty—the type that screams sex-siren and smoldering sophistication. “She’s gay,” I snapped, not meaning the words to come out that way.

  “So I’ve heard. Nothing like a sexy gay woman to turn a man on.”

  “You’re attracted to her,” I heard my voice creak out. I tried to stay cool—after all, he could see every expression on my face, every nuance of emotion.

  “I’m attracted to you, baby, and I know you have a penchant for pretty women. That first time, in your apartment, when you told me the story of your first real orgasm, when your best friend stroked you with a feather? That was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard. Fuck, I’m hard now just thinking about it.”

  “I’d love to suck your cock right now,” I purred making sure he had me on his brain and not Alessandra Demarr. I knew I was going to have to keep him well away from her. Gay people can be swung and I didn’t want to put temptation in his path.

  “Tell me what you’d do,” he said, running his tongue along his upper lip. His thickly lashed eyes seared into me—tiger’s eyes—keen, intense as if he wanted to eat me whole.

  “First, I’d take your big, beautiful cock in both hands and bury my head between your legs,” I murmured “I’d run your silky smoothness around my nose, my cheeks and then on my lips, breathing in the smell of you, and just run my eyes all over you—this one thousand percent pure, unadulterated all-male, luscious helping of Alexandre Chevalier.”

  His lips tipped up in that crooked smile of his as if he was trying to suppress a laugh. Maybe I did sound ridiculous but . . .

  I kept talking, “I’d tease my lips along your balls and gently flick them with the tip of my tongue, letting it ride up your length—your thick, throbbing cock—thinking about how it’s going to make me come after I’m done with sucking it first, how it’s so sexy and virile that even after that big bad boy has spurted in my mouth, it’s ready again for round two.”

  He groaned. “Always ready for another round with you, Pearl. Always ready to fuck your slick, wet, tight pearlette.”

  I smiled at his poetic rhyme and continued, “I’ll ring my tongue around your soft, satiny head, making it flicker over your crown. I’ll slowly lick off your pre-cum—you always taste so good, so sweet, Alexandre. The only man in the world I could ever do that to.”

  “Don’t even put the idea of another man into my head,” he growled. “I don’t want to know who’s touched you—I don’t even want to imagine you having ever been with anyone else. You’re mine, do you hear that, Pearl? You’re mine – and you were born to be mine.”

  I instantly regretted what I’d said—it made him edgy. His gaze narrowed—his green eyes on fire, covetous, greedy for me. I knew I’d to keep my secrets to myself or all hell could break loose—I couldn’t risk letting him find out anything. But it turned me on, knowing his jealous flame was alight. I was pounding with desire. I squeezed my thighs tightly together because both hands were holding onto my tablet, and I didn’t want to drop it in the bath. That had already happened a couple of weeks ago with this very same scenario—Sex-Skyping was getting to be a regular habit with us. I was writhing now, squeezing, crossing my legs and clenching myself. I needed this release.

  “I want you to come in my mouth,” I carried on in a whisper.

  “Tomorrow night I’ll be back and I’m gonna lick you all over, tease your clit—then I’ll fuck you. Your. Tight. Wet. Pussy is going to Make. Me. Explode.”

  “Alexandre, I’ll be with you in a minute.” I couldn’t bear it anymore. I set the iPad down on the floor and turned on the faucet of the showerhead. I could hear him moaning, groaning at the release of his orgasm. I thought of his gorgeous face, his dark hair flopping about his defined cheekbones, his huge, smooth cock stretching me open and fucking me. I turned up the water pressure and let it pound my clit. I pressed the metal on my mound and it was enough to push me to the edge—the water firing inside my slit, shooting at my clitoris like tiny bullets. I started climaxing in a shattering orgasm, rushing through me with continual spasms as the water continued to draw out the intensity of pleasure; my sensitive core coming in undulating waves.

  I finally let go of the showerhead.

  I reached down for my tablet and observed the relaxed face of Alexandre, spent, orgasmed-out, but then my freaking battery went dead. I set the iPad back down. I lay back in the bath and pressed my fingers on my clit to draw out the last little ripples of satisfaction.

  Closing my eyes, I dozed off, the warm water lapping around me in a gentle swell, and the next thing I knew, I was dreaming . . .

  I WAS LOOKING HOT. Really hot. I Loved getting ready to go out. Madonna’s latest hit, Secret was playing on the radio, and I was moving my hips to the rhythm, dancing around the room. I checked myself again in the mirror and tossed my teased-up curls about and then ran my fingers through my long, wild blonde hair. Eyes looking like smoldering fires—makeup just right. At least some guys appreciated me. Fuck him! Fuck Brad . . . I’ll show him. He needs space, I’ll show him goddam space!

  We’d been dating for four years and now, suddenly, he was telling me he needed space! I knew it was because of his studies, I knew; med school looming, exams to
get through. That, I could understand, but all that studying lately with Alicia, all those all-nighters. I’m not some Kleenex to be tossed aside, I’m your girlfriend. You don’t want me to cramp your style? Two can play at that game, buddy.

  Julia breezed into my dorm. “Are you ready?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think your skirt might be a little short,” she said, eyeing up my electric-blue mini, my legs going on forever in high, clunky heels.

  I laughed. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

  “You don’t usually wear stuff so . . . so r-revealing,” she stammered.

  “I want to look sexy.”

  “You always look sexy, Pearl, you don’t need to try so hard.”

  “All I wanna do, is have some fun,” I sang.

  “Come on Sheryl Crow, or we’ll be late. The boys said to meet them at the bar.”

  “So not my thing,” I said, rolling my eyes, “football, frat boys from that dorky college but, hey, who knows? Maybe we’ll have a good time.”

  I WOKE UP WITH a jolt. The bath water was tepid. I must have dozed off. I buried my hands in my face as hot tears pooled in my eyes. Memories were being unleashed, but I wasn’t sure why. All this talk lately about keeping my past to myself was making me remember.

  I let the plug out and stood up. I grabbed a warm towel and relished the cocoon feeling it gave me when I wrapped it tightly around my cold body. I wished Alexandre were here. I needed him. I needed his strong arms to protect me, to envelop me with love.

  I’d completely forgotten about that electric-blue skirt.

  I got out of the tub, took another towel and dried my feet. My tablet was on the floor and I took it back to the bedroom and plugged it in. My cell was sitting on the bed. I picked it up and called.

  “I just wanted to hear your voice,” I told my husband-to-be, but it was just his voicemail. Where can he be? I flopped on the bed, slipped under the down comforter, and before I knew it I’d lapsed into a profound sleep.