Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel

by Nina G. Jones

  "It was nice having him around."

  "Yup."

  "How was your stay at the hotel?"

  "It was a lot of fun," he said raising his eyebrows. He was trying to taunt me. Images of him noshing on model's pussies flashed in my head. Orgies, dildos, swings, whips, lube...My mind was going to the furthest reaches of sexual experiences. It would make sense, Heath would want to show off all the ass he could get to his "bro." And he would go to a hotel, so I would be none the wiser. He could keep me compartmentalized in this home while he went around fucking anything with two tits and a head of hair. "How was your evening?" He asked very formally.

  "It was very nice. I met a guy on the beach yesterday. A hedge fund manager. He took me to Beau Marchais tonight," I said casually, but with a little extra perk to my voice as I kicked off my shoes. Heath's jaw tightened.

  "You mean when you were running errands?"

  "I did that too." The bastard knew he could have called me if he needed me for work reasons.

  "Well, I am going to head to my fort and hit the hay early. I'm really worn out from last night. Exhausting. It was craaazy." You son of a...

  "Me too, I spent a lot of time partying with Mark and his friends yesterday afternoon." Really we just sat by a radio and chatted, but tomato, to-mah-to.

  He hobbled on one crutch and no moon boots to his lair. I opened my mouth to nag him about his lack of compliance to doctor's orders, but this time I stopped myself.

  I spent the rest of the evening laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. I knew what he was doing: he wanted to me to plead with him, to ask him what was wrong, and I was not going to play that game. So instead I grabbed the book I started yesterday (I was still stuck on page three) and read the same paragraph over and over again until I fell asleep.

  ***

  For the next two weeks, Heath and I were like ships passing in the night. I went about my new social life, going on a few dates with Mark, and Heath went about his doing god knows what. Everything between Heath and I was business, no late-night talks on his bed, no guitar playing under the glow of tiki-torches, no sneaking into each other's rooms or breakfast on the balcony. And strangest thing of all, no...arguing? It wasn't that there wasn't tension, in fact that tension was thick. I felt it on my skin, in my gut; the air grew viscous and harder to breathe when we were in the same room. But instead of acknowledging it, either by being grownups and discussing it, or by releasing tension via bickering (followed most likely by fucking), we let it simmer. It was a slow simmer, just at the boiling point, and it built steadily, teetering on the edge of erupting. I didn't know how long we could last this way, but by being robotic, by acting like two droids and only interacting when we absolutely needed to, and doing so in short, efficient bursts, we were able to keep the tension at a low simmer.

  That is until he asked me to the White Party. I don't know what prompted him, maybe he wanted a "date," or a prop, but just as I was heading up the stairs after plating his dinner and leaving him to eat alone, I heard him ask: "Do you want to go to a party tonight? It's one of those famous White Parties." His tone didn't have the usual level of excitement it had when he talked about parties, or anything else for that matter. It was flat, just the slightest hint of a question mark punctuated it.

  I felt like someone released a gasket in my chest because I was happy that he wanted me to come; and yet I was scared of what could happen, even though I was extremely curious. In two days, he would be leaving for Paris to work his first modeling gig since his accident. I know he was really excited about the job, especially because just after the accident he genuinely felt that his career might be over. I was so happy for him and I wanted to share in his happiness with him, but we weren't really talking. Not the way we used to. The gig would only be a few days, but I thought about him leaving all the time. The thought of him leaving the country, with so much unresolved tension between us, weighed on me. It felt symbolic in some way, him leaving while he and I were in this standoff. It just didn't feel right. Yet I was far too stubborn to say anything to him, so I was glad he broke the stalemate by inviting me.

  During the two weeks he and I had distanced ourselves from each other, just I had predicted, he was slowly going back to his old ways. After the hotel thing, he stayed home a few nights in a row, but the friends of convenience began to trickle back in again. It was just dinner a few times, but he was well-known in the area and couldn't go out without being spotted. I am sure dinners grew to something else as he would often come back late (yes, I listened for him).

  I won't be needing your services tonight. That was his way of telling me not to make dinner. But I knew what he was really trying to say was: I'll be out getting my dick sucked in the bathroom of SL East. Enjoy your night alone, loser. I would simply nod, sometimes not bothering to look up, but would grind my teeth so hard that I thought I might not have any enamel left by September. And now, after weeks of pretending I was a human light fixture, he was inviting me to this pish-posh White Party.

  "Sure." I am an expert at stoic, even though I felt like someone was playing ping pong in my chest using my heart as the ball.

  The only white dress I had was something seemingly designed to elicit contrasting thoughts of purity and filth. A tight, short, cotton/linen blend, the top fit like a bustier and pushed my tits up to my eyebrows. The white color and tiny band of ruffles along the hemline gave the dress just the right touch of innocence to contrast with its sexiness. I had a pair of tall white stilettos, with heels that should require a weapons permit. Shit, even my toes had cleavage that night. I let out my black elbow-length hair and pressed in barrel curls, then shook them vigorously for that freshly-fucked look. I topped off the outfit with red lipstick and cat eyes. I would break him. I would get some sort of a human expression out of him.

  "Ready?" I asked as I walked down the stairs. He looked up from his phone and kind of shifted a bit, but then stood firm. He quickly looked away, probably to stop himself from ogling.

  "Yeah." His throat sounded dry. He stood up from the stool he was sitting on and I noticed him shift his pants. Does he have a hard on?

  Damn did he look good. He had on a fitted white long-sleeved designer t-shirt, white flat front pants that hit right at the ankle, and canvas low-cut sneakers with a faint hint of grey. On any other occasion, so much white in one outfit would be out of place, but buying into the concept, he looked great: the white made his tan and crystal blue eyes pop.

  The ride over in the back of the limo was quiet.

  "So did you invite me for quiet contemplation?" I asked.

  "No...I just thought you might want to go out. You've been staying at home a lot."

  "Sometimes I go out with Mark when you're out. I don't stay home every night."

  He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "Well, whatever, I thought you would want to come. This is one of those parties people come here for."

  "Well, thank you."

  "Anytime."

  He was right about this being a big deal. For one, Heath rented a limo (or someone paid him to come and rented it for him, as was often the case). The beach club shimmered with laid-back elegance through the gathering dusk. White washed wood planks formed the exterior, and white awnings with yellow borders gently danced in the summer breeze above all the windows. The soft yellow glow of lights illuminated the outside of the club. Just behind it, its backyard, the Atlantic Ocean, murmured against a pristine white sand beach. There was a queue out the door of one of the entrances and the street was lined with expensive cars dropping people off. Heath lead me right past the enormous man managing the entrance, greeting him with a nod, to the many eyerolls of wannabe-patrons who were stuck on the seemingly frozen line.

  The club's main restaurant had a long bar at one end. The rest of the open-air indoor space had sunken lounge areas bordered with built-in seating covered in white cushions. However, the big attraction was the expansive outdoor deck that led out to the beach. On the deck there was anothe
r bar and dozens of white metal tables and chairs. On the beach there was even more seating in the form of an enormous wooden square, again, covered in white cushions, and a few outdoor beds. Besides the rare pop of blue or yellow the club could not mask, everything was white and everyone was in white. Black lights scattered throughout broke up the near complete void of color.

  "Hey!" Some guy I recognized from the party the night of Heath's accident clasped his hand, I think some sort of music producer. I remembered him because he had some of the brightest naturally-red hair I had ever seen. His cheeks were flushed from drinking, and his perfectly oval head looked like a giant cherry tomato. "What's up bradduh?" Great, a typical bro. He turned to me while still clenching Heath's hand, and leaned back, eying me up and down. Heath picked up the signal right away.

  "This is my assistant, Sadie." His assistant. Yes, everyone make sure you know I am a tier below you trust fund babies, and bankers, and Hollywood types. I was a well-established chef first, assistant second. Heath is not stupid, he was trying to rile me up, I just knew it.

  "Nice to meet you Sadeeeee," he almost hissed like a snake.

  "You too," I said coldly stabbing him with invisible laser beams from my eyes. I am not the one.

  Heath was now walking on his own, no need for crutches or moon boots. He still had to ease back into vigorous exercise, but his fitness and youth was in his favor. I had barely known him like this, and when I did, he was at his worst and that was exactly what I expected to see. People filtered towards us, offering drinks. Pretty women hovered around him and his buds. He didn't quite ignore me, but everyone else was surrounding him and I didn't want to fight for his company. I realized this was a mistake. I knew no one here and this situation forced me to cling to him, and that was exactly what I did not want to do. Heath was at least nice to enough to grab me a cocktail before getting swarmed again. I slowly pulled myself away and stood, arms crossed, for some time, before I found a comfy seat on a couch. If he were to look over, I knew exactly what he would think: uptight bitch. I was completely okay with that.

  I did spot the occasional celebrity, which was cool.

  Some guy tried to talk to me and I politely gave him one word answers until he finally got the signal. I looked down at my phone, and saw a text from Mark.

  Mark:

  Want to go to a party tonight?

  My stomach tightened. This was the party, and my eyes quickly scanned the room to see if he was around, but I didn't find him. I debated whether or not I should reply, and then that's when I saw it: I spotted Heath, he had drifted to a wall, he was laughing, some girl with far too much makeup on and far too huge of a boob job was leaning against him. I looked up at the exact moment she started nuzzling his neck. I turned away quickly because I thought I might break one of the beer bottles on the coffee table in front of me and cut a bitch. Fuck him. Fuck him with a baseball bat.

  Sadie:

  The white party?

  Mark:

  Yeah. You there?

  Sadie:

  Yup.

  Mark:

  I'm already on my way, see you in 5.

  I saw Mark coming through the entrance just minutes later. He wore a white button down with his chest peeking through, and linen pants, looking straight out of Martha's Vineyard with his dark perfectly coifed hair.

  "Sadie!" He gestured with his hand, calling out my name. I stood up to meet him. He went in for a half-mouth kiss. Yes, I hadn't even kissed him yet. He really was proving to be the perfect gentleman by not pushing the issue. He invited me to the bar with him to refresh my cocktail, and I felt Heath's glare in my periphery. It fueled me with a surge of power. How dare he? How dare he think that he could bring me out here for the purpose of rubbing in just how little he gave a shit?

  Mark leaned against the bar, and as we chatted, I made sure my body language would rile Heath up, grabbing Mark's arm, cocking my head back in laughter, licking my lips. I couldn't see Heath, but I felt him. The simmer was reaching an all-out violent boil. His heat singed my back from across the club.

  "Excuse me, can I talk to you for a minute, Sadie?"

  Wow, that worked fast. Mark perked up, he knew about Heath (I kind of bitched about him and how intolerable he was), but they hadn't met.

  "Heath! This is Mark. Mark, this is my boss, Heath. What's up?"

  "I need to talk to you in private. It's a work matter."

  I looked over to Mark who gave me a subtle cock of the eyebrow. I assumed he thought Heath had some stupid work-related demand. "Take all the time you need," Mark said.

  "Thanks," Heath said with just the right amount of sarcasm to leave Mark uncertain as to whether or not he was being sarcastic, then he lead me to a hallway towards the restrooms.

  "What's up?" I asked perkily as if I hadn't a clue.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "You brought Mark here to fuck with my head."

  "Excuse me? You have some absolute fucking nerve you know that? You dragged me here just so you could rub these skanks in my face and you are upset that I have a friend here?"

  "I think a better description is I invited you to a nice party after you've been such a frigid bitch to me."

  "I've been a frigid bitch? You've barely even talked to me these past couple of weeks."

  "I thought that's what you wanted! You want to fuck me, but you can't stand me right? I was doing you a favor."

  "Oh please. You're just a regular martyr, aren't you?"

  "Enough of this dammit. Why do you have to be so difficult? I brought you over here because...because I don't want you to be with anyone else."

  "You have got to be kidding me. What, do I look like some sort of possession? Where you get to claim me while you do whatever the fuck you want? Sadie the hotel was extra amazing, I was so worn out," I said in a faux-Heath voice while gesturing an air blow-job, using my tongue to appear as though a dick were poking through my cheek. "You just had some random chick necking you not ten minutes ago! Do you think I'm blind or stupid, or both?"

  "Wait a second. She came after me and I pushed her away."

  "Okay, well then you're one for what, twenty now? I'm sure you have been having tons of fun since you got your footing back, literally and figuratively! You are exactly who I thought you were! You needed me when you had no one, and now that everyone is up your ass again because you aren't a burden any longer, you are back to being a fucking manslut and scene-hopper!"

  "What are you talking about? I haven't been with anyone."

  "Bullshit! Do you take me for some sort of fool?"

  "No, no I don't! And I am not who you make me out to be! Do you know how frustrating it is to meet someone who thinks you are the scum of the earth? Who finds you repulsive as a human being?" Those words jolted me. "Not that it's any of your business, but I haven't been with anyone else since the accident. I fucking swear it."

  "Why should I believe you? You have made it a point to rub everything in these past couple of weeks. I would be an idiot to believe you."

  Heath had steadily moved in closer and closer as we argued. The music of the club drowned out a good part of our shouting, but people were starting to look.

  "I know the way I act might not make sense, but it's because you...I don't know how to...you confuse the shit out of me. I don't want you to be with anyone else. I think about you all the time. Seriously." The pitch of his voice dropped. He leaned in close to me, resting his hand on the wall above my head. His eyes turned down at the sides, begging for my understanding, for me to believe how serious he really was.

  "Well, then, show me, but I don't think you will ever be able to prove yourself." Yes, Heath sort of opened up his heart to me, and I pulled out the bitch card, but I just wasn't quite sold yet. Kenneth said all those things to me and more and look where that got me. That was when it boiled over. He jumped onto me, smashing his lips onto mine. My heart jumped up to my throat. According to my maths, at that moment, I gave appr
oximately negative-two fucks about the fact that anyone was around. Heath poured himself over me with his tall build, sliding his hand from the back of my thigh up to my ass, pushing up my dress so that half of my left cheek popped out. He pulled me towards him without breaking our locked lips as he felt for the wall behind him; it seemed he was familiar with this place. I paid no attention to where he was leading me, stumbling in my skyscraper stilettos. I only cared about his taste, and the feeling of his silky locks, the long and thick girth pressing against my abdomen, and his smell...his smell.

  It was the broomstick crashing onto the floor that led me to conclude we were in the janitor's closet. Heath reached behind me and locked the door without skipping a beat. This was not the location of most sexual fantasies, but neither one of us gave a single shit. It was just him and me and weeks of simmering frustration and tension.

  "I am going to fuck you so hard, you won't be able to walk back to that son of a bitch," he growled, making me wetter than I thought possible.

  "I'd like to see you try."

  My dress fabric was stubborn, and he pulled it so hard I felt the threads rip. I'd have to deal with that later. He fumbled with my micro thong angrily for about half a second before ripping it off of me, there was no time for this, we had already waited too long. He drove me into the door like a linebacker and it shook under the force of our impact. A gust of air burst from my chest, a couple of cleaning supplies spilled off of a shelf, and mops and brooms wobbled from the sexual energy reverberating from our combined force. Together we wrestled his shirt off; I wanted to admire the ridges of of abdomen and feel his warm chest against me as he fucked me. For two weeks I had watched him walk around the house without a shirt on, or come back from a dip in the pool dripping wet, the water trickling down his insanely perfect body. It angered me, because I couldn't help but think lustful thoughts whenever I saw him, and I knew he was teasing me. He had been trying to break me too.