by J. C. Grant
“Come in,” I called out, knowing it was makeup.
“Good morning,” Kathleen, my makeup artist, greeted in a singsong voice as she entered.
“Good morning,” David's deep voice filled the room, while I offered her a sleepy smile.
“I'm so jealous of you two. So beautiful... flawless skin,” she said, looking over our faces. “Let's just do eyelashes on you, Austin, and a little powder for both of you, don't want you shiny. I'll be back in twenty...? They're ready.”
I nodded.
She turned, heading back out.
“Hurry up and eat.” At his questioning look, I explained, “Soon as she's done, we're going straight to set.”
“Fuck,” he breathed. It seemed he wasn't as ready for this morning as he thought.
Almost exactly thirty minutes later, we were stepping on set; a taupe bedroom with an oversized velvet tufted headboard in ivory, a huge ornate mirror against one wall, floor-length white curtains along another, complete with a crystal chandelier.
“Okay, guys, ready?” Danny asked.
Danny Hayes was our new director, replacing Sam.
I wasn't sure how that firing went, and truthfully, I didn't want to know.
Danny was perfect for our show. He was a child actor turned director and as close to a family guy as you'd find in Hollywood—under the age of fifty. And he genuinely nice.
“Yeah,” I breathed, feeling nervous.
“Clear the stage. Everyone out except camera and boom,” Danny called loudly.
“You okay?” David whispered.
My anxiety dropped significantly at his soft, concerned words.
I nodded, afraid my voice would give me away.
I wasn't just nervous about the crew being around, I was nervous David had overestimated his ability to deal with what we were about to do.
“Austin, go ahead and get on the bed,” Danny directed. “On top of the sheets.”
Untying my robe, I paused as my eyes met David's.
Please let him be okay with this.
His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as I slowly slipped my robe off. Something in his expression shifted, anger turning into sheer determination, and he dropped his robe.
Then he was on me, pressing up against me, covering my body with his, pushing me back onto the bed.
My bare back and ass met the cool sheets as David's warm body pressed me down.
“This is not the first time we fucked.” His voice was quiet and rough, his breath warming my cheek.
“Kinda sorta. This scene is at a house party, instead of the club. Everything else is pretty much the same.”
“Shit, we need to add this to our fucket list.”
I grinned at that, all my tension melting away. “Fucking in Jeff's guest bathroom wasn't close enough?”
“Mmm...” He pretended to really consider it. “No.”
“Okay, you two,” Danny interrupted. “This needs to be sweet, but aggressive. Now, David put your hand on her breast.”
David did, playing along while pulling a face that said, This is stupid.
“Austin, grab his ass. And David start moving your hips.”
I undulated under him slightly, rolling my hips against him.
“David move your hand up to her neck and keep your face away from the camera.”
David stopped moving and looked over his shoulder. “Dan, can we just do the scene—with sound? If you're not happy with it, give us notes after. Just back off and let us do this.” David's tone was casual, but confident. Quietly demanding.
I held my breath, waiting for Danny's response.
“All right, let's see what you got,” he obliged, good-naturedly. Danny obvious didn’t think David had a clue what he was doing.
David wasn't a professionally trained actor, but the man could fuck. He was born to fuck.
David was about to make a fool out of Danny.
****
Later that night, I got a taste of what was soon to become our normal—David not being home. And I didn't like it. At all.
I was curled up in bed at one a.m., clutching my phone. David had texted me on and off throughout the night, and I had stupidly turned on the game. Seeing him there, so far away from me...
My thighs rubbed together. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had fucked me on set earlier in the day. The way he filled out his uniform, the way he moved...
I was soaking wet.
I nearly dropped my phone when it finally rang.
“Hey,” I breathed.
“You waited up,” he purred.
“Did you change your mind about the sex tape?” I asked, shifting around under the covers.
My attempt at sexy texts had failed spectacularly when I asked for a sex tape, I had yet to get things back on track.
“No, Austin! What if it got out?”
It was the same thing he’d texted me earlier.
“No one would see it. It'd be just for us. Something to get me off when you're gone, because I get horny and you're not around to fix it.”
He was silent for a moment.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” He groaned after a moment. “You’re that horny?”
“Well, I'm used to getting your cock every day, and now I'm not.”
“You did get it today,” he argued.
“I just need a video so I can see your muscles shifting and moving and working above me. And hear the sounds you make while you fuck me. Watch your cock slide in and out of me, all wet with my cum.” I moaned, just talking about it had me on the brink of orgasm.
“Oh fuck, sweetheart. You're makin' me hard.”
“How hard?” My voice was barely a whisper as my hand moved down my stomach.
“Like fucking steel.” His voice dropped an octave, to the sexiest rumble.
“Are you touching it?” My hand moved down, just grazing my mound.
“No,” he breathed.
“Touch it.”
“Fuck,” he rasped softly. “I'm touching it.”
“Is it hot?”
“I have pants on.”
“Take it out.” My voice betrayed my frustration. I’d been wound tight all night, I didn’t want to play games.
“Sweet girl, are you trying to have phone sex with me?” he purred.
Jesus, what did he think I’d been doing all night?
“Yeah.” His answering grown was raw and erotic, making my pussy clench.
There we go...
“Is that okay?” I inquired softly when he said nothing.
“Do you really need to ask?”
“Then take it out. I want to hear you.”
“What're you wearing?”
“Nothing.”
“Where are you?”
“In our bed.”
A deep, throaty grown rumbled through the speaker before he commanded, “Spread your legs. Wide.”
I obeyed without hesitation.
“You want me to touch my pussy?” I asked, hopeful.
“No, just your clit.”
Doing as he said, a low groan bubbled up out of me as the first sparks of pleasure shot through me. “Oh fuck,” I breathed..
“Does it feel good?”
“Yeah,” I panted, working my clit. “But not as good as when you do it.”
“Yeah, everything feels better when you do it, when it's your hands on me, your mouth, your wet cunt or your tight ass.” His voice was husky, his words intense, giving me the distinct feeling he’d been fucking with me, damn near making me beg.
“Oh God, I can't believe I actually miss you fucking me in the ass.”
“Next time I see you, I'll fuck you in the ass so good, sweetheart. So fucking good,” he promised.
At his dirty words my body arched and I came. It was short and shallow, a weak imitation of what he gave me.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Three days. It only took three days for my insecurities to take over.
The night before, I had been exci
ted to see David when I boarded the plane. Embarrassingly excited in fact. But at some point during the two hour flight I fell asleep.
I can’t be sure what happened after that, because he never bothered to wake me. All I knew was what David had told me. He hadn’t even tried to have sex with me. He just held me. I knew most girls would think it was sweet, romantic, blah, blah, blah. But I didn’t. I was offended; we hadn’t had sex in two days.
After a long day of obsessing over the new development, I decided to investigate. As soon as we arrived home from the set, I snuck off to my room, pulling up David’s game, watching him. And I mean watching him. Every shot he was in, I zoomed in, watching him.
At one point he was on his phone. Texting, emailing? I couldn't be sure. But I was sure he wasn’t texting or emailing me. That little detail, along with the loss of his overbearing behavior, the lack of sex, his screaming fans, the girls crying when he reached out giving them high fives, and posing for pictures while groupies kissed his cheek...
It was the first time I saw The David.
And I hated him.
I tried to play it cool when he finally called, but I failed.
“You want me to believe you suddenly have no sex drive?” I demanded, a little too harshly. I focused on the night before, unwilling to admit I’d been stalking him.
“Seriously?” He sounded genuinely perplexed. “I was hard the whole night. You were out cold, I was happy just having you in my arms. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”
It wasn’t hard to believe. It just hurt that he hadn’t been all over me, out of his mind with wanting me. I knew it was ridiculous, but it hurt even more after seeing the way he interacted with his fans.
Instead of telling him the gut-wrenching truth, I accused, “What are your plans tonight?”
I had been imagining it all evening: David out with his teammates, getting sucked off by random groupies.
“Stop it.” His voice was gentle, but firm. “I'm not doing anything but lying here alone, wishing you were here.”
“How do I know?” I shot back. “You could have a girl lying next to you right now. You could've told her to be quiet while you called your wife.”
“Now, that's fucked up. Don't put that shit in my head... Fucking great, I'm visualizing you doing the exact same thing.”
We both fell quiet for a moment. I quickly regretted giving in to the instinct. But the seed had been planted, and I couldn't stop visualizing all the what-if’s.
“This is not working,” I muttered, dejectedly.
“It really fucking isn't,” he gritted slowly.
My racing heart went still, frozen in my chest. I swore never to bring it up again, fearful the result would be losing him.
What the hell was wrong with me that I couldn’t let him have his career in peace?
*****
We continued on like that for five weeks; phone sex, FaceTime fucking, and I miss you’s all with an underlying suspicion. We maintained our forty-eight-hour rule. But even when I managed to stay awake, his games ran late and I was asleep by the time he arrived at the hotel. Our best nights were the ones were he fucked me while I was sleeping.
Even when he was home, he usually spent the entire day at the stadium; practice then the game. We got to sleep together and wake up together, but it wasn’t the same. My best days were when we filmed a sex scene, and those were few and far between.
Some days I wanted to call David and beg him to come home. Beg him to quit. Some days I was too busy to feel anything, those were the good days. But other days, I wanted to hurt him. Hurt him for making me miss him. Hurt him for being The David.
Pacing around the bedroom, I glared at my phone sitting on the nightstand.
It was one of the other days.
Maybe it was because the previous night we’d broken our forty-eight-hour rule. Not because I didn’t drag my ass all the way to Florida, but because his game ran so long I had to leave for the airport before he made it to the hotel.
It wasn’t his fault, I knew that, but I was still pissed.
Next thing I knew, my phone was in my hands as my thumbs pounded out a text, hitting send without a second thought.
Austin: I want to cheat on you. I want
to do it in public, in front of paps. I want
you to see it, to know.
8:02 PM
My phone rang seconds later.
My heart raced as I accepted the call. I held the phone to my ear, but I said nothing, my throat too tight.
“Austin?” David’s voice was calm and strong, reassuring.
Something inside me uncoiled; I’d expected anger.
When I didn’t respond, he continued, “Austin, don’t do it. Well... you can if you want to, I’m not there to stop you.” He paused. “Hell, it might make you feel better for a little bit. But how will you feel after? When you have to tell me everything in explicit detail?”
He was being so reasonable and understanding, I didn’t know how to react. But I knew I wouldn't be able to do what he was asking.
“That’s what I’ll want, every detail. I’m not leaving you and I’m not gonna let you leave. If you really need to do this, it’ll be a scar on our relationship. But we’ll get through it.” He paused. “But how will you feel?”
I couldn't imagine how I’d feel, I felt terrible just listening to him talk about it.
At my continued silence, he said, “I don’t know about you, but I think we have enough scars.”
He was right, we did. More than enough.
Before I could say anything, he added, “Thank you. For telling me how you feel. It feels good to know.”
I hesitated. “Know what?”
“That my wife misses me so much, she’s hurting. Hurting so much she’s feeling destructive.”
Shit.
He was right, I was falling into old patterns.
“Sweetheart, if all you really wanted to do was hurt me... that text was pretty effective.”
I could hear it in his voice, I had hurt him. I felt a dull ache in my chest. Hurting him, hurt me.
My eyes stung and my sinuses burned. “I have to go.”
Ending the call, I slumped down on the bed, staring at my phone, stunned. He was so calm, so accepting of me cheating on him, as if he had planned for it. Expected it.
What the fuck did that mean?
David
“Where is she?” I demanded, my voice louder than intended.
As soon as the line disconnected, I dialed Fergus. Austin didn’t know me if she thought I was really going sit by and let her decide whether or not she wanted to cheat on me.
“In her room, why?”
“Don’t let anyone come over. And don’t let her leave,” I directed as I packed my bag.
“Okay. Something I should know?”
I could tell from his voice—the acoustics in the room—he was sitting in my living room watching TV. That was the shit that got under my skin, niggling at me twenty-four/seven. He was living my life. In my house. With my wife. And I was paying him to.
“She’s wants to hurt me.” That’s all I had to say, Fergus understood. “If she comes to you...”
“I would never. And I don’t think she would.”
“She’s like a completely different person when she’s hurting,” I muttered.
“I know.”
He did know, because of me, Fergus had seen Austin upset more than he’d seen her happy.
I was a shit husband.
“Has the plan for tomorrow changed?” he inquired.
Fuck.
My surprise for Austin was fucked to hell. I was going to be in Denver in a few hours. The plan was for Austin to board the plane thinking she was going to Texas—she never checked my game schedule—only to be met by her mother at the airport. Then we would all spend the weekend at Evelyn's house together, except for my games.
It was better than nothing.
I had hoped spending time together, like we had
over Thanksgiving, would get Austin focused on me again, on us.
“No, but it’s not going to be a surprise now.”
“I can force her—”
“No,” I jumped in a little too quickly. My pulse quickened at the thought of anyone forcing her to do anything. “Just let me try to talk to her. I’ll call you later.”
I ended the call and dialed Austin. It went to voicemail. Seconds later I received a text.
Austin: I’m busy.
8:15 PM
Was she kidding?
David: You know I can track your phone.
You’re at home.
8:17 PM
Austin: Never said I wasn’t, said I was busy.
8:20 PM
Looked like she recovered from our talk and was right back in angry bitch mode. I loved angry bitch mode, when I was there, on the receiving end of it; it always turned into some seriously hot sex. But over the phone, where I had no control over the outcome, no.
David: What are you doing?
8:21 PM
Austin: Debating on going out for girls night.
8:24 PM
Tara hadn’t texted her, so either Austin was debating calling her or she was lying. Regardless, it was a clear sign Austin still wanted to hurt me.
Should’ve known after the shit she pulled last night.
Yeah, my game ran late. Like crazy ass fucking late. But all Austin had to do was delay her flight for two hours. Two fucking hours. And we could have spent at least an hour together, but she had refused. Refused to shorten that two hour window she gave herself to get from the airport to work. It was her show, she couldn’t be late or rearrange the shooting schedule for one day?
She chose her career over me.
It felt like I was losing her.
And that, I want to cheat on you text... I tried to be reasonable, hoping to get her to calm down and think. Consider the consequences. Obviously, that hadn’t worked very well.
No more reasonable bullshit, just go with the truth.