by B. B. Hamel
“Shit,” she gasps, “oh, fucking hell, Jace.”
I don’t know moderation. I don’t know how to go halfway. All I can do is fuck her pussy and make her come, doesn’t matter where we are. I release her wrists and grab her ass, spreading it open as I lick one finger and press it against her little pucker. She groans as I sink my finger in her ass, still fucking her pussy. She puts her hands up above her head, gripping into the grass as I sink my finger deeper into her asshole, my big cock stretching her out wider and wider as I fuck her nice and rough.
“You couldn’t handle me in here,” I say, sliding my finger back out from her ass. She groans at that.
“Please, no,” she says. “I really can’t.”
I laugh softly. “Don’t worry. You’re not ready for that, but you will be.”
I stroke her slower this time and use two fingers to press inside her ass. She lets out a little squeaking gasp and I love it. She doesn’t fight me, just relaxes her body as my two fingers fit up her ass while my cock still slides deeper and deeper into her tight little wet pussy.
She’s gasping, groaning and trying to wiggle herself but I’m merciless. I keep railing into her wet spot, pushing deeper, my fingers inside her ass sliding in and out slowly. I grip her hip with my free hand as I keep fucking her, a new sheen of sweat dripping down my already wet body.
I pull back, withdraw my fingers from her ass, and slide over. She gets onto her knees and looks at me, her pussy perfect and glistening in the afternoon light as I grab her and make her straddle me again. Her shorts come off completely as my cock brushes her wet pussy before she slides down my shaft.
I lift up her shirt, pulling up her sports bra. I lick and suck her breasts, getting her nipples nice and stiff as she rides me. I slap that tight ass, slap it harder and harder as she rides faster, bearing her whole weight down on me, her fingers digging into my shoulders. I grunt along with her deep moaning breaths. I love the way her lips feel against my ear, her breath warm against my skin, her pussy like a vice around my cock. I thrust up, making her groan, and pull her hair back.
“Look at you, riding dick in public,” I whisper. “I didn’t think you were the type.”
“I’m not,” she answers. “You bring out the worst in me.”
“Please.” I brush her lip with my thumb and she bites it, a little grin in her lips.
I grunt and thrust as she releases me. She laughs then groans as I pull her hair with my left hand and slap her ass hard with my right. She gasps as I thrust up in her, fucking her hard, and she moves along with me, working her hips along my cock.
She moves forward and back, writhing and rolling along my hard dick, completely buried to the base. Her fingers dig in again as I hold her ass and spread it open, letting her pussy grip me tighter as she works faster. I suck her nipple, teasing her as she works, grunting and groaning, both our bodies sweating in the sun.
I can tell she’s close. I thrust up harder, faster. “You want to get caught?” I whisper. “Come for me, if you do. You can’t come without screaming.”
“Bastard,” she groans. “You’re such an asshole, Jace.”
“I know. And you fucking love it.”
She groans as I thrust again, harder this time, and slap her ass. She’s going to have red marks on that perfect little ass of hers and I can’t wait to see them. She grinds her hips down and around, shaking her ass up and along my shaft, panting and moaning in my ear.
I grip her hair hard and she rides me faster. The rhythm gets frantic, faster and faster, harder and deeper, her hips rolling and riding, her breath deep. She gasps as I pull her hair one more time, and it tips her over the edge.
She tenses hard as she comes on my big dick. She comes with her whole body, her moans low and uncontrolled. I love the way she comes, it drives me fucking insane. She grinds down and keeps moving in circles as she gets off, groaning the whole time.
When she’s finished, I pull her off and get her back on all fours, pushing her face down into the grass. I’m not gentle and I don’t waste time. I slide my big dick inside her tight pussy and fuck her hard with the intention of coming all over that pretty little ass.
Her moans make it easy. I squeeze her breasts, teasing her nipples, cock pumping in and out. I pull out and stroke myself as I come in fat spurts along her pretty ass, covering her ass and pussy from behind.
She groans as I finish. I groan and roll onto my side.
“Shit,” she says. “What am I going to do about this?”
I laugh and pull my shirt off. She hesitates before using it to clean herself up. She goes to hand it back but I shake my head.
“Just leave it.”
“Oh, gross, come on.”
“What, you’ve never left a cum-covered shirt in public before?”
She rolls her eyes and gets herself situated, clothes back on, before collapsing next to me. We’re panting harder than we were when we climbed to the top of this damn hill, but I feel way better now.
We lay there side by side, not talking for a few moments, before I reach out and take her hand. She doesn’t say anything, just lets me hold her hand while we stare up at the beautiful sky, fluffy white clouds slowly chasing across its expanse, the only sounds are our breaths syncing up together.
22
Piper
We land in New Orleans a few days after I have sex with Jace in the hills overlooking LA and I’m reminded all over again why I hate the freaking heat.
The LA shoot went easy from there. We did some cooking stuff, some food truck stuff, and some touristy stuff. I didn’t have sex with Jace again, but the suggestion was always there, the tension. We just never had any time together, and I don’t want the others to realize what’s happening between me and Jace. It’s hard enough being a producer in a male-dominated world like the television industry, and it’s even harder when they think you’re just a slut banging the actors. I’ve seen it happen before and I’m determined to not let it happen to me.
Jace doesn’t seem to mind. Sure, he teases me, but he doesn’t push. I appreciate that. I think he knows as well as I do that we’re walking a dangerous line, and it would be so easy to ruin it all.
The hotel is right in the middle of the city, in the most touristy area of them all, the French Quarter. We’re up high in an old building, and the rooms all smell of musty mold and alligator stench, or what I assume is alligator. I get settled, or as settled as I’m going to be in a room I’m pretty sure has multiple animals nesting inside of it, before I meet the crew downstairs in the lobby.
Jace is in a surprisingly good mood. “I love this city,” he says, grinning. “So many good people here. So many good drugs.” His grin gets even bigger.
I give him a look. “Careful now.”
“I know,” he says, waving me away. “But I did spend a couple months bumming around here, shooting all my cash up my arm and sleeping with some of the most adventurous co-eds I’ve ever met.”
I roll my eyes at him and he winks at me. Jace can be pretty freaking tone-deaf sometimes.
“What’s on the menu?” I ask the guys.
“Beignets and coffee,” Jace says immediately.
“I was thinking alcohol and more alcohol,” Eric counters.
Jace shrugs. “We can always split up.”
Eric hesitates, but Grant steps up and puts a hand on his shoulder, indicating that he’ll follow. Eric grins and Calvin sighs.
“Well, shit,” Calvin says. “I’m not getting stuck third-wheeling with those two. Guess I’m with you guys.”
“Wait, hold up,” I say. “You’re not a third-wheel.”
He gives Jace a look like I’m insane. “See you two later,” he says, following Grant and Eric down the street.
“Okay then,” Jace says. “Come on. We have to hit up Café du Monde.”
I groan and hurry to catch up. “What was he talking about, third-wheel?”
He glances at me. “The guys think we’re hooking up. Or at least that
we’re going to.”
“Did you tell them?” My eyes go wide.
“Of course not,” he says. “I keep denying it, but you know how it is.”
I groan. “This is a nightmare.”
“Nah, forget it. They’re not serious. Just keep ignoring them and they’ll be fine.”
I take a breath and let it out. “Easy for you to say. You fuck a producer, you’re a king. I fuck an actor and I’m a dirty little tramp.”
He grins and puts an arm around my shoulder, pulling my closer. “You’re already a dirty little tramp.”
I glare up at him but I don’t pull away. This is the most affectionate he’s been in a few days, and it feels strangely good. It actually feels strangely comfortable.
We walk like that for a few blocks before ending outside of the famous café. We order coffee with chicory, this thick, black, motor-oil stuff that’s scalding hot, plus some beignets, which are really just delicious fluffy fried donuts covered in powdered sugar. We sit down on a nearby bench, watching people walk by as we eat and drink.
“How’d you end up down here?” I ask him after a short lull.
He shrugs a little. “The same way I ended up anywhere. I was chasing drugs.”
“You could probably get drugs anywhere, right?”
I watch his face cloud over briefly before returning to normal. “Probably,” he says. “But these were really good drugs.”
I laugh a little bit. “I feel like you’re not telling me the whole story.”
“There was a girl involved,” he admits.
“There it is.” I sigh a little bit, sipping my coffee. It’s both sweet and bitter, a strange blend, not something I’ve ever had before. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“It’s not like that,” he says. “Her name was Jaime. She wanted to die.”
I hesitate, staring at him. He smiles a little awkwardly, popping a beignet into his mouth. I want him to tell me more but he’s too busy chewing, so I’m forced to sit there and wait for him to finish.
Finally he swallows and washes it down with some coffee.
“You can’t just drop a bomb like that and not tell me the story,” I prompt.
“It’s not a nice story and it doesn’t have a happy ending.”
“That’s okay.”
He shrugs a little. “Jaime was an addict, like me. Her boyfriend’s name was Byron, but I think that was a fake name. Anyway, Byron sold heroin, and that’s how I got to know them.”
I lean in closer to him as he talks. His face is animated, like he’s reliving the memory in this exact moment, but he doesn’t look proud. It’s clearly not a happy thing for him.
“I knew them in New York, before they moved. I’d go over and get fucked up with them almost every night, spending all my money on their drugs and takeout and whatever else. Jaime used to stay up all night and we’d talk about her past, about her fucked-up dad and uncle abusing her and shit. She had a dark side, but she never showed it to Byron, just to me. I don’t know why.
“Anyway, they left one night after Byron said the cops were onto him. I don’t know if that was true or not, but they up and split town, leaving me high and dry. I tried to find a new connection, but gave up after a couple days. My stash was running low, and I got a text from Jaime telling me where they were staying.
“I got in a plane and went down. I found them in this shitty little house, practically in a fucking swamp. No drugs, no nothing. Byron was out working on this goddamn alligator boat, catching and killing alligators or some shit. And Jaime told me she wanted to die.”
He breaks off there, staring off into space. I can’t read his expression, and I think that’s a good thing. I can already guess where this story goes.
“I scored for us the day after I landed, bought it off this guy named Dwayne that Jaime knew. We shot up like usual, and the shit was terrible, but it did the job.
“She didn’t stop though. I guess her first shot was pretty small, because she was able to take another. I was too fucked up to stop her. I could barely understand what was happening. I still don’t understand the timeline, she should’ve been too high. By the time Byron got back, I was still high out of my fucking mind, and that’s when he found her. Overdosed, clearly on purpose. Took one massive shot, stopped her heart right on the spot.
“Anyway, shit was bad. Byron threw me out, tried to kill me first, all that shit. I split, just left town. Never found out why she killed herself that way. But it was my rock bottom. I went into rehab a week later, after my drugs ran out and I couldn’t keep running from what had happened.”
He goes silent finally. We both sip our drinks and stare at the rush of people.
“It doesn’t sound like it was your fault,” I say softly. “She would’ve done it with or without your help.”
“Yeah, maybe. I was just the money. She used me, I know it, but still. I was there. I could’ve stopped her.”
“Maybe that night. But she would’ve done it sooner or later. It’s not your fault.”
“I could’ve gotten her help. I could’ve… I don’t know, saved her. If I weren’t such a fucked-up addict.”
“Is that why you got help?” I ask him softly. “To save people?”
He shakes his head and meets my gaze. “No, I got clean to save myself. If I can help people, well, I guess that’s a bonus. Because sooner or later I would’ve ended up like Jaime. That’s just what happens when you’re a junkie. It catches you, sooner or later. You can’t run forever.”
I bite my lip and watch him. I know I’m seeing the layers underneath the anger and the swagger and the charm. There’s pain, real pain, deep oceans of it. He blames himself for her death, blames himself for everything, but it’s not his fault. I know it isn’t, I just hope he can figure that out sooner or later.
I move closer to him and tilt my head up toward his lips. He looks at me and smiles.
“We’re in public, you know.”
“Good.”
He kisses me softly. “I’m glad I got clean,” he says finally.
“Yeah? Me, too.”
“Good. You would’ve hated me before.”
“I hate you now.”
“No, you don’t, little wifey.” He laughs and puts an arm around me, and I tilt my head against his shoulder.
We sit there for a while, watching people go by. I love the feeling of him against me, his strong arm around my shoulders. I feel safe, comfortable, like I have a future and it’s going to be good.
23
Jace
Priestess Miriam shakes her cup and spills small, multi-colored bone and wooden chips onto the green felt table in front of her. The chips are covered in different symbols that I don’t understand, but the Priestess looks at them closely, making noises like she can see something in their random patterns.
Eric pulls in for a closeup. Calvin pans left, getting a shot of the space.
“You’re falling into something,” she says softly. Priestess Miriam is the head priestess of a local Voodoo temple. She’s an old woman, at least in her seventies, frail but still exuding this odd strength and power. She’s draped in a purple outfit, a little crown-like headband around the top of her skull.
“I hope it’s not too deep,” I joke.
She gives me a tight little smile, not in the mood. “It isn’t something literal,” she says. “Maybe a relationship? Maybe you’re falling in love?”
I have to physically stop myself from glancing over at Piper. I feel sweat perching on my brow.
The room’s small and hot. There are candles burning all around us, letting out pungent odors. There’s a snake somewhere in here, not even in a fucking cage, which is great. Voodoo dolls line one wall, along with wall hangings, tarot-looking cards, and small statues to deities I don’t recognize. The please is a miasma of different patterns, shapes and objects, everything crammed into this small space, surrounding this powerful, old woman.
And she thinks I’m falling in love?
&nbs
p; “I don’t know about that,” I finally mange to say.
She laughs a little bit, picking up her chips again. She shakes the cup and spills them, watching closely, her face practically against the tabletop. “You’re lying,” she says. “I see love here. I see pain, and heartache, but I see love.”
I smile stupidly. “The only thing I love is good food and good travels.”
“Those are two things,” she notes, eyebrows arched.
“Okay. Two things I love.”
“Maybe that’s it. Maybe.” She picks up the chips one last time, shakes the cup, and spills them.
This time, she’s quiet for almost a full minute. I don’t know if you’ve ever sat across from an old woman staring at a bunch of little patterned chips on a table before for an entire minute, but it feels like fucking forever. I keep wanting to speak up but something about her demeanor keeps me from saying anything. I know this will all be edited out but I feel so self-conscious in this moment that it’s almost painful.
This was Piper’s idea. She thought we should do a segment on Voodoo, since it’s a big part of Louisiana’s culture past and present. Voodoo is actually everywhere in New Orleans, and it’s nothing like what I thought. There’s magic, of course, some of it good and some of it bad, but it’s also a rich tapestry of different beliefs mixing African deities with Catholic saints and much more. Spirits are real and alive and everywhere in New Orleans, and Piper figured we might as well play along.
I agreed at the time. Now though, sitting across this old priestess, I’m starting to think maybe I fucked up in coming here.
It’s too fucking soon, way too soon. I glance down at my hands, spread out on the table in front of me, as the woman slowly raises her head. It’s too soon to admit to myself that I’m starting to fall in love. Hell, I’ve been starting to fall in love for a while now, ever since we started this whole mess. Love is very much a part of me now, lodged deep in my gut. It’s been that strange feeling in my body, the feeling I haven’t been able to name, or maybe I haven’t been able to look too closely.