by Sunniva Dee
“You want to hear about Silk?”
“Yeah.” I’m cruel. I’m Maleficent. There are goosebumps on his arms, and those golden hairs raise from them. “You want to go inside?”
“We could turn on the heating lamps.”
“I’m good with inside. I’m not afraid of you.” I wink at him. Strange that.
I saw him struggle. Now I see him relieved. Ciro is a mind reader of me. If I pledged a religion, I’d choose one that believed in reincarnation, because how else do I read him as well as he reads me?
The living room isn’t as cozy as the sunroom. The sunroom is where we first—
The sunroom has memories.
Princess whines. It’s late, and she wants to retreat to his bedroom.
“Kitchen?” he says, and I wish he didn’t say it in a hoarse voice. It’s so sexy to me. As he turns to shush Princess, I get a view of his profile, his Greek god profile. It doesn’t matter. I’d date a troll if he treated me the way Ciro does.
“Shit!” It ricochets out of me, and Ciro doesn’t ask why. He just watches me with a hand on Princess’ head.
“Sorry,” I say. “I... My head is going amok with you.” It’s the sincerest I’ve been in ages. “You drive me crazy. You know that?”
He opens his mouth, but I shut him up with a hand in the air. “I’m not happy. You’re not happy. At least let’s make Princess happy. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Your bed is giant. She can fall asleep on it and be content, and you and I can talk.”
He nods slowly, gaze trailing over my features like it always does, assessing my mood every minute we’re together. Fuck. Again. How can someone be this perfect and not perfect at all?
My Ciro is not imperfectly perfect. He’s simply perfect and absolutely wrong at the same time. What normal girl in this universe can accept the way he shares himself?
God, his desire-colored sheets are inviting. He pulls out a drawer beneath his bed and throws four, five, six new pillows at me in quick succession. It’s comedic relief. It makes me breathless. And when his eyes glitter from my amusement, my throat clogs.
He places me against the wall of pillows as if he thinks I’m made of paper. He’s seen me crumpled lately. Maybe that’s why. I’m not a paper doll, but I still let him. His eyes look like he’s never seen me before, like I was Eve and he hasn’t seen me since then.
I didn’t know breaths could do hiccups. I’ve seen so little. I’ve been with so few. Heck, he might not be that special. Maybe this is exactly how grown men are when they’re in love with a woman? My brain screams to get real, to try someone else, to prove my body wrong and find something easy and good and nice.
“Comfy?” When the corners of his mouth raise a fraction, his lips create a mauve protrusion at its center. Tonight, in this candlelight, they are arresting.
“You don’t have to treat me like I’m breakable.”
He settles in next to me. “I treat you like you deserve, and it’s not because you’re fragile.”
“You’re killing me.” I mean it.
“I don’t want to kill you. I want to be the one who makes you happy. I’m yours, heart and soul.”
“Stop it.” I push his hand away before it reaches my face. I feel exposed. I feel too covered up. Damn you, body, enemy of sane, steady presents.
“Your reality is so twisted. You want to be exclusive with me?” God, I scream it. “Do you want to be exclusive with me?”
The room rings with silence, the antithesis of my head. My pants puff, cooking blood in my veins and making me lightheaded. At the foot of the bed, Princess cocks her head with kind eyes the color of her owner’s.
He knows better than to reach for me, my beautiful man who cheats for a living and got himself tossed out of my life.
“I am exclusive with you.”
Lies, all lies, and not depending on the eye that sees. These are lies according to every set of moral standards I know. My breath moves in and out too fast, and he looks at my mouth, alarmed. Ciro doesn’t ask me to stop hyperventilating today. Doesn’t cover my mouth with his hand. I work to slow down on my own.
“I’ve always been exclusive with you. My heart, my mind, my thoughts. They’re all with you even when my body works for a living.”
“Quit talking like that.”
“Can I hold you?”
“No!”
He leans back against our shared cushions, but his hand squeezes his other hand instead of me. The space between us makes my stomach contract painfully.
Eyes on Princess’ confused face, I move closer. First an inch. Then another. Ciro doesn’t speak while I keep sliding, sliding, surely into place. Pride can be overridden.
The heat of him bleeds into my body, and his arm bows over my shoulder and tightens me against him. He wards off the world outside—just, the world wasn’t what made me cold. It was him.
He holds me. The feeling is pink cotton warmed in a towel dryer, bliss for a broken heart.
“This means nothing.” Sluggishly, I lift my head and turn my face. And then I’m nostrils deep in the soft aroma of the skin beneath his ear.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I sigh and feel him barely shake his head.
He twists enough to kiss the top of my head. “No ideas. You’re okay.”
“So Silk.” My energy is depleted, but the words still come out loud enough. “Let’s just say what you told me about her and your relationship comes off a little different to me now.”
“It does?”
“Duh. She wasn’t just an insecure, jealous wife.”
Just his breath in my hair. No attempt at a defense.
“I can fill in the blanks of your Mad Lib now. You weren’t just stars. You were porn stars. Both doing well in the business. When you worked on different films, it rattled her hard when you didn’t come home at night.”
“I couldn’t come home at night because I was in a different city for work.”
“Same difference, don’t you think?” My voice has a soft, detached sound.
“Same and different, like our pasts. I was the lonely, rich kid with too much testosterone and overbearing parents. But Silk’s past was so beyond comparison it made me seem lucky.”
“What do you mean?”
“Silk was trafficked to the U.S.”
“What? As in…?’”
“As in human trafficking, Savannah.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish. She got out thanks to her last buyer. She was sixteen when they kidnapped her. Eighteen when her last owner had her tracker removed and set her free. She and I weren’t big on rehashing our pasts, but there was no hiding that she was deeply scarred from what she’d been through.”
“How?”
“She had night terrors. What seemed like irrational fear of everyday objects and tools. Things like that.” His arm hooks me closer, and I don’t flinch away when he kisses the corner of my mouth.
“Her owners, did they sexually exploit her?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. I can’t even fathom. I’m so sorry.”
“She found the adult film industry quickly after she was let go. I starred in her fifth film, and when we worked, there was instant chemistry. We took on common projects as much as our film companies allowed, and she found peace in me for a while there. It was good. Then, we shacked up in this weekly motel for a bit. She wanted me around all the time, but that wasn’t possible due to our work schedules. Silk was brought in to Lucid more than I was, while I had my full-length films to tend to.”
“And that’s when it slid out?”
“In the beginning, we were fine. We had these talks about trusting each other and how our jobs were just our jobs. We agreed we were in the same position. I guess it was easier for her to mean that while we were in each other’s arms.” His lashes l
ower in a slow blink.
“I proposed to Silk to make her understand that she was my only girl, and she was so happy. That lasted for the first few months after we got married. But later… it got a little sick in the end. Nothing I said helped, and she finally started showing up on my sets. I knew I couldn’t do it anymore when Silk flung a beer bottle at one of my colleagues and the girl needed stitches afterward.”
“Wow. She lost it.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t good for her to go onset when I was working without her.”
“Do people ever bring their significant others to... um, work?”
“I know of a couple of husbands who visit sometimes but none who stay for the shoot unless they’re a part of it.”
I shake my head, all these associations running through my brain. “What about you? Did you ever have to share her onset?”
“No.”
“Oh. So always just the two of you on film.”
“No, we’d work with others too sometimes, but her love was for me and no one else. I never had to worry about that.”
“So even if you were with her and another guy in the scene, for instance—”
“—or several. Or with other girls. Yeah.”
I can’t relax in his arms anymore. Unconsciously, I’m putting myself in that situation, the girlfriend having to trust that he loved me and not the girls he has sex with in front of the camera. Red jealousy stirs in my chest, and it’s darkening by the second.
I sit up in an attempt to shake it off and focus on Princess, who crawls upward surreptitiously like she knows she’ll be scooted off the bed if her master notices. She’s so obvious, my comedic relief. When Ciro doesn’t object, she rolls to her back, showing the pink of her belly and wanting a rub. I smile and give it to her.
“So you filed for divorce?”
“I did, and she hated it. I moved out. We had a few confrontations over the first weeks that made it difficult for me to earn a living. Thankfully, the owner of one of the companies I worked for, a former star herself, was understanding. She helped me with a place to sleep the first weeks and basically put the studio on lockdown whenever I worked so Silk couldn’t come in.
“Oh geez. Silk was stalking you?”
“Naw, I wouldn’t call it that.” His gaze moves over my face and rests on my eyes. “She was just my ex-wife who took a while getting over things. She’s fine now.”
“No incidents onset in London?”
“London was cool. We were in a single scene together, and her only job was to verbally abuse me and slap my face.” He chuckles. “I think she liked it.”
“I’d do well in that role,” I say.
“I can think of a few roles you’d be even better in with me.”
I gasp and glare at him, and Ciro lets out a laugh. “You look so hot right now. Your eyes are Betty-Boop-sized.”
“You’re so rude!”
“And for that I apologize.” He bobs his head with fake sincerity. “It doesn’t change the fact that you’d be damn amazing under me in a film. I think we’d be the new knockout sensation, making the entire world of porn aficionados serial-orgasm on the spot.”
“Shut up!” I throw my hands in the air in search of a better comeback. It doesn’t come to me, so I flounder aimlessly. He watches until he can’t take it anymore and bursts into laughter.
“Come here.” He hauls me in. I struggle and slap his hands in quick succession—slap, slap, slap, slap—the sound flat and insignificant. It makes even me snicker for a second.
He’s got me on my back, pulled up between his legs and with my face open for attack. He leans down and kisses me. Slowly at first, absorbing my puffed anger, then deeper. My breathing quiets as I taste him back. Just one more kiss. Nothing changes with that.
My pulse thickens, claiming more air as his hands move down along my ribs. He caresses, draws gentle fingers up and down through our kiss. My body knows what he’s doing, and it’s already prepared.
“You like this,” he hums, hands drawing a pattern over my stomach until it finds my navel. I arch in response. “My belly-button girl.”
I don’t know why it’s so erotic to me—I didn’t know until Ciro discovered it.
I let out a sigh. It’s the kind that means I give up. That too, he learned first. All those hours with sexual communication, of the verbal type that made me blush and wish we could simply get down to business. Oh it’s paying off now. At my sigh, that one big freeing one, his hesitation is gone, and so is my shirt.
My bra is too tight, and I need it off. I don’t have to tell him. Gently he helps me, and I shudder out my relief when he cups my breasts and kneads them with a groan of appreciation. Strong arms flip me, hold me out above him, while he delves in and laps a searing trail down my throat to my boobs. He suckles, elongating nipples that are already stiff with desire.
“You’re delicious,” he groans. “I can’t get enough of you. I fucking love you.” He bends off the mattress, his member bruising me and sending a rush of pre-orgasmic bliss through me. Firm hands press me against him, a zig-zagged band that leaves no air between us.
My butt juts upward automatically when the same hands roll my skirt down together with my underwear and find that secret fissure leading to my holiest.
“Good. Oh yes, you’re warm and ready,” he hisses at my ear. The sensation of slickness being spread through my folds is enough for me to moan out a plea for mercy.
He doesn’t tease me. Just finds a condom with one hand and only lets go for seconds to put it on before he eases in deeply and his grip moves to my face. “So. Fucking. Sweet.”
“Darling,” Frieda says like a grandma. I’ve tried to get out of these traps, but she usually sets them up well and makes sure no escape is within reach. Like now. We’re at a small breakfast place halfway up in the Malibu wilderness after a long winding road took us there in her car.
“I don’t like where this is going with you.”
“No? And why’s that?” I’m being defensive. And sore. It’s hard to sit on the sweet throbbing between my legs this morning. Every time I part-decided to leave the bunker, Ciro made me stay. The man has stamina. He’s also an excellent excavator of body secrets.
The walls in this place make me think I should have ordered sunny-side up. Spring-green window frames and strangely stiff waiters give the air of rigid lushness. Maybe a vegetable juice is what I need to top off the morning.
I’ve got to be honest. With a member the size of my ex’s it’s apparently smart to not go at it five times in one short night. Especially when said five times aren’t of the quickie-type. I need some balm on my kitty, something with a cooling effect. Hell, a bag of ice would do miracles about now.
“You’re still in a relationship with him. He’s a porn star, remember, so not boyfriend material.” She punctuates with a chin jerk.
“I’m so not in a relationship!”
“No? What would you call it? Serial flings? Or are you just friends sitting there talking in his house? Petting his dog or something?”
“Yeah...” We are that too. Just not just.
“Gimme a break.” She drills her stare into me. “I care about you, and this is freaking toxic. Every time he comes around, you go with him. You’re supposed to remain strong and keep fending him off. If you can’t do that on your own, I’m here to help. I’ll be at the door. I’ll meet him and tell him to take a hike every time until he moves on. Hell, it can’t be that hard for him to get a new chick.”
“Really? You had to say that last part?” Get a new chick. That’s exactly what he’s doing as we speak. He’s probably in makeup with the girl he’s about to sleep with in the chair next to him. They’re chatting quietly. Laughing. Maybe he touches her boob, because they’re probably both in their chairs naked. And then he gets aroused, and she sees it and asks if he’s ready, and—
Stop it!
“Never mind, Frieda. Yesterday was the last time. I just needed to talk through some stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like none-of-your-biz.”
She huffs. Crosses her arms and doesn’t even acknowledge the eggs Benedict the waiter puts in front of us. “If I’m your best friend, then it is my business. So, about what? You needed a closer? A last porn-star fuck?”
“Really, this is how you want me to open up to you? You need to drop the attitude and the harsh language. I can’t even.”
“Gah, sorry. I’m... if you were in my position and saw your girlfriend slide down this super-duper slippery slope, you’d be the same way. I don’t want you in the quicksand.”
“Wow with the metaphors,” I mutter.
“And wow with the complaining about everything I say. Tell me, what exactly did you need to hear from him before you let him go for good? Hmm? I bet I could have told you. You wouldn’t even have to leave the house: yes, you’re beautiful. Yes, there are tons of good guys out there who wouldn’t dream of cheating on you but rather try to tie you to them with a ring as soon as they could.”
“Yeah, well.”
“You just need to date is all. It sucks that your first boyfriend since high school had to be Drake Constantine.”
“Agreed. I had a lot of questions. I really thought I loved him, Frieda. There was nothing between us that wasn’t perfect, and I guess I needed to learn more about his life. And now I know. He told me things he hadn’t before, about his ex-wife, why they got divorced, and about his everyday life on and off set.”
She relaxes in her chair. “So no sex?”
“Well.” I shift uncomfortably, and she notices.
“Did he hurt you?”
I let out a laugh. “Not exactly. We just didn’t sleep much.”
“Damn, you had sex all night with that monster dick?”
“Shhh!” I look around. “Frieda, please. I figured it didn’t matter anyway. Since I’d given in, I might as well get him out of my system. So I did. I’m over him now.”
“Mhmm.”