A Model Romance (True Love Book 3)

by Anne, Betsy

  He moans loudly, and calls my name in his sweet accent over and over again. I remove my finger, and before I can grasp his cock, he begins to have an explosive ejaculation. His abs are flexing tightly as are all the muscles in his legs. I see veins pulsating on his face, as he grinds his teeth together in the decadent indulgence of sweet bliss. His orgasm seems to last for a least a minute or longer. He gasps for air, as he comes down from a great high.

  His chest rises and falls, he’s trying to regulate his breathing back to normal. I take the shirt from beneath him, and clean him up as best I can. I throw the shirt, and the extra pillow below him to the ground, and climb into the nook next to his body. He grasps me tightly, and hugs me to his chest. He kisses me on the head, and keeps his lips in place. I feel comforted and more than a little proud of myself. I was able to give him pleasure that he could control and relax in, without him doing all the work.

  I’m incredibly aroused, but I feel satiated having watched his experience. I was the giver, not the taker, of the act and I liked it. This was more than just a hand-job. It was another way to deeply connect with the man I love, in a way that he’s comfortable with.

  “I love you, Rebecca. So much …,” he whispers as he falls asleep.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning arrives all too quickly. I didn’t get to see Wick at all yesterday, and won’t again until Friday. My agent and I are at the airport by six a.m. These people are going to see one haggard-looking model. Thank God it’s for hair products and not wrinkle cream, or they’d fire me before they hire me.

  It’s a productive couple of days. The company is a start-up, aiming at specialty high-end salons and retailers. They have a large amount of seed capital and are using it for a full-out media blitz. Glossy magazines, commercials, billboards: the works. They’re starting regionally, with plans to expand nationally within two to five years. It’s perfect for me. A few days of work every few weeks or so.

  Wick’s been at the station the last few days, and I’ve spoken to him only once. We’ve texted a few times, too, but that’s it. I miss him terribly. I’m thankful that my days have been consumed with meetings, but he’s in the forefront of my thoughts. I’ve never come close to falling for someone this hard. I think of him, I dream of him, and I feel lost whenever I’m apart from him. When I close my eyes, I see his emerald beauties staring lovingly at me. I’m hopelessly gone.

  Our flight is delayed by more than an hour, and we don’t land until late Friday evening. He sent me a text letting me know that he’d be waiting for me at my place when I got in. It makes every second I’m not there feel like an eternity.

  Barry pulls in front of my place, and I barely wait for the car to come to a stop before I hop out. He yells at me, and I throw him a half-wave goodbye. The door is unlocked but it’s dark inside. I thought I saw Wick’s car, but maybe I was mistaken. I wasn’t really paying much attention to the parking lot.

  I hear a light snoring as I turn on the lamp in the living room. He’s sound asleep on the couch, and there are roses in a vase in front of him on the coffee table. I want to pounce on him, he looks so adorable, but I let him rest. I know it’s been a long week for him, and I’m sure he’s been waiting here for a while.

  I tiptoe to the bedroom to drop my bags. The phone in my purse buzzes, and I fumble to dig it out. Melanie has sent me a text. It’s unusual for her to be up; she’s usually asleep on the couch by nine.

  Hi Bec, I hope all went well in St. Louis. Call me in the am. XO

  Strange.

  I wander around the room, so revved up from the trip and the anticipation of seeing Wick that I can’t seem to settle down. I turn on some quiet music and unpack my bag. As I lean over the suitcase, I feel strong arms surround me. He’s incredibly warm, and I feel every nerve in my body relax with his touch.

  “I’m sorry for falling asleep, gorgeous. I wanted to greet you with open arms. Do you forgive me?” he asks in his sleepy, sexy-as-hell accent.

  I answer with my body.

  I turn around, and meet his face with mine in a deep kiss. His warm tongue tangles with mine, and the warmth radiates throughout my system. His hands clutch my face, and move to my hair. He removes the clip I have holding my thick twist, and my hair tumbles down around our faces. He buries his nose in it against my neck, and inhales.

  “I like your scent, Miss Rebecca. This will do just fine …”

  “I’m glad you like it; you’ll be smelling it a lot. It’s one of the many products I’ll be pushing.”

  He digs his fingers into my scalp, and begins to massage it. I can’t imagine anything feeling better than this in this earthly world. We continue to kiss as he makes love to my head with his hands. A loud moan escapes my mouth, and he grunts.

  “Ooh, what that sound does to me,” he whispers through our kiss and I melt.

  He leisurely undresses me as our lips stay conjoined. He shuffles out of his pants, and yanks his sweater over his head. He folds back the comforter on the bed, and pulls me in with him. I think for certain we’ll make love, but we don’t. We kiss until we both fall asleep wrapped in each other’s grasp.

  I wake to the sound of Wick cursing quietly when his leg hits the bed’s footboard. I know it hurts, but he looks so cute I can’t help but smile.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, love. At least you look concerned for my well-being,” he says with sarcasm and a smile. “I have help my dad this morning with a project, but I’ll be back this afternoon. Can we have a nice dinner out tonight or would you rather stay in?”

  I roll out of bed, stark naked, and roll my tongue up the side of his neck to his ear. I whisper, “What do you think?” and he shivers.

  “You got it, love. Fuck the dinner,” he says as he looks down, and drinks in my nakedness. “This is really unfair, miss. I’m already a half-hour late from watching you sleep this morning. I couldn’t seem to tear myself away from your beautiful face.”

  I like his parents, a lot, so I feel a pang of guilt making him late.

  “I’m sorry. Call me later, OK?”

  “No need for apologies. I’d happily stand here all day and commit you to memory like that.” He shakes his head as he continues to stare. “But I do have to run. I love you, Becca, I’ll call you later.”

  With that, he’s out the door.

  I throw on some sweats, and start a pot of coffee. It’s early, but I’m too wired now to go back to bed. I remembered the message from Mel last night, and I know she’ll be up early so I may as well call her.

  “Hi, Mel, I knew you’d be awake. What’s up with that text last night?”

  “Hi, Bec. How was your trip?”

  “It was fine, thanks. Great potential for some steady work. Anyway, about your text.”

  “Can you come over this morning? I’d rather talk to you in person.”

  What the hell: Why is she being so evasive? It’s not like her.

  “OK, sure. I’ll see you in a little while.”

  I get to her house, and it’s quiet. It’s never this quiet on a Saturday morning. Someone must have died.

  “What’s going on? Where are Brian and the kids?”

  “They went out for donuts and Brian was going to take them to the zoo. He’s trying to spend as much time with them as he can before season workouts start back up.”

  She’s not looking at me as she speaks. She’s shuffling around the living room, arranging and re-arranging pillows on the couch.

  Nothing feels right about this.

  “Cut the crap, Mel. What’s going on, you’re weirding me out.”

  She looks up, and her expression worries me. She looks sad.

  “Have a seat, Becca,” I obey as she continues to shuffle around.

  “You have to sit, Melanie. I can’t follow you around the room it’s making me sick. You’re scaring me. What is going on?”

  She finally sits down next to me.

  “Well, Brian, Jason and some of the other players have been doing some off-season
conditioning. Jason thinks it a good idea to keep Brian’s Achilles injury flexible, so he’s gotten Brian into all kinds of different activities. The other guys have seen the benefits, so they all go along with whatever Jason recommends,”

  I’m trying my best to see how this will form into a story of magnitude, but I can’t.

  “He found a yoga studio in the city that he really likes, and the owner gives them access to a large private studio to do specialty training. Brian has really noticed a difference in his flexibility.”

  I throw her my best, “get the hell on with it” look. She nods.

  “Brian saw Wickham there on Thursday morning.”

  Ah-ha. This is the big build-up, they all know Wick does yoga. So what? They’d never know what type of yoga he practices, and even if they did, it’s no big deal.

  “I know, Melanie. Wick is really into yoga. He got into it as a type of therapy. It’s really helped him a lot, and I’m glad Brian has enjoyed it. Is that your big news? Trust me, you’re going to love a flexible man!”

  I start to laugh, but she doesn’t join in. She still looks way too serious.

  “I’m not finished, Becca. Brian saw Wick there with a woman. Not only that, he overheard an interesting conversation. You know Brian, he’s never one to spread gossip, but he was concerned enough that he told me about it.”

  My throat becomes dry, and my palms are sweating. I don’t want to hear this.

  “He said that he walked out of the studio to grab some water, and he heard a guy who sounded just like Wick. When he looked around the corner, Wick was standing in the hall outside one of the studios having a deep discussion with a blond woman. He said her hands were all over him, and she was telling him she loved him over and over again. Brian said Wick looked up, so he hid behind the wall. When he looked back, they were kissing.”

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. This can’t be possible. He was working all week, and he’s been complaining that he’s had no time to go to the studio for a session with Eric. My shoulders are tensed, tight as a drum, sending a shooting pain to the back of my skull.

  Poor Melanie looks like she’s about to be sick. This has had to be eating her up inside, thinking that Wick would do something this despicable.

  “I thought about not telling you, but I could never live with myself. I don’t know what it all means, and you can do whatever you want with the information, I’ll stand behind you. Wick has never struck me as the cheating type, and I know that type all too well. Does he have any ex-girlfriends that you know of? I thought I’d remembered you saying he never really dated anyone. Jesus, I can’t stop talking. Say something to make me stop talking!”

  She’s wringing her hands, and she stands up once again to re-arrange the pillows.

  It had to be Pam, but what the fuck? He would have told me about going to the studio and seeing her, right? He told me that they agreed they didn’t care for each other, so now out of the blue, she’s professing her love for him? Unless, unless … it isn’t out of the blue. Maybe he’s been seeing her the whole time. It would explain how he could so easily put me off me sexually if he was still “experimenting” with her.

  “Do you mind if I call Brian? I want to hear the words from him. I believe you, but I need to know what he thought he saw.”

  She shakes her head, “Of course, Bec. I understand, I’d do the same thing.”

  I dial his number, and he answers quickly. He must have known we were having this conversation.

  “I’m sorry that Mel had to tell you about what I saw. I hope you know I like Wick a lot, he’s a great guy, and I only mentioned it because I love you and I was concerned.”

  “I know that, Brian, and I love you too. Can you tell me exactly what you saw?”

  He reiterates what Melanie said, with one exception.

  “Whoever that woman was, she knew about you. I heard her say, ‘She isn’t right for you, Wick, I am. You know how good we are together.’ She seemed a little nuts, Bec.”

  I take Melanie’s hand, and pull her in for a hug. She’s sniffling as I leave. It takes all my strength to lift my leaden legs and get to the car. I feel like I’m more dangerous on the road right now, than if I’d drunk four bottles of wine. I’m hurt, confused, and I feel betrayed by the one man who swore on his life he’d never betray anyone ever again. I guess it’s true, that a tiger can’t change his stripes.

  Chapter 21

  Wick won’t be over until later tonight. I have all afternoon to stew, and that’s not good. I’ve been on my computer trying to spy on Pam. I found her Facebook page, she and Wick are friends so it wasn’t so difficult, and I spend a couple of hours pouring through it: typical pictures of family and friends, but none of the two of them together. She’s very pretty, and has an incredible figure. But I’m just adding fuel to the jealousy fire by snooping.

  He texts me a couple of times during the day. I miss you and I love you. Even through text, I don’t offer much in the way of a response. I’ll see you later, is the best I can do.

  I can’t wrap my head around it. He’s been so honest and forthcoming since our trip, how could he lie? He never told me he was going to the studio, but I assumed that he was too busy because of his work schedule. I would hope that a chance meeting with Pam is something he would mention, but I’ve expressed my insecurities about their relationship, so I just don’t know.

  At noon, he sends me a text saying that he’ll be finished early and should be at my place around three. I need something to occupy my mind for the next three hours, but every time I try to focus on something else, he creeps back in. My stomach is filled with dread, and I just can’t shake it.

  I open the freezer to stress-eat some Ben and Jerry’s, when I notice a vodka bottle. I know the notion one little drink will help calm my nerves, is the biggest lie I can tell myself when feeling like this, but I pour a heavy dose into a drinking glass over a little ice, very little, and add a quick splash of orange juice to make it seem less as if I’m drinking straight from the bottle. The next thing I know, Wick is standing above me, attempting to wake me up.

  “Becca, love, are you OK? Come on, you’re really frightening me.”

  My eyes grudgingly open to a face filled with panic. At first glance I’m thrilled to see him, but then the anger and dread flood to the forefront of my brain. He’s been lying and possibly cheating on me. Behind him I see the empty vodka bottle on the counter. Shit. I sit up, and try to form a sentence.

  “Wickham. What the fuck …” The words slide from my mouth without much form.

  He’s confused.

  “Becca, are you drunk? Why were you drinking in the middle of the day?”

  He couldn’t have given me a more perfect opening. If I were sober, I could eloquently express my feelings, but, alas, I am not.

  “You’re a fucking liar. Did you fuck her, Wick? Did she lick your balls, too?”

  Now he’s even more confused, and laughing at me, which pisses me off even more.

  “Don’t fucking laugh at me! Do you laugh at Pam?”

  His face pales.

  “Why do you keep bringing her up? I told you: That was long ago, and I didn’t have a relationship with her. You and I can’t move forward if you’re stuck in the past. I’m begging you to stop.”

  “No! You stop! Brian saw you with her at the studio when you told me you were working! He fucking saw you kiss her!” I belt out. I’m not quite sure how much of this is intelligible, it sounded garbled coming out of my mouth–but he heard it.

  He gives me a weird, sad smile, grabs his keys and walks out.

  What the fuck?

  My head is pounding from screaming, so I lie myself back down and pass out.

  * * *

  When I wake up, the sun is going down, and there are no lights on. My head is in a vise. My eyeballs are so dry I can hear them when I blink. I have a haunting memory of confronting Wick. Part of my mind is trying to trick me into thinking it was just a dream, but my gut kno
ws it wasn’t. I try to recall what I said exactly, but I can’t. I know it couldn’t have been good, because he’s not here. I look at my cellphone to see if he left any messages.

  Two texts from Melanie, curious about how it went, but that’s all I see. Nothing from him. I really fucked up. I wanted to have a mature conversation about all of this and get to the truth of what happened. Now, he’s seen me as some sort of drunk psycho, throwing accusations at him. It will be difficult to regain the moral high ground.

  After a thorough vomiting, I take a long, hot shower. My eyes are swollen as if I’ve been crying. I can’t lose him, but I have to know the truth.

  I feel little better after the shower and crawling into some nice comfy sweatpants. I have to get this over with. I call his phone: no answer. I send text after text: also no answer. He’s ignoring me. I’d rather be screamed at than ignored any day. I don’t think this is going to get me anywhere, I have to go see him. Now is not the time for vanity; I grab my car keys and drive over to his place looking like an extra from a zombie movie.

  My heart clenches when I see his jeep out front. Warring emotions of wanting to kill him and wanting to hug him jumble my thinking. I lightly knock on the door, and he answers. No shirt and low-slung, ratty jeans. I take that as a challenge to my fortitude.

  “Hi. Can I come in?”

  He nods, and takes a step back so I can enter. He closes the door, but remains stuck in the same spot. I feel his eyes boring into my back as I walk in and sit down. This is not going to be easy.

  “I apologize for before. I had a bit too much to drink,” I begin. He snorts at my comment. “And I don’t remember much of what I said. I’m guessing it wasn’t kind.”

  After a long pause, he comes to sit on the couch, but as far away from me as he can.

  “Why were you drinking so early today?”

  “I couldn’t wait to see you, but I had some things on my mind. Things we need to discuss, Wick,” I reply with a little more backbone this time. I have to remind myself that there is a reason I’m upset.

  “Yes, Becca, we do. Why are you so hung up on Pam? I’ve told you time and time again that it’s you I love, but and she and I have a history together that I can’t change.”