by Priya Grey
“You feel better,” I gush.
He increases his thrusts, so my backside slaps against the bathroom stall. Some of the people in the bathroom giggle as they hear what’s going on. I suddenly feel a little embarrassed, but as Jackson continues pounding away inside me, any sense of shame quickly vanishes.
It feels so good that I can’t be self-conscious.
I decide to just let myself go and enjoy the role he has hired me to play. After all, what is there to complain about? I’m getting fucked by one of the hottest, most talented men on the planet. Kristi is right. Things could be a lot worse.
“Don’t stop fucking me,” I gasp. “Don’t ever stop fucking me, Jackson.” I say it loudly so everyone in the bathroom can hear.
Jackson lets out an appreciative growl. “You feel so fucking good, Ashley.”
At the sound of her name, I realize this is all an illusion. But as he continues to drive himself inside me… filling me with his manhood… taking my body to a joyous plane of existence that I’ve never experienced… I realize I don’t care.
This may be an illusion, but it feels fuckin’ amazing.
Chapter Nineteen
Jackson
I feel alive again. As I paint a lush–red line across the canvas, an exuberant joy rushes through me. I haven’t felt this sensation in so long. In fact, I thought it had disappeared forever. I never imagined I’d be able to pick up my brush and face a blank canvas again.
But everything has changed.
Ashley’s back.
I know it’s not really her, but when we reenact those memories, I’m too lost in the illusion to realize it. I know that sounds crazy, but it is nevertheless true. I miss making love to Ashley, and now that she’s back, I never want to stop.
I’m so grateful I ran into Rebecca. We were brought together for a reason. Because of her, I can live again. I know what I’m doing is strange. Some may even consider it creepy. But I don’t care. I’m happy again. And more importantly, painting again. That’s all that matters.
Someone bangs on my door. The landlord really needs to get the front lock fixed so people can’t just come in and knock whenever they want.
The banging continues.
I take a step back from the canvas and admire the work I’ve done so far. It’s not that bad, especially considering I haven’t picked up a brush in months.
It’s gonna take some time to get the rust off.
More knocking.
“I’m coming!” I shout.
I walk toward the door, annoyed.
“Who is it?” I ask before opening it.
“Jackson, it’s Harry, let me in.”
“Don’t you think you should’ve called first,” I tell him through the door.
“I’ve been calling you for days!” Harry shouts back. “You don’t answer your phone. I thought you were dead. Now, let me in.”
I forgot that I placed my phone on do not disturb a few days ago and never switched it back. When I glance at my phone, I see several missed calls from Harry. I place my phone back in my pocket and finally open the door.
Harry storms in.
“Sorry about that,” I tell him. “I’ve been sort of busy.”
Harry shoots me a look of relief. Then he notices my painting.
“Oh, that’s nice,” he exclaims. “I love it. It reminds me of that painting you did a couple years ago – Girl On The Street Number Three.”
I raise a quizzical eyebrow. “You mean Girl Walking Her Dog Number Three.”
“Yeah, yeah. That one. We sold that one for seven hundred and fifty-thousand. Remember? That’s when I realized my investment in you was really paying off.”
I simply shrug my shoulders. I learned long ago when Harry sees my paintings, he doesn’t necessarily appreciate the art. He’s more focused on how much money the painting could fetch on the market. I guess I shouldn’t complain. After all, in a very short amount of time, Harry has made me a very rich man.
I know this last year has been brutal for me, but I’ve only begun to realize how difficult it must have been for Harry as well. I’m his biggest client. And since I’ve stopped painting, the money hasn’t been rolling in the way it used to. When the money stops flowing, Harry gets very, very nervous.
“I love the reds and the blues you are using in this, and the hard lines,” he says as he closely inspects the painting.
“It’s not done yet,” I tell him. “I don’t even know if I’m going to finish it,” I admit. “I’m just fucking around.”
Harry turns and looks at me sternly. Then he points his finger at me. “Finish the fucking painting, Jackson. Or just let me take it as is. This is good. I can get somebody to buy this. Amanda will like this for the gallery.”
I shake my head. “Don’t take this one. I can do better,” I boast.
Harry steps back and looks at me with some amazement.
“What the fuck happened?”
“What do you mean?” I ask him.
“The last time I talked to you, you were a fucking wreck. I thought you might jump off a bridge or something. That’s why I’ve been calling you non-stop.”
Harry then turns his attention back to the painting. “I’ve been begging you to paint something for the last nine months. So, what happened?”
I look down at the floor and shrug. “I don’t know. I met someone.”
“Get the fuck out of here!” Harry shouts, playfully shoving me. He then points his finger at me. “See. Didn’t I tell you that you just needed to get your dick wet? Sorry I couldn’t deliver with that Tiffany bitch, but it looks like it doesn’t matter. You found your own pussy. Good for you.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Do you ever stop and listen to yourself?”
Harry ponders it for a moment and then shakes his head. “What’s the point in that?”
I simply shake my head.
“Give me details,” he says. “Does she have big tits. Does she give good head?”
“I’m not giving you details, Harry.”
“Fine. Be a gentleman. Fucking boring. Anyway, these are all good signs. You got your rocks off and now you’re painting again. Can you at least tell me this angel’s name? After all, she’s responsible for saving our business.”
I look at him and sigh. “Rebecca.”
Harry clasps his hands together and looks up at the ceiling. “Thank you, Rebecca. Because of you, we can go back to making money.” Harry looks at me with a gleam in his eyes. “When are you going to see her again?”
“Next week.”
“Good, very good,” says Harry with a vigorous nod. “When you’re not fucking her, I want you painting, do you understand? We got momentum. We can’t lose it now. You keep up this quality of work and our gallery showing is going to set the art world on fire. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Enlighten me,” I respond sarcastically.
“I get to buy another Lamborghini, and you get to upgrade that sailboat of yours,” Harry brags.
Then he steps up to me and pats my shoulder. “You know I was worried sick about you, Jackson. I’m glad you’ve finally rejoined the human race. Now keep fucking that pussy. It’s the medicine you need. I’ll get out of your way now. I came by to make sure you weren’t dead. Now that I know you’re alive, and painting again, all is right in the world. I’m going to tell Amanda we’re on track to deliver all the paintings we promised.”
I watch as Harry walks toward the door, making a phone call. “Amanda! It’s Harry. Our star is reborn!” Harry gives me a quick wave as he leaves.
Once he’s gone, I turn my attention back to the canvas. I pick up the brush and dab it in some yellow paint. This painting may not be the greatest, but I don’t care. It just feels good to be working again.
Chapter Twenty
Rebecca
The taxi drops me off in front of the gallery. When I step onto the sidewalk, I straighten my purple mesh skirt. I peer through the gallery window and see him sittin
g in the center of the room, his back facing me. He’s dressed in a white button down and dark slacks. A bottle of champagne rests on the floor beside him. Jackson lifts the bottle, takes a huge gulp of champagne, then places it back on the floor. Except for him, the gallery is empty. I guess Jackson used his connections and arranged to have it at our disposal.
Still standing outside, on the sidewalk, I take a deep breath and go over my lines. Like my experience with Jackson in the night club, this memory will be just as sexual. But it will also have an undercurrent of anger and intensity that I’ve never experienced with a man.
If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve never experienced any of this stuff before. What Ashley and Jackson had was so passionate and visceral. It’s a shock to my system. I don’t recognize myself when I’m pretending to be her.
But then again, at the same time, I do. It’s really weird.
As I finish going over my scripted lines, I take one more deep breath and push open the door to the gallery.
He remains seated, his back to me.
My heels click on the floor as I approach him.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I apologize.
“I’m surprised you even bothered to show up,” Jackson mutters. He picks up the bottle of champagne and takes another sip. He still hasn’t turned to face me.
“How did it go?” I ask, clasping my clutch purse in my hands, glancing down at the floor.
“Why do you care?” he replies.
“Someone’s grumpy. Why are you in such a bad mood?” I answer back.
He finally turns in his chair and glares at me. He then rises. “What’s wrong with me?” he repeats, anger in his voice. “You’re three hours late! Everyone was asking where you were. You promised me you would be here!”
“I sent you a text,” I reply. “I got called into an audition last minute. I had to go.”
He shakes his head vehemently. “No, you didn’t. I told you how important this was to me. And you promised me you would be here.”
“And I told you,” my tone defensive. “I got called last minute for an audition. I had to go.”
“This was more important,” Jackson asserts, visibly angry.
“Not to me,” I snap back. “Don’t you get it, Jackson? I’m not like you. I’m not successful. Not yet. I’m still a nobody. Your friends are only nice to me because I’m your girlfriend. But otherwise, I’m nobody in their eyes.”
“That’s not true,” he replies.
“It is true,” I counter, my voice rising. “Most people, when they see me, they just see a wannabe actress who’s dating a really successful painter. To them, I’m just one of those girls that finds a guy with money and latches on. And I refuse to be that. I want to be able to stand on my own two feet and have people respect me for who I am. But that’s not going to happen until I make a name for myself. That’s why I decided to go to this audition. Because I still need to prove myself. Until I do, nobody is going to take me seriously.”
I glance at the half-empty bottle of champagne resting on the floor. I wonder if Jackson’s starting to feel its effects?
Then I take a deep breath and continue with my lines.
“I’m not going to be with you, if I can’t be my own woman. I’m never going to be happy or satisfied just being your girlfriend. I need to be my own person and prove to the world what I’m capable of doing.”
He shakes his head in frustration. “You’re acting like I’m some asshole who doesn’t support you, Ashley. And that’s not what this is about. I don’t want you to just be some trophy girlfriend, hanging on my arm at these stupid gallery events. I wanted you here because I needed you here, as my partner. You promised me you’d be here, and then you didn’t show up. I looked like a fool. It pissed me off.”
I can sense the anger and tension in his body. It’s strangely turning me on, just like it did Ashley.
“Well, Jackson,” I reply with a teasing look. “Sometimes we don’t get what we want.”
He steps forward, my last line of dialogue getting him even more agitated.
“Are you trying to get me angrier than I already am?” he seethes.
I prepare myself for the tornado that is about to hit.
I look into Jackson’s eyes and slowly nod. “Maybe I am? I like seeing you a little pissed off. I like seeing you on edge like this.”
Jackson moves in closer. I can smell him and sense the testosterone coursing through his veins.
“Oh yeah,” he hisses. “You like seeing me like this?”
An exciting shiver runs through me as the sexual tension builds between us.
I lean forward and whisper into his ear, “If you’re so upset with me, Jackson, maybe you should punish me.”
I lean back and stare at him. His eyes are on fire, and I can feel the heat radiating from his tense, muscular body.
Jackson suddenly grabs my wrist and pulls me forward. I crash into his broad chest and look up, into his dark, fiery eyes.
I anticipate his kiss but then he suddenly turns me and shoves me against a wall. Not hard enough to hurt me, but enough so I know he means business. His strong, firm body leans into me. I turn my head, so my cheek is flush with the wall. I feel Jackson’s hands run up my legs and pull my skirt over my hips. He rips my panties off.
I nervously glance at the front window of the gallery. The few pedestrians walking by are focused on their cellphones and don’t bother glancing in our direction.
“Do you want to be punished? Or fucked?” Jackson whispers into my ear. He gives me a hard, firm slap on my bare bottom.
I flinch, then respond, “You know what I want, Jackson. So, give it to me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Jackson
I quickly unzip my fly, yanking out my stiff hard shaft. I can hear my blood pulsating through my veins. Ashley’s got me so riled up – so hot for her – it’s insane.
I ease myself forward. I’m surprised by how wet she already is.
“Don’t be gentle,” she breathes.
I take charge and push myself inside her. She gasps as I fill her with my thick cock. I thrust forward, ramming into her backside, reaching into her core.
I quickly glance at the front window of the gallery, to see if any of the pedestrians outside happen to be watching us. They’re all glued to their cellphones, oblivious to their surroundings. I continue to drive myself inside her, crushing her body into the wall. I smack her ass repeatedly and firmly.
“Yes,” she gasps. “Yes!”
I love being inside her, but my cock craves something more.
I pull out of her and step back.
She quickly turns and looks at me, her hair disheveled.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, trying to catch her breath.
“I want you to suck me off,” I order her. “I want you to take my entire cock in your mouth.”
She hungrily drops to her knees and wraps her lips around my shaft. She takes all of me inside her mouth. It feels amazing. As she bobs her head, I feel myself about to come and immediately have to pull her back. I don’t want to come in her mouth. I want to come inside her. I want to fill her with my seed.
I get down and join her on the floor. I press my mouth to her lips and then climb on top of her, spreading her legs wide to accommodate my big dick. I ease myself inside her once again.
Her tight, slick pussy clenches my shaft. She feels so fucking good. This is where I belong – inside her.
Ashley then rips open my shirt and begins scraping her nails across my back. I enjoy the painful sensation and crush her mouth with a deep intense kiss. There’s only one thing better than being inside her and that’s tasting her luscious lips.
“You drive me crazy, you know that?” I mutter in between kisses.
“Crazy is good,” she breathes into my ear. “It’s better than being boring.”
We continue fucking on the floor of the gallery. I reach for the top of her dress and tear it, exposing her breasts. I noti
ce the champagne bottle resting on the floor from the corner of my eye. I reach for it and pour the remainder of the champagne over her breasts. I lick the bubbly liquid off her pert nipples. Then I slowly glide my tongue up her neck and meet her lips. I whisper, “I’m in love with you, Ashley. I’m so fucking in love with you.”
She returns my kiss, savoring the taste of champagne on my lips. “That’s good, baby. Because I’m in love with you too.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rebecca
“I knew you had a naughty side,” says Kristi as we walk through the city’s main park on a beautiful, sunny day.
“I still can’t believe I had sex with him in the bathroom of the club,” I gush. “And then right there in the middle of the gallery. Somebody could have seen us!”
Kristi laughs. “I know. It’s hard to believe the shy, introverted girl I met my freshman year has transformed into a full-blown sex fiend.”
I shake my head, embarrassed. “I’m not a sex fiend.”
“That’s right,” teases Kristi. “You’re an actress, just like me.”
I look at her in disbelief. “It’s still crazy to contemplate how I got here. Up until a few weeks ago, the craziest thing I had ever done was give a guy a blow job in the back of his car. And that was years ago, during my senior year in college. Remember? What happened last night far exceeded any of my other sexual adventures.”
“You’ve turned into a tiger,” jokes Kristi.
“What’s even crazier,” I confess. “Is that sometimes I forget I’m playing a role. It’s like I become her. It’s really weird. I stop thinking about my lines, and everything just feels natural. But then when the ‘memory’ ends I’m reminded that it was all pretend. That it wasn’t real.”
“You’re playing the role of a lifetime,” remarks Kristi. “I’m jealous. I narrate romance novels for a living, but you’re actually living one.”