by Kat T. Masen
It was obvious to me that whatever stuff he was supposedly dealing with, was largely influenced by his outlook. In ways—he was a sadist. Looking for his next problem rather than solution.
“And your bridge tattoo, the one of the Golden Gate?”
He smiles this time. “My favorite place. My best memories. Husband number two, Leonard, raised me for a few years there.”
“You lived in San Francisco?”
“We did, for about two years when I was ten. Most of the time we lived out here, you know, because that’s where the fame is at and we all know what Gina is after in a husband.”
Back home, this kind of behavior would be unheard of. Most people were still married, aside from my mom and dad, though that was the talk of the town for a long time according to Mom. I was oblivious to those whispers; busy growing up and enjoying my childhood. It was only when my dad returned that it all went pear-shaped.
“I know she doesn’t have the best reputation. She was nice when I met her.”
“She’s nice to everyone…to their face. Trust me, Gina has her ulterior motives.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean?” He laughs at my question, rather darkly. “It means that Gina cares for Gina…and whatever man is paying for her lifestyle. Gina doesn’t care for her son, nor what happens to him when she’s away and husband uses Gina’s son as a punching bag.”
My heart descends from my chest into my stomach, aching for the little boy that was forced to deal with such violence at a young age. It explained his disrespect for his mother, his need to control the environment he was in and his careless attitude towards his life.
“Wesley, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. You’re not the one that purposely went away on trips with your girlfriends because it was easier that facing your husband and son.”
He tears into a piece of chicken, though as much as he can laugh off this serious matter, his mannerisms reflected pain.
“Is that how you got the scar on your chin?”
“This?” He runs his fingers along the bottom of his chin. “Nah, this was me being high and trying to jump off a cliff.”
I’m left without any words. Suicide, or attempted suicide—is something I was uncomfortable talking about. I couldn’t understand the mindset of being in that headspace.
How could someone be in such a dark place and not understand how their death would not affect their loved ones?
But Wesley—is different.
It made sense, he didn’t consider having loved ones. At least, not Gina.
“Why did we go to the party if you can’t stand your mother?”
He shrugs his shoulders, leaning back into the chair and lighting a cigarette.
“Just to fuck with her head. I like her to think I care and she gets all happy then I fuck her over.”
My pity converts to being absolutely stunned. How awful that Wesley felt the need to hurt his mother. I could never imagine hurting Mom like that. When she was in pain, I felt it too. Sometimes more so.
“I can see your judgment,” he says, puffing out smoke. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re just like Em in that way.”
I bow my head slowly while staring at the food. It bothered me more that he compared me to Emerson than it did him admitting he enjoyed hurting his mother. I don’t know why it bugged me so much. Liam had an ex, this girl that lived only a few streets away. It never bothered me. We would talk when we ran into each other and she was really lovely.
His intrigued stare continues to linger. “You seem to go quiet every time I mention Em.”
“I don’t know, it’s just that you guys had something. Very special to be engaged to each other. It’s a big commitment and well, it’s kinda hard sitting on this side of the table being the assistant to your ex-fiancée.”
“We did have something. And I still love Em but not in the way you think.”
The words hurt. I swallow the lump in my throat, desperate to escape this conversation. The food—appetizing moments ago—has lost its appeal and I’m suddenly not hungry at all.
He lights up another smoke, taking a drag before throwing the packet down.
“I hate that you smoke,” I say out loud, angrily.
His eyes go wide with curiosity. He removes the cigarette from his mouth and puts in out on the ground. The packet of smokes in his pocket, he takes out, throwing it into the pool. I watch it float on top of the water, soaking until it begins to sink, slightly.
“There, happy?”
“Don’t do it for me. Do it for your health,” I argue back.
“I can never make you happy,” he raises his voice in frustration. “Honestly, Milana. What do I need to do for you to stop being so unhappy when you’re with me?”
“I just don’t know you!” I shout, in my defense. “You’re nothing like Liam…”
“No, I’m not,” he states, slamming his fist on the table which makes the cutlery jump. “I proposed to Em because the producers told me I had to do it, for the ratings. Yes, I did love her but I hurt her. We both fell into that reality world and have that connection. I do still love her, always will but not in the way I feel about…”
He cuts himself off with a blazing stare before continuing. “I did cheat on her and that’s my own fault. I’ve done bad things. I don’t know why, and I’ll probably continue to do bad things. Maybe there’s no hope for me… I don’t know. Or maybe my savior is the person sitting right in front of me.”
It’s a powerful thing to be called a savior. A title that held so much meaning yet something that frightened me. I had my own problems, my own worries. I wasn’t here to fix Wesley Rich…I was here to forget I had my own issues to deal with.
“We should do something fun,” I blurt out, smiling as I look directly at him.
“This is not fun?” He appears slightly offended and thrown off by my change of tone.
“It is fun…but I’m thinking something wild.”
“Wild?”
I remove my dress with a cheeky grin, watching as Wesley gazes with curiosity. Dressed in only my white bra and panties, I’m quick to remove those pieces, baring my body for him.
“I could think of many things that involve you being naked and the word wild,” he teases, leaning back into his chair, running his eyes up and down my body.
“Try and catch me.” I giggle, running from the table and diving into the pool.
The cold water graces my skin, a quick shock to the system as I hold my breath under the water before coming back up. I’d always wanted to swim naked, secretly, in my fantasies. I’d never done it. And this rush—the one throwing all caution to the wind and living for just this moment—is everything I needed right now.
As I take a few breaths, the water rocks with such force and Wesley has dived in straight after me causing the waves to build. The shadow of his body is underwater till he comes up right in front of me. Unable to stop the squeal that comes out of me, I struggle to release myself from the ticklish behavior of his hands under the water.
“Stop.” I laugh uncontrollably, squirming around beneath his touch. “I’m ticklish.”
Wesley stops, standing calmly. “You never tell a tickler you’re ticklish.”
My laughter dwindles down to a smile.
“I forfeit.” I raise my hands in the air. “You’ve got me. You’ve won.”
“Have I?”
“Yes, I just told you that you won.”
“Do I have you…all of you?” he questions, almost a plea.
The hazel of his eyes is staring back at me; deep and meaningful waiting for me to answer this question. We were dating—that was it. I didn’t want to confess to him that in only the short time I had been with him, he had made me feel more alive than I had ever felt in my entire life. Every moment we spent together made me fall harder…and that part—I wanted to keep to myself.
“Wesley.” I lower my tone, resting my hand on his chest. “You’r
e something.”
“Something? Like something awful? Bad?”
“Terrifying,” I slip, my guard falling to pieces. “I don’t know how to stop…”
“Stop what?”
“You.”
“Why does it have to stop?”
I try to pull away though he’s quick to pull me back into him. “I’m a realist. I have my life and you have yours.”
He lets go, much to my disappointment. “And what if my life is you? Then what?”
Never had I expected to hear these words from Wesley Rich. The same Wesley Rich that drove me crazy the moment I met him.
The sound of the wind rustling the trees hides the silence between us. I wanted him. All of him, and admitting that is so hard that I almost cry to myself.
“My life is my brother, my mom, my best friend back home,” I choke, dropping my gaze to the water and watching the calming blue to distract myself from getting upset.
His hand wraps around my waist, and slowly, he lifts my chin so our eyes meet.
“What about me? I’m the only one here, now, maybe forever.”
My eyes close; my lips touching Wesley’s in a long, deep kiss. Our bodies wrap around each other in the water as Wesley moves us slowly towards the edge while our lips remain locked.
His wet hair is smooth as I run my hands through it, moaning softly as our tongues battle feverishly on this warm summer night. Our bodies were like magnets, drawn to each other, a force so strong that neither of us had any control.
Wesley Rich was an addiction I just couldn’t stop.
Underwater, his knees bump against mine, forcing my legs apart. I gasp, holding in my breath as he enters me, keeping his pace nice and slow. Extending my arms back, I place my hands on the edge of the pool for support, riding him with my body half out of the water.
With my body a light weight beneath the water, Wesley wraps his hand around my waist, thrusting himself into me and freeing his other hand to tug on my nipples as they come out of the water.
“God,” he whispers, out of breath. “You’re so fucking sexy when you’re innocent. I bet you’ve thought about this. Fucking a man like me in a pool.”
My head falls back, exposing my neck as I allow my body to experience this pleasurable moment. My hips buckle forward, grinding against him and demanding he go in deeper. When my eyes begin to flutter, the kiss of his lips between my breasts sparks a violent finish as my orgasm rips through me.
“Yes,” I cry, my body possessed in the moment. “You…I want you…forever.”
The high begins to come down yet remains steady as he slams into me and shouts a string of profanities that echo in the dark night.
“Fuck.” He breathes in and out, holding me tight and still inside me. “You’re amazing.”
Two simple words that comforted me.
“Let’s go to bed,” I suggest, easing myself off.
He leans in, kissing me softly. “I have you all night.”
“Yes.” I smile.
Wesley’s sheets were cotton; Egyptian thread count of some number that Mom once told me only the rich experience. Inside his embrace—I felt safe.
“What happened with the girls…that almost drowned?” I whisper in the dark, my head resting on his chest.
He doesn’t answer immediately; his sigh loud in the dead quiet of his bedroom.
“We met these girls at some producer’s party. They were groupies, the typical girls that latched onto us everywhere we went. I have the bad habit of shouting people drinks but I didn’t know the bartender had slipped something in their champagnes and well…you know what happens.”
I choose my words carefully. “You didn’t murder them.”
Okay, dumb choice of words.
“I fucked Janet, the blonde. I didn’t know she had taken anything and I didn’t know she would go for a swim in the ocean in the middle of the night.”
It hurt, though I asked and could not blame him for sharing this with me.
“And Farrah?”
He lets out a groan. “What about her?”
“You know what”—I stretch my head, kissing his lips—“I don’t want to know.”
“Good, because I don’t want to waste another moment discussing her.”
The exhaustion begins to creep in and my eyelids become so heavy that I cannot keep them open nor carry a conversation. My limbs feel like jelly, and slowly—I fall asleep.
My eyes open wide as a noise wakes me from my deep sleep. Wesley is snoring softly beside me. The noise is voices, a few of them, coming from outside. I nudge Wesley softly, which prompts him to roll over. I call his name, shaking him to wake up.
He finally reacts, annoyed as I tell him there’s voices outside. Without saying a word, he gets out of bed and places a robe on, leaving the room. I’m utterly exhausted, worried, though trying to keep my eyes open. Again, my eyes open wide when Wesley kisses my lips.
“The voices,” I croak.
“Shh,” he whispers, “I’ll take care of it.”
He disappears from the room, but this time, I’m aware that he is gone. The noises are still outside so I grab the sheet around me and walk towards the window almost stumbling on some shoes.
The moon is out, bright and round. It provides limited light but enough for me to see a Jeep in the driveway. There are two passengers in the car, though in the darkness, I can barely make out of who they are.
A man, tall and wearing dark colors, stands in front of Wesley. They’re talking, nothing alarming and seem to know each other. They are standing too far away for me to hear their conversation even if I opened the window. I continue to watch them, cautiously, until their hands meet, a handshake that lasted too long. The man pulls his hand back, laughing before entering the car. Wesley lingers, then waves goodbye to them and heads inside the house.
I scramble to the bed, my heart racing a million miles a minute as the reality of what I witness sinks in. Wesley Rich is a bad boy, and once again another piece of his life begins to unravel.
There was no point in asking him point blank what I just saw until I figured out what I would do if he admitted the truth.
And admitted to myself that I could possibly be sleeping with the enemy.
Bad Boy Rich
I could feel her pulling away, slowly. Painfully.
I’m about to lose my mind.
Desperation intensifies my irrational and self-destructive thoughts.
Mind games.
Carnage.
No good could come of me in my own company.
I’ve always done whatever I could to avoid facing my own soul, but she made me do it. She placed us in front of each other, spotlight shining above, in the ring fighting a battle that was imminent. She may not have known she was doing it, stripping me to pieces in order for me to bare my soul.
I was covered in sins and she was my holy water.
She was the only person left who could save me.
My head tells me to get my shit together. Stakes are high. But my heart is the ultimate decider. And what do they have in common? They both want to shield her from the pain.
Then, stupidly, I realize—I’m the pain.
Inside—deep in the troughs of my dark soul—the coldness brought on only hate. I despised everything and everyone. But Milana Milenov—a name so angelic and pure—found a way to let the warmth inside.
I felt the sun.
The warmth and its presence every time her body was next to mine.
And, slowly but surely—it’s all beginning to fall apart.
Troy was a goddamn imbecile for showing up at my house and demanding that I owed him. Perhaps I did, but I didn’t trust him—not for one second. He fucked shit up wherever he went and there was no chance in hell he was getting anywhere near Milana. I made sure of that; I gave him the stash he wanted, a bonus amount on top and warned him never to set foot on my property again.
I needed out of that game.
The high was no longer worth the
pain. I should probably stop using, and it’s not like I did it every fucking day. The second she became mine, I slowed it down. I used when she wasn’t around. It’s why I made it my fucking mission to make sure she was always around.
She had become my addiction.
The morphine to my pain.
It was obvious the next morning that things were different. When I fucked her, she tensed, her mind elsewhere and distant. Her body was this sacred temple—one that I couldn’t get enough of. She wasn’t like other women I had been with. She wasn’t trying out to be the next biggest porn star. What she did was from pure pleasure. She tested her boundaries on me. I saw it, I watched it with an easing curiosity.
And that had become an addiction that remained incurable.
She is beautiful; beauty that cannot be captured in words. And that’s fine—I don’t want anyone else seeing what I see. She’s mine and I had to keep it that way. Not let that scum of a hillbilly ex promise her this rainbow-colored life with a ring and three kids.
No, fuck that. I would give it all—if only she would let me. If only she didn’t switch the subject each time I brought up anything to do with commitment. It confused the fuck out of me. Women wanted this. Babies, marriage…fuck, I get offers on a daily basis for this shit.
But not her.
She was different.
And it irritated me in ways that I couldn’t identify. Her hot-and-cold personality. One minute she would stare at me with her big brown eyes and equally beautiful smile and the next—it was almost an expression of fear.
She often gave excuses, telling me she was tired and normally, I would crowd her. Not give her space for the fear of losing her.
But not this time.
I walked.
She was in New York and I was here—holed up in a penthouse suite in Vegas surrounded by lines of coke though my appetite is non-existent.
Farrah was riding my tail. Texting me non-stop with empty threats. I needed to cut this bitch loose once and for all. Her name, and mine, in the same tabloid was not what I needed Milana to stew over. She already questioned me, though not forcefully and I said the bare minimum. Farrah didn’t deserve an explanation—her train-wreck of a life said it all.