Fuck.
If this is what it’s going to be like being her bodyguard, I’m in for a long summer with a lot of cold showers.
16|Gabe
Axle whimpers at me as he watches the buzz and commotion continue in the living room. All day Vanessa’s house has been a revolving door letting in a parade of people who need her time in one way or another for the movie. I spread some mayonnaise on my bread in the kitchen and can hear chopped up phrases and laughter as the latest guest discusses her hair.
Grabbing a few slices of deli turkey, I layer my sandwich up on a plate, then put the food away in the fridge before I head to my room.
Honestly, I have no idea why the studio insisted that she have a bodyguard unless it’s for, some kind of an insurance thing. Who needs protection when they can never leave their house? I pad down to my room with Axle on my heels and sit on my bed. My dog knows better than to beg at my feet for crumbs, he’s too dignified for that. Instead he always lies in the furthest corner of the room and places his head on the floor flat, still watching me, still very much begging for scraps, but in the least obnoxious way possible. I always save him a good-sized chunk for his polite efforts. I’d much rather he do that, than whine at my feet drooling as I try to enjoy my food.
I lift the remote from the nightstand beside the bed and distractedly flick on the television. I don't even pay attention to the screen, but just want to listen to the background noise instead of the bursts of fake laughter erupting from the living room.
Vanessa needs a bodyguard like a prisoner in solitary confinement needs a cell guard. Except she’s not violent or in any danger. I don’t think she’s even left the house at all today. For all I know, she didn’t go anywhere yesterday either. She doesn’t even get to venture out to her own patio or enjoy her pool because her meetings with these Hollywood types overlap and run into each other all day long.
First, she had a personal trainer swing by, then someone dropped off a bunch of pre-made meals for her and picked up her empty containers, after that she was on the phone doing talk interviews, then some lady with a thick accent and horn-rimmed glasses stopped by to help her go over lines, and now she’s got a whole team of beauticians and hairdressers in with her. I couldn’t live like that, I mean, if you never get out in the world or have minutes that aren’t recordings of meetings, are you even living?
I munch on my sandwich and glance over at my dog. Him and I live pretty simple, but every day, we feel the sun on our skin and fresh air in our lungs. As fresh as the air gets in LA. anyway. I understand that this role is a huge opportunity for Vanessa and she doesn’t want to mess it up. But I’ve seen this before. Not with actresses, but business people who are on the cusp of making it. They put in all their time and effort to break into the mainstream telling themselves that the opportunity it will provide will all be worth the free time it steals from them and their families. Then, once they become the sensation they always dreamed of, they get stuck on a hamster wheel of working twice as hard as they did to make it, just to stay relevant.
There’s no escape.
They become locked in a prison of their own success.
I finish inhaling the bulk of my turkey sandwich and whistle to Axle. He stands up excitedly and wiggles his little nub at me as I toss him the part I saved. Axle catches the generous portion and he doesn’t even chew it, just swallows the remains of my sandwich whole. That’s one way to do it.
“Alright bud, let’s go take this into the kitchen,” I lift up my plate and slide off the bed. “It’s not our house, so we don’t want stacks of dirty dishes in here,” I head back out into the open concept space and am jarred by the silence. It’s been hours since the house has been this quiet. Has everyone finally gone home for the day? I put my plate in the dishwasher and tilt my head, listening carefully. No, wait, I do hear something.
Crying.
Ah, shit. I walk down the hall and can hear the muffled sobs inside Vanessa’s bedroom. She sounds like she’s bawling. I don’t know what to do. See if she’s okay? Pretend I didn’t hear anything? I hate when women cry. And I don’t mean those manipulative, fake tears when they want to win an argument. But that heart-wrenching cry that comes from real sadness, it’s impossible to ignore.
I walk down the hall and lightly tap my knuckles on Vanessa’s door and I hear her startle inside.
“Y-yes?” she sniffles.
“Vanessa, is everything okay?” I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t help myself.
“It’s f-fine,” she lies. “No it’s not,” she wails and I open her door, against my better judgement.
Flopped out on her bed with her face buried in her pillow, Vanessa’s shoulders shake as she sobs.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Concern tinges my voice as I stand in her doorway, cautious to cross the invisible line drawn across her floor. Once I cross that line, things feel like they could change, and I don’t think she wants that.
Especially not right now.
“I look ugly,” she sits up and I shake my head in disbelief.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Then I see it. They cut off all her hair. Well, not all of it. But what used to flow down her back in light brown waves is now cut blunt around her chin and dyed dark. It’s severe against her milky skin. Of course, her puffy red eyes are not helping.
“They cut it, they said my character needed a powerful look. And I let them chop it all off. I know it’s stupid to cry about my fucking hair, but it just feels like everything is getting fucked up. This was supposed to be my opportunity. This movie was supposed to be for me. Now fucking Erik is my leading man, they chopped off my hair and I have to lose fifteen pounds. I’m just starting to feel like this was all a huge mistake,” she sniffles.
“Can I come in?”
Her chin trembles and fat tears slide down her cheeks as she nods. Axle and I walk into her bedroom, it’s huge, probably the size of the entire first floor in my rental. But all this space doesn’t make her happy and all these walls, as pretty and decorated as they might be, still trap her inside.
I sit down on the edge of her bed and look into her red-rimmed eyes, gently putting my hand on her shoulder, “Vanessa, it’s a haircut. It didn’t transform you into a fucking troll or something. You’re still stunning, trust me,” I look into her light brown eyes and she looks away.
“You don’t have to say that,” she sniffles.
“You’re right, I don’t. And I’m not the kind of guy who just says stuff to be nice, okay? Not my style. I know that the Erik thing sucks, I mean, that guy is a fucking douche, but I think you still want to do this don’t you?”
Part of me, even though it would mean the end of this job and possibly my time with her, wishes she would say ‘no.’ That she doesn’t want to sacrifice her life and her happiness to make it in Hollywood. That she doesn’t want to starve her perfect body or work with a man she clearly can’t stand.
“Yeah, I do,” my heart sinks but I don’t show it on my face.
“Look, you could shave your hair right off and you’d be beautiful. Hell, you could melt a pot of crayons into a waxy wig and wear that around, guess what, you’d still be beautiful.”
She laughs and I smile. “Thanks,” she looks up at me.
“It’s the truth. Now, you know what you need?”
“What’s that?” She wipes away her tears with her fingertips and runs her hand over her new haircut self-consciously.
“You need to get out of here. You need to go blow off some steam, feel sexy and have some fun.”
“Oh, no,” she shakes her head violently, “I know what you’re thinking and I can’t go back to that club. Can you even go back there after that scene?” She looks up at me.
“There’s more than one club in the city, Vanessa,” she still shakes her head at me in protest.
“I can’t. I don't fit in there,” she whispers, but her protest is unconvincing.
“Listen, remembe
r what I said when I took this job? We play by my rules, right?” I’m not asking for her permission, and she knows it. “You will have some fun, no one will recognize you and you might even learn a thing or two for your character,” I stand up and head back to her door, “get ready to go, I’m taking you out tonight.”
She doesn’t argue, instead she gets out of bed and takes a deep breath, “Okay,” she agrees, “give me an hour to get ready.”
17|Gabe
Our Uber driver pulls down the familiar road of boring nondescript buildings and stops at the address. Vanessa looks at the condo lurching up into the sky and the uniformed man at the door.
“Why are we stopping here?”
“This is it,” I nod at the glass building.
“That’s not a club,” she protests but I give her a stern look and she purses her lips together tight.
“You’ll see, let’s go,” I open the car door for her and slide out, holding out my hand to help her onto the curb.
Tonight, there won’t be any paparazzi flashing pictures of me in my tighty-whities. They don’t even know about this place. The woman who owns this place has converted her three-floor penthouse into one of the most exclusive and secretive sex clubs in the city. Only the who’s who of the scene are invited to play here.
The doorman swings open the grand glass door and we walk through the marble lobby over to the front desk. Vanessa’s heels clatter against the floor as we approach, reminding me of the hollow echoes that bounce off the rundown house I’ve left empty for the summer. If the woman who brought me into this world had any idea of how I really lived, I never would have been allowed to come here.
Lucky for me, I clean up well. And I have a way of distracting people’s attention from boring small talk about where we live when I’m half-naked.
I recognize the elderly man with the pristinely side-combed head of white hair. I can see in his pale blue eyes that he remembers me too as we approach the desk.
“Good evening, how may I help you tonight?” He doesn’t give away that he has seen me here before, many times, or that he knows full well what happens at the top levels of this building. Discretion at every level is key to keeping a secret club like this one going, and so far, it’s worked.
“I’ve brought some rhinestones and chardonnay for Ms. Jillian,” I utter the familiar nonsense phrase that will get me inside. The clerk nods and leans under his oversized, semi-circle counter to grab something. He holds up two small bags and slides them across the desk. Vanessa watches the whole scene closely, like she’s studying what we’re doing without fully understanding it.
The man places a keycard on top of one of the bags and nods over to the elevator across the lobby that leads straight to the penthouse. “I believe you will find everything you need there,” he gives me a half-cocked smile. I grab the bags and the card, extending my arm for Vanessa, which she wraps her hands around a little uncertainly, and I lead the way to the elevator.
“What did you say about rhinestones and wine?” she whispers as her heels sharply clack against the polished floor with every step.
“Don’t worry about it,” I answer nonchalantly and swipe the keycard down the number pad at the side of the mirrored elevator doors, casually punching in the digits I know will make the doors slide open.
“Why are you being so secretive all of a sudden,” she pouts. The doors slide open and I lead her inside, waiting until they’ve closed behind us to hold up the bags. I reach inside each one and pull out our masks.
“What are those for?”
“You need to wear them at this place. That last club you went to was like amateur night at a karaoke bar, everyone knows about it and it’s not hard to get on stage, but where I’m taking you tonight is an invite only, discreet club. Everyone needs to wear their mask,” I hold hers out to her, the teal blue material shimmers under the elevator lights.
“Oh my God, is this like a real ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ kinda thing?” She blinks at the mask in disbelief. A shudder runs through her as she looks at the mask in fear. I can’t blame her, there were some cultish and frightening parts in that movie.
“No, nothing like that other than it’s exclusive and we wear masks. No one is going to be selecting you or taking you anywhere. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We can just have a drink or two and leave, if you want,” I explain and I can see the fear in her subside.
“Oh, okay then,” she giggles nervously and takes the mask from my hand.
I fit my black one over my head and look over at her. The teal surrounding her mask makes her lashes look longer and her large brown eyes pop. Vanessa, is absolutely, stunning tonight.
“You ready?” I nod to the one button just inside the elevator door that will take us to the top of this building when I press it.
“I guess so,” she sounds so nervous.
I turn into her and grab her hands, holding them against my chest, “Listen, the great thing about this place is no one knows who you are. Paparazzi won’t find you here. You’re completely safe here, especially with me. Once you’re wearing these masks, you can be whoever you want to be. It’s probably the same when you’re acting, right?”
“Yeah, I can see that,” she looks up at me and leans into me more, pushing away the space between us.
“So, why don’t you just relax and enjoy the scene,” I let her hands go and turn away from her, hitting the button.
The elevator begins to rise, up. When I look back at her, Vanessa looks a little disappointed, like she was expecting something I didn’t give her. I step back into her, pushing her back against the wall as I hold her there with my hips and she gasps, but doesn’t protest.
“When you’re here, with me, you can live out whatever your deepest fantasies are. When you’re wearing this mask, you can just let it all go,” I tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and she looks up at me. I can see the desire blazing in her light brown eyes and there’s a fire raging behind them. So why does she fight it? I slowly let my fingers travel over her jaw and down the side of her neck, hovering over her closer and closer until my mouth is almost on hers.
“What’s your deepest fantasy?” she whispers, but doesn’t shy away from my eyes.
I grind my cock into her and she moans softly, melting against me like her legs can’t support her anymore. I cover her soft lips with mine, kissing her urgently as my fingers dive up into her hair, tangling in her locks as I grab a fist full of it and yank her head back under control. I bite her lip and she gasps, her hands bunch up the fabric of my shirt, like she wants to tear it off.
As the elevator slows, I step back and look down at her face, her lips are swollen and begging for more without ever saying a word. “My deepest fantasy is you,” I murmur just as the door slides open behind me.
Vanessa opens her mouth but doesn’t have a chance to say anything, I grab her hand and lead her down the hall with a wall of what appears to be safety deposit boxes at the end. Before she can second guess all of this, I lead her to the wall and open one of the unlocked boxes. “This is where we leave our clothes, phones, all that stuff,” I explain, tearing off my shirt and folding it neatly before I lay it inside.
“What am I supposed to wear,” pink flushes her cheeks as I unbutton my pants and kick off my shoes.
“Whatever you wore underneath is fine,” I answer breezily.
As I place all my belongings inside, Vanessa turns around, “Can you help me with the zipper?” I can hear the nerves fluttering inside her as her voice cracks a little.
“Of course,” I slowly pull the gold tab down until the back of her dress falls open, watching shamelessly as she peels it down her body, revealing a sexy black bra and matching panties made from expensive lace.
I run my fingers over her soft shoulder and down her arm until I reach her hand, holding her steady as she steps out of the pool of fabric at her feet. She bends over at the waist and a groan escapes my lips as she teases me with her beautiful, plump
ass. Plucking her dress from the ground, she folds it over and places it on top of my things in the box. I close the door, locking our belongings inside.
“Ready?” I slide my arm over the small of her back and lead her to the penthouse door.
She takes a deep breath and slides into me a little closer, “Ready.”
18|Vanessa
Gabe saunters easily into the room like he owns the place. His tight, revealing underwear are navy blue this time, but every bit as scandalous as the pair I accidentally spilled my drink on the first night I met him. The thin fabric clings to his cock, curving around every ridge and hugging every inch. I want to slide my hand down his perfectly defined abs and wrap it around him. He’s so thick and he’s not even hard. I know if I circled my finger and thumb around his girth they wouldn’t even touch together on the other side.
My nipples grow hard and a flush of heat surges through me at just the thought. My hands are not the only things I want to wrap around him. I want to slide my lips over him and feel him fill my mouth. I want to wrap my legs around his waist and let him stretch me out, fucking me with raw, primal need.
I squeeze my thighs as my pussy clenches and grows slick with desire. The way Gabe makes my body react is new to me. Part of my problem with not being able to cum is I find it hard to get turned on. I mean, I’ve had plenty of sexy thoughts and imagined every dirty thing I could think of with minimal results. Nothing like the surge of wetness I feel in my center now.
Gabe leads the way through the penthouse, slicing past the crowd like he knows the layout intimately. He probably does. He’s probably been intimate in this place more times than he can count. Jealously splashes over me like a cold shower, sending an icy anger through my veins that I don’t really deserve to own. He wasn’t in my life then. Hell, it’s not like I have any say in what he does now. We’re not together.
But what about that kiss? What about the way he makes you feel? You know it means more.
My thoughts are interrupted as my eyes soak in the dark, sultry suite. I follow Gabe slowly, entranced by the writhing, hot bodies bathing in pleasure all around me. In the middle of the floor is a naked woman with four men propping her up as she’s licked and touched by all of them. There are two burly men whose faces are buried in her tits as they each suckle and flicker their tongues over one nipple each. She’s standing tall, her legs open wide as another two men dart their tongues over her most sensitive parts, one eating her out as he fingers her pussy the other keeps alternating between licking and fingering her asshole. All four men are attending to her, eight hands on her body, four tongues, every man working toward one goal, her orgasm. I can only imagine how overwhelmed she must be by the sensations. I almost feel dizzy just thinking about it.
Tinder Ella: A Modern Day Single Dad Fairy-Tale Page 34