by J. C. Grant
He dug his phone out of his back pocket as he approached me.
“Why are you so mad?” I asked, genuinely confused. “I think it’s fun.”
“Goddamn it. I knew this was gonna fucking happen. I don't want this fucking town to change you. And it already is! You look like a goddamn popstar who’s trying too hard.”
He reached out, grabbing a strand of my hair. Or what he thought was my hair.
“Your hair feels like shit now!”
“It's fucking extensions, David! Calm down! I can't believe you’re reacting like this.” I sat up on my knees, facing him the best I could as he towered over me.
“It's not your hair?” he asked, suspiciously.
“No, but—”
“Then take the shit out,” he demanded.
“David, stop it! Would you fucking listen to me for two seconds?”
Before I could start, he continued, “Why did you want pink hair?”
“David,” I scolded at his inability to let me speak.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.
“After the shoot...” My gaze drifted up, searching for words. I finally settled on the embarrassing truth. “I was nervous, I guess, and I just... started babbling. And I mentioned that the hair extensions the stylist had in his bag were really cool. Next thing I know, he's putting them in my hair, and I didn't know what to say, and I didn't want to be rude.”
At my explanation, he visibly relaxed.
“And now he wants you to do something for him,” David finished knowingly, staring down at me with an expectant look. “So what does he want?”
I refrained from wringing my hands, but my voice still came out small and hesitant. “Two public appearances with me wearing them.”
His expression shifted to somewhere between annoyed and resigned. “Have you had any yet?”
“Alec and I went out to lunch after, so just one.”
I watched as David’s gaze darted up to the ceiling and blew out a harsh breath. “Fine. Get dressed. We’re going out to dinner. Sooner you get that pink shit outta your hair, the happier I'll be.”
I was still shocked at his anger.
He turned to walk away, but stopped short, looking at me. “I don't want you changing. I'm not gonna let Hollywood change you. I want you! Not some mutated, twisted version Hollywood turns people into.”
“I won't change, David.”
“You already have, Austin.”
“What?”
“You lost eight pounds?”
“Yeah, but—”
“You didn't need to lose it. I didn't even fucking recognize you when I walked in, Austin! I didn't recognize my own fucking wife!”
I could understand where he was coming from. But it still seemed like a serious overreaction.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't fucking change on me, Austin. Being apart is hard enough. I can't deal with coming home and not even recognizing my own wife.”
“I'm sorry. I—”
“Stop apologizing to me.” His voice was low and rough with his barely restrained fury. “Just get dressed so we can get this over with.”
He turned away then, heading down the hall toward our bedroom. I got up from the couch and quietly followed him.
Standing in the closet doorway, I watched him roughly empty out his suitcase. Then he turned, looking at me.
“I don't want Hollywood to change you. And I know it's hard not to let it—”
“David,” I cut him off, “I'll always be me with you.”
“Yeah,” he paused. “What about when you're not with me?”
“David.” I hesitated, not sure what to say. “I don't want you to change either.”
“Good, then we agree on something. And I'm not gonna change. I was living this way before I met you. The only thing that's been able to change me in the past twelve years is you. I know I'm not gonna change.”
He turned away, grabbing some clothes, and went to the bathroom, leaving me standing there speechless. Did he honestly think I was going to change, that my personality was going to change, that my feelings would change?
I sat on the bed thinking about his words and his reaction. Next thing I knew, he was looming over me, watching me.
Eventually, he said, “This is my own fault.” He sounded resigned and disappointed. “I got you comfortable letting other men touch you... How do you think that makes me feel? Knowing my wife couldn't bear to let other men touch her, now she’s doing it every day at work?”
“David, it's not easy.”
“Bullshit. Elaine sent me shots from the shoot. You and Alec were all over each other, damn near naked, looking comfortable as can be.”
That’s what his anger was really about, me spending the weekend in LA with Alec.
“It’s only easy with him.” My eyes pleading with him to see the truth.
He watched me for a long moment, his jaw clenching. He turned away, grabbing his boots and a pair of socks from the closet, and muttered, “Get dressed. I'm tired of seeing that shit in your hair.”
At his harsh words, I silently went into the closet, quickly dressing in leggings, a tank, a Rails shirt, and my boots, not bothering to even glance in the mirror. Grabbing my purse, I turned to tell him I was ready to go, but before I could say a word, he said, “Wash your face too. I don't wanna see you like that.”
I quickly obeyed, going to the bathroom and grabbing some tissue. I paused, looking at myself in the mirror. I finally understood what he was talking about.
I didn't look like me.
At all.
I couldn’t help but wonder if my altered appearance made him feel the same way I felt whenever I saw The David.
Carefully, I wiped away the contouring and overly defined lip liner, replacing it with my own lipstick. When I turned around, he was leaning in the doorway, muscled arms crossed over his defined chest, watching me with a predatory gaze.
“Much better,” he rasped. “Can actually see my sexy wife now.”
I walked over to him, looking up at him from under my eyelashes.
“I'm not gonna change, David. It's just makeup and extensions.”
He made a growling sound in his throat and said, “Freaked me out when I walked in. Could've warned me.”
“Well, I would've, but I wasn't expecting you until morning.”
“Do you actually think I'm gonna wait till morning,” he asked as he gripped my ass tight, squeezing, “when I have this at home waiting on me?”
I pressed my face into his chest, breathing him in, and smiled. Then I realized my fingers were digging into his sides, squeezing.
“Looks like you missed me too,” he growled.
I gave him a small nod but didn't say anything.
“Let's go do this so we can take those things out of your hair,” he said as he pulled away.
“Oh, come on. We could role play. You could pretend like I was someone else. We can pretend like were strangers cheating on our spouses.”
He stopped short, giving me a hard look over his shoulder. “Can't imagine anything that would turn me on less.”
I quickly realized my faux pas and kept my mouth shut, knowing sorry wouldn't be what he wanted to hear either.
Trying another tactic, I reminded him, “Hey, you promised me sex tapes.”
He turned, looking at me. Studying me.
“I need them,” I pleaded sweetly. Innocently.
“Well, I'm home for seven days.” His voice was low and smooth and sexy as hell, and a devilish smirk formed on his chiseled face. “So I think we can work something out.”
****
Seven weeks passed by, each one worse than the last. Not seeing David every day wasn't hard, it was miserable. I hadn't realized how much it would affect me. I was getting depressed.
It had been the same old, same old, except I was no longer traveling to meet him. In fact, Denver was the last time I had. I didn’t go to his games anymore, or even watch them on TV�
��it was too painful.
Even when he was home, it didn’t matter. It felt like we were letting go of each other. It was little things, like David not asking any questions when Alec and I went to a movie premiere, or the nights we spent at the Chateau—though David had reserved the penthouse for me, he was never concerned with what I did while I was there. It was like his possessiveness and jealousy had just disappeared. I was lying on the sofa in my trailer, Chance stretched out next to me, when my phone rang.
“Sweet girl,” David purred when I answered.
I wasn’t expecting a call from him for at least five more hours. “What happened to your game?”
I hated to admit it, but I’d started dreading our calls. And I couldn’t seem to shake that nasty, niggling thought in my mind.
I’m not there. I don’t really know what he’s doing.
The David could have any woman he wanted—if all the videos of his fawning fans were accurate.
I’d been trying to keep myself busy with work, which was fairly easy, doing anything to keep me from obsessing over what he was doing.
David was right. My character cheated on her man. A lot. They weren’t explicit scenes—my body double was doing those—but two men, that were not Alec or David, had kissed my neck and chest in the past week. I could still feel them on me. It felt disgusting. I needed David, needed his rough touch to erase theirs, needed him to own me, to make me feel safe. Wanted. Loved.
“We had an afternoon game today.” From his tone, I had a feeling I was supposed to know that. Or he’d already told me that.
“Cool.”
“Been calling... still on set?” he checked.
“Yeah, in my trailer now, and for the next hour or so. They’re setting up another scene.”
“Really?” he purred suggestively.
“Yep,” I responded efficiently.
I knew what he wanted, but I just wasn’t feeling it anymore. The sex tapes hadn’t had the effect I’d imagined, they just made me miss him more. And the phone calls were depressing. FaceTime fucking, phone sex... it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t get myself off anymore; the only orgasms I had were the ones David gave me. And he was hardly ever around.
“Want me to FaceTime you?” His voice was low, as if he was telling me a secret in a crowded room.
“No.” My voice was soft, exhausted. “I just want to relax. Take a nap with Chance, if I can.”
“Okay?” He sounded equally stunned, confused, and hurt. “Did you get the Louis Vuitton luggage set?”
“Yeah, they’re amazing. Thank you.”
The luggage was beautiful, but too much. The style was discontinued, and the set delivered was clearly new.
Custom order...
Gifts had been coming everyday he was away, for the past three weeks. It was excessive and ridiculous. And I was starting to resent them, because I didn't need gifts. I needed him. His possessiveness. His aggression.
Without it, I felt unwanted.
I didn't need him twenty-four seven, but I did need him every day.
“I’ll talk to you later, have a good flight.” I tried for sweet and happy, but failed miserably.
“Uh... Kay?”
He sounded like he wanted to say something else, but I hung up before he could. I had successfully avoided having any real conversations with him for the past couple weeks; I didn’t want to breakdown on him, put more stress on him. He had enough stress as it was. His job was taxing, physically and mentally, far beyond anything I had imagined. I didn’t want my issues to drag him down.
David
It was pure fucking torture. I never should've agreed to it. Letting her stay in LA while I traveled. Letting her work with Elaine. Giving her what she wanted, instead of what she needed. I fucking knew better, but I hadn’t wanted to take away her life-long dream. Now I was afraid I was losing mine because of it.
“Mr. Taylor, we’ll be in Burbank in just around three hours,” Dennis greeted me as I boarded the plane. He had become our regular pilot. He had an impeccable safety record and never leered at Austin—per Fergus. As long as those two things remained true, he would remain our pilot.
“Thanks.”
Dennis had quickly discovered when I was flying to see Austin, I didn’t want pleasantries, I wanted to get there as quickly as possible.
Taking my seat—the same seat I took every time—I turned my head, feigning looking out at the Tarmac, and breathed deep. Austin’s scent still lingered in that seat, as if she had fallen asleep with wet hair and freshly applied perfume. Or maybe she had gotten her products on it that time she got ready on the plane, excited to see me and wanting to look her best. That seemed like a lifetime ago.
I understood why she didn’t want to come to me anymore. She was just coming out and crashing in my hotel room until I woke her up to fuck her after my game.
Though, sometimes I didn’t bother waking her up.
Fuck, I love that girl.
I’d waited my whole life for her.
Someone who needed me. Someone who understood me. Someone I could take care of. Someone who’d be mine.
Absolutely, completely mine.
But lately it didn’t feel that way.
Austin had been withdrawing a little more each day. Ever since we made the sex tapes, she had changed, and not in the way I had expected. She stopped asking me about my day, how I was, telling me she missed me. And she would get off the phone before I could ask her anything.
I had so many questions: How were the sessions with Vaughn? How was she handling the scenes at work?
Yes, I knew everything she did all day—courtesy of Fergus—and it was slowly killing me, if the crippling pain in my chest was any indication.
And I couldn’t stop replaying our last real conversation from weeks before,
“You could have a girl lying next to you right now. You could've told her to be quiet while you called your wife.”
As much as the thought sickened me, it was true. And the way she turned me down flat for phone sex...
Rejection stung like a bitch.
I couldn’t help but worry her destructive coping mechanism had kicked in. Two different men had their lips on her while filming the current episode, and even though I knew, had prepared myself for it, I still had the cold knot in my stomach from when Fergus confirmed it. What bothered me most was that Austin hadn’t told me. Hadn’t said a thing.
If we lived anywhere else, I wouldn't have worried so much. But we didn't. We lived in a town full of men and women looking for their next trophy, conquest... or just to trade up.
I didn't think Austin was, but I also knew I wasn't giving her what she needed. I could tell from her voice, the time and distance was hurting her. I didn’t want to admit it, but Austin had been right. From that first day, when I left for training camp, she’d known. Known we couldn’t handle the separation, knew it would be too much.
The whole fucking situation was my fault, but I’d come up with a plan to fix it. I just hoped it wasn’t too late.
Reaching across, I grabbed her blanket off the adjacent seat. I’d stolen it from her trailer last time I was there; it held a faint hint of her natural smell. What could I say? I was an addict and I needed my fix. Burying my nose in it, I took a deep breath. Something inside me released, the tension easing. Reclining my seat back, I kept the blanket close to my face and tried to sleep.
But my mind wouldn't stop conjuring up different scenarios.
Was there someone else?
Someone she worked with?
Fergus?
Unable to help myself, I called Alec.
*****
Quietly, I slipped into the house, making my way to our room. When I pushed our bedroom door open, relief washed through me.
She was alone.
I hadn't realized until that moment that I thought she might not be. Apparently, Alec’s words hadn’t been as comforting as I thought.
Setting my bag down, I kicked off my boots, pulling
off my shirt as I made my way over to the bed. Soon as I was free of my jeans, I crawled in behind her.
She was curled up on her side, facing the window, wearing nothing but a bra. The faint moonlight gave her an ethereal glow.
I hesitated, fearing rejection again, before shoving it aside, spooning around her, burying my nose in her hair. She smelled warm and sweet and... she smelled like home. After talking to Alec, all I wanted was to hold her, pull her into me and never let go.
It was my fault she was hurting. My need to protect her. From me. From my irrational instincts. It was hurting her. But it was the only way I knew how to keep her.
She shifted then, snugging her sweet ass against my hips, nestling my length between her cheeks, molding our bodies together as she settled into me with a sigh. My cock hardened, and an aching need pounded through me.
Hold her? Yeah, I was going to hold her. Hold her while I buried my cock in her hot little body.
Goddamn, she made me crazy. Everything about her was so right.
My hand moved up her thigh, groping and squeezing along the way, over her hip, and across her stomach, cataloging all those curves I’d missed. My fingers tucked inside her bra and I paused, remembering Alec’s words,
“She seems depressed.”
Fuck, I knew how to fix that.
Yanking the cup down, I palmed her bare breast, kneading roughly. I pinched her nipple and watched as she arched into the cruel touch, small, needy noises spilling from her lips.
This was what happened every time I tried to be sweet. She reacted violently to me, to my presence, to my touch—even in her sleep—turning my innocent desire into an animal need. And goddamn it, I was weak.
I played with her breast until her hips wiggled, pressing into me. Without even checking, I knew she was wet. Unable to resist, I pushed my cock down, letting it rest against her sex. I held my breath and gripped her hips, waiting for what came next.
She did the same thing every time, and it only took a second. Her hips rocked, instinctively sliding along my length, massaging her clit with the ridge of my crown.