by Alexis Angel
I try and fail to suppress a laugh.
I’ve been in Kara’s sexy ass every day of the fucking week lately. As has Chase.
“I don’t think you understand me,” I say firmly. “This isn’t going to end the way you want it to end.”
“Trot back out that door,” Chase suggests, just as firm. “Don’t come back in here again, and we’ll all just forget that this ever happened. Capice?”
“Oh…god. Wow,” she breathes. “You’re even hotter than I imagined. Look, please. Please fuck me? Pretty…pretty please? I could…I could suck you off. She wouldn’t even know. Our little secret. Just one taste!”
She looks on the verge of fucking tears. Like she’s going to cry like a bitch if she doesn’t get at our cocks right fucking now.
Then, something fucking occurs to me.
Something that I would deeply prefer not to be true.
“Have you been drinking Protein Plus?” I ask, keeping my cool.
She nods eagerly, like she thinks she’s finally found some kind of purchase in this conversation.
“Every day,” she professes. “Every day, ever since I saw her there at that pageant.”
“Right,” I say, sharing a look with Chase.
Fuck, his look says to me.
And mine says fuck right back.
“You should go,” Chase suggests, even more firmly than earlier.
“B-but,” she simpers. “The blowjobs? Just really quick—my boyfriend says I’m good, I promise—”
“Go,” Chase growls, and finally, that does it.
I can hear her fucking crying on the way out, too.
“We’ve gotta tell Kara,” I say as soon as the flight attendant is gone.
“Agreed,” Chase says. “She’s been drinking those fucking things more than anyone—”
“And if they’re making complete strangers this fucking desperate for us…”
We both look down to the gorgeous blonde sleeping on Chase’s shoulder.
“Fuck,” he says. “Then who knows what they’re doing to her.”
“As soon as she wakes up,” I say. “We tell her.”
“Even if we don’t know for sure,” Chase agrees. “As soon as she wakes up.”
Chase
“Morning, sunshine,” I say as Kara’s long, thick eyelashes flutter open, alerting me that she’s awake.
“Soooo sleepy,” Kara mumbles, curling back up against my shoulder and shutting those pretty blue eyes away from the world again.
I should have fucking slept during the flight, but fuck, man. She looked so fucking sweet, sleeping on my shoulder like that, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
I don’t even know what I was watching her for. Maybe in case she had, I don’t know, a nightmare or some shit.
Maybe because she’s just too fucking pretty to look at—especially when she’s not running that sassy fuckin’ mouth at me for once.
I can hardly fucking believe the man that I’ve become since I fell for this fuckin’ girl. If she was anyone else—literally any other little slut in the entire fucking world—I’d be worried she was making me go soft.
Lucky fuckin’ me, though, all Kara’s ever done is made me rock fuckin’ hard.
“Kara, babe,” Eric says, leaning in to kiss her forehead and smooth her hair behind her ear. “Wake up—we’ve just landed, and there’s something we ought to tell you before we get off the plane.”
“I don’t wanna,” she pouts, still all adorable and sleepy and shit. “Just carry me off the plane—I’m napping here.”
Eric and I share a look.
We both fucking saw how that flight attendant reacted around us, and we both fucking know what’s at stake if we’re right about why.
If Protein Plus is making women that fucking crazy for our cocks, it might mean that Kara’s under its influence, too.
In fact, at the rate she’s been chugging those fucking things, it definitely means she is.
Fuck, man. A woman this fucking hot, this sexy and liberated, this fucking horny, and this willing to take both of us at once?
Kara could have any man in the goddamn world.
If she’s only with us because we’ve fucking brainwashed her with our cum shakes, I’ll be fucking crushed.
But it’s best if we bite the bullet now. Tell her, get her off the fucking things, and let her sort it out.
“Kara, babe,” I say, trying to get this over with while we’ve got the chance.
“Look,” she growls into my shoulder all grumpily, “If you two wanna use your fucking mouths right now, go down on me. If you’re not gonna lick my pussy, then let your woman sleep.”
Our woman. If she had any idea what that fucking meant to me, she’d listen to what we had to say.
But while the prospect of going down on our woman here on the plane is an interesting one, it’s not the fucking time. Besides, the doors are open, and the flight attendants are ushering out the VIP passengers already. Thankfully, it’s a buff-looking dude attendant who comes to let us know we’re welcome to leave the plane—because if I had to see that fucking woman attendant again, I wasn’t going to be happy.
I lift Kara up and cradle her in my arms while Eric grabs our bags. She’s put on a little weight in muscle since we met her—which I’m pretty fucking proud of—but she’s still light as a fucking feather in my arms.
She catnaps the whole way through customs and immigration, too. Poor little thing must be exhausted—I guess before we left, we must have fucked her too hard.
By the time we finally get our checked luggage, she’s groggy—but thankfully, awake. I just want to get this girl to the hotel suite as soon as we can so we can break the fucking news to her.
I care more about Kara fucking Gilmore than I’ve ever cared about anyone in my life—and from the way she’s always cooing and fussing over Eric and me, I’m pretty sure she cares about us, too.
Whatever’s going on with these fucking protein shakes, we’ll sort it out together. Figure out what’s best for Kara, make a plan, and set it into action.
I just want her to be happy, man. I want her to be safe. That’s the important thing. Everything else—my own feelings for her included—it’s all fucking irrelevant by comparison.
Unfortunately for us, as soon as we exit the airport, I realize that we’ve got a different set of problems on our hands.
Problem number one is the goddamn press. As soon as we come out those doors, the world erupts in catcalls and camera flashes.
“Kara! Kara Gilmore!” some asshole with a big-ass professional-sized video camera shouts. “Tell us, do you take both dicks in your pussy, your ass, or do you take one in each hole?”
I slam the heel of my hand into his fucking camera lens before Kara can answer.
“Why don’t you bend the fuck over, buddy?” I snarl. “We’ll see how much of this camera your ass can hold.”
Lucky for him, he’s not as dumb as he looks. Little fucker backs away nice and slow without a follow-up question.
Unfortunately, he’s one piece of shit in a wave of media sewage.
“Kara! Kara! Do you sleep with both of them at night, or do they have a visitation schedule?”
“Twelve inches, huh? So would you say your holes are more wrecked, or would you say they’re destroyed?”
“Kara! Show us your tits again!”
That guy—the last one—him, I karate chop in the throat so hard he swallows his fucking cigarette.
“Can’t fight ‘em all, Chase,” Eric says under his breath. He’s shrugging his suit jacket off to drape around Kara’s shoulders and—breaks my fucking heart—she’s curled up beneath it, shielding herself from all the flashing lights.
This girl is a model, for fuck’s sake. She’s used to photographers, cameras, and candids. But these assholes are a whole new breed of fucked up, and they have no fucking problems making even confident, balls-out, in-your-face Kara Gilmore feel small and attacked.
“Right,” I sa
y, nodding to Eric.
We roll out, with me clearing a path and Eric protecting Kara. I put on my best Fuck with me and see where it gets you grimace, and when people don’t fucking move fast enough, I pick them up and chuck them out of our way.
“We’ve got another problem,” Eric says as we help Kara into the limo waiting for us.
I follow his gaze and look over the photographers, where—fucking hell—a large group of horny-looking women seems to be congregating, pushing their way past the press and prowling towards us like a bunch of hungry, half-starved lionesses.
I know it the second Eric points it out.
Protein fucking Plus.
Worst fucking idea we’ve ever had.
Eric slips into the limo after Kara, and I’m just about to follow suit when one particularly ugly, fat little Ron Jeremy-looking son of a bitch has the gall to push forward and shove his camera beneath my arm into Kara’s face.
“Kara, are you going to get fat again once Miss Sexy Universe is over?” he shouts at my woman. “Still a fatty on the inside, eh?”
And man, I know I shouldn’t do it.
I know it’s like, wrong or whatever, depending on what set of fucked up morals you happen to subscribe to.
And I know it’s only going to end up scoring me a conversation with my parole officer, with a lawsuit breathing down my neck to boot.
But sometimes in a man’s life, he’s just gotta make a fucking decision.
Does he choose the high road? Make a good example for all the kiddos out there and turn the other cheek?
Or does he take the squirrely fucking douchebag who just insulted his woman by the neck and make him eat the few yellowed, crooked-ass teeth the piece of shit has left in his shit-talking mouth?
“Fucking drive,” I say, getting into the limo and shaking a malformed front tooth out of the place where it’s embedded itself into my knuckle.
“Chase!” Kara gasps. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fucking better than okay,” I tell her—and then, yeah, okay. I fucking go for it.
I grab Kara’s pretty little chin, and I conquer her sweet fuckin’ lips in hard, lingering kiss.
It’s only when I feel something hot and wet on my lips that I realize she’s fucking crying.
“Aw, babe,” I say, looking down at her with concern. “It’s okay—fuck those people, they don’t fucking know you, they don’t know your life.”
“Yellow-bellied bastards,” Eric agrees.
“I don’t fucking care,” Kara sobs. “I’m done. This is over. I fucking quit.”
Kara
The fine china from our room service, the decadent spread of cheese, and the wine and fruit should technically comfort me, but…
They don’t.
I’m wearing a red satin silk robe that brushes smoothly against my skin. I’m lying in an insanely comfortable bed, sitting atop a cloud of fluffy pillows. The sheets are high-end thread count and feel good on the bare parts of my body.
I’m in in our lavish hotel suite in Tokyo. Everything about this hotel and the penthouse suite we’re staying in is covered with luxury, sweeping across the board.
In reality, I should be grateful.
Instead, I’m fucking falling apart.
I’m fully aware of the fact that I’m behaving like a spoiled brat or a complete bitch, but inside, I feel like I’m rotting. I’m not used to all this attention and being in the spotlight all the time.
And that fucking comment. That fucking photographer shoving his fucking camera to my face and calling me fat.
That took the cake—which, incidentally, is exactly what I want right now.
As much fucking cake as this body can hold. Death by red velvet. That’s what one shitty comment has reduced me to now.
I want to quit the pageant. In fact, I’m dead set on it. I feel like my mind is already made up and nothing the guys can tell me is going to sway me or steer my mental direction.
I fold my arms stubbornly across my chest. Chase has just returned from talking to the police and giving them a statement.
“What did they say?” I ask as he walks up to me and plants a tender kiss on my forehead in greeting.
“The photographer won’t be filing any charges,” he says assertively. “But he’ll be needing some extensive dental work.”
I blow out a relieved puff of air. “Thank God,” I mumble under my breath. “Thank you for protecting me.” I glance up at him with pitiful, tear-filled eyes.
“Hey…” he whispers softly. “Don’t worry about any of this. None of it’s your fuckin’ fault. If you’re blaming yourself, stop.”
I scoff and shake my head as the tears roll down my cheeks, salty and bitter. Chase leans in to brush them off, wiping them away with one gentle stroke of his thumb against my skin.
When his hand is close to my face, it doesn’t take me long to realize that his knuckles are swollen and black, an indication of bruising. The flesh of one knuckle is even bloody and torn where he caught one of the bastard’s gnarly front teeth in it.
He might be trying to reassure me that I’m not to blame for this little fiasco, but inside, my head is screaming.
Of course I feel fucking guilty. The guys are always stepping in front of me, defiantly protecting me no matter the costs or the repercussions that will unfold…but we’ll all suffer for those consequences one way or another.
We only just got here, and I’m ready to go home.
I’m exhausted. I’m a wreck. This isn’t who I am, and I’m done pretending that it is.
I’m not a model anymore. I’m not a celebrity. And I’m not Miss Sexy Anything—let alone Miss Sexy USA or Miss Sexy Universe.
It was nice, and I reveled in it at first, but now it’s consuming me with fatigue—and honestly, I just don’t want to deal with it anymore.
“I feel like shit.” I heave a dramatic sigh, but it still does nothing to relieve the heavy weight of the world that’s sitting on top of my shoulders.
“Talk to me, Kara. Tell me what’s wrong.” Chase’s eyebrows furrow with concern.
He and Eric lean on the edge of the bed, sitting next to me. Their expressions are so genuine with worry that it pushes me into a fresh batch of tears.
I choke them back and glance up at the ceiling. “I just can’t help but think that none of this would have happened if it weren’t for me.”
“Not fucking true.” Eric strokes my arm.
“It is, though. I’m the one who went flaunting our relationship around on national television like that…” I trail off in a shaky voice, then add the real kicker. “I’m the one who let herself get so fucking fat.”
“You’re not fat, Kara. And even if you were—who the fuck cares?” Eric says soothingly as he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You’re so much more than your appearance, babe. Your hot little body might have gotten you into the pageant, but it’s your fucking heart that the world fell in love with.”
Even though I’m wallowing in these destructive emotions, wading through darkness, their tender touch still sends sensual surges of pleasure up my spine.
“You guys are just sprouting off what you think I want to hear.” I remain unconvinced even though they appear sincere and I have no reason to doubt them…ever.
Even as much as I care about them, I’m just not in the mood to listen to their little rant about how I should fuck the press and do what I love.
I feel terrible for the way they’re caught in the middle of this whirlwind of media bullshit when the root of the problem is my fat ass.
“Ugh,” I groan and push back into the covers, burrowing my head into the pillows. “I’m so stupid.”
“Knock it off, Kara. No one’s gonna buy that,” Eric says adamantly. “You’re fucking brilliant, and anyone with half a brain can see that. You want us to shower you in fucking compliments, all you need to do is ask.”
“Fuckin’ hot, too,” Chase says. “Press is just trying to get under your skin.�
�
“That’s just it, though, isn’t it?” I say, staring at my hands. “Thanks for always trying to cheer me up…but like, fuck. They can see right fucking through me, guys. They know what a fucking faker I am now—I might be fit on the outside, but I’m always going to be the same fat ass who lost her modeling contract on the inside.”
“Kara—” Chase starts.
“No, fucking seriously!” I say, slamming my fist against the bed. “You think any of the other contestants are getting this kind of shit? I’m a fucking heyday for the press, and everyone knows it. I can imagine the fucking headlines now—‘American Fatty Takes Two Cocks At Once!’ It’s not just photographers, either. There were women in that crowd who looked like they wanted to kill me just for being fucking near you. What the fuck was that about?”
“Actually,” Eric begins. “About that, Kara. There’s something we need to tell you. Protein Plus—”
“Fuck Protein Plus,” I state firmly.
“Seriously, Kara,” Chase says. “We need to fucking discuss this with you now, before—”
“Look, guys, I love the shakes, too, and everything, but I’m not really in the fucking mood right now, okay?”
Ignoring them, I decide I want to eat my feelings and barrel through a hefty portion of calories like it’s water.
“I’m ordering room service. Pizza, burgers, fries, the works,” I announce boldly as I pick up my phone to dial downstairs.
“Don’t do that.” Eric rushes to my side and tries to remove the phone from my death grip.
“I’m eating until I pack the pounds back on,” I tell them. “The press wants a fatty—I’ll give them one.”
“That’s fuckin’ stupid, and you know it,” Chase says and gives me a pity glance.
“Well, I’m a fucking idiot, so I guess that makes sense, huh?” I shrug as if I’m unscathed.
“Don’t plummet into this self-destructive bullshit,” Chase says sternly.
“How do you feel when you look in the mirror?” Eric asks me.
I laugh. “What kind of question is that?”
“Just answer me.” His eyes are steel.
