by Fifi Flowers
Marco? How did he know about Marco? Unless, it was true. Marco was back in the picture. It wasn’t long after hearing Sofie’s outburst that I started receiving photos of Sofie and Marco from an unknown caller ID, on my newest phone.
I didn’t really believe Sofie would pick up where she left off with Marco. I knew she loved me. But it was obvious she turned to him for comfort. How long would it be before they got back to their old relationship? Time to move faster.
Chapter Two
Sofie…
Lowering myself into a nice, warm bath in my hotel room, tears escaped as I wished the nightmare away. It had to be a bad dream, right? I wanted answers.
How?
When?
After I left?
A late night?
Was it not real?
Had I made a mistake?
He came home one night drunk, delivered by taxi. He said he was out with some crew members. Was that the time of his sex tape debauchery? Drake had told me, on more than one occasion, how much he hated the lying, the cheating, and the deception within the industry. How could he make these statements? Then do the same. It didn’t make sense. None of it. He came to LA for me. He left his work, his home, his family, his friends—his life. He could hardly say that I didn’t satisfy his needs. Since his arrival, we fucked like animals in heat. We never skipped a day. Often, more than once a day, we mated. Granted, I didn’t bring another woman into our bed. Is that what he wanted? Was I not enough?
I wanted to go home. I wanted to curl up in a ball until the pain subsided. Would it ever go away? I had never felt this utter sadness . . . devastation . . . betrayal . . . love loss. I couldn’t believe it. I was finally in love, for the first time in my life, at thirty-something. My first love. Now, my first heartbreak. Never again. I should’ve kept my heart guarded. I didn’t need this. I had a job to complete. I had no choice but to stay. There was no escape. I had to soldier on.
After giving David a short explanation, stating Drake and I were over, I closed the discussion. Of course, he offered me a shoulder to cry on. I let him know that I did appreciate the offer, and when or if I was ready, I would take him up on it. I knew I never would. After all, David was Drake’s friend first. Besides, I wasn’t sure what to say. I had never had a situation with a man. Nor a relationship with a man. The only time we spoke about romance issues, they were about he’s coupling with his wife, Danelle, whom everyone called Nelle. Since I introduced them, he had often confided in me. I freely gave him advice. How did I know how to give him advice? Common sense. Not reality. Not experience. Funny that I should suggest what he should do. I guess, maybe it was my own ideals . . . what I would want my man to do, if I had one.
Why had it taken so long to find a man or let one in? Why Drake? I had been with several men over the years. Hmm, that sounded kind of slutty. However, it was true that I had experiences with men, but nothing more than a couple dates or casual sex. In high school, I was a bit of an artsy wallflower. I preferred hanging out in art museums and galleries. Boys didn’t fancy art . . . nor did they fancy me. Fortunately, funky girl chic worked in college, making it easy for me to finally lose my virginity. Once I made my way in to the job force, I traveled often. I was always on the go. On the run . . . away from commitment. When I thought about it, it was unusual that I didn’t strive for more. I was raised in a happy, loving environment. My parents were still married, just over thirty-five years. Yet, Gracee and I were still unwed and childless. Bizarre.
Speaking of my sister, Gracee, before heading back to LA, I contacted her. I needed a place to stay since I had already informed Lila to give Drake the go ahead to remain in residence until filming concluded. Gracee assured me I could say as long as I liked. She had no idea when she would return from San Francisco. “Sorry for being such a bad big sister, Sofapillow.”
“You aren’t bad. Believe me, I completely understand,” I replied as she continued to explain her absence.
“My new client is proving to be such a challenge. He is not satisfied yet. Not that I’m complaining. He’s gorgeous.” I sighed a little louder than I meant to, causing her to apologize again. “Sorry. Last thing you want to hear about, is a man.”
“It’s okay. I’m happy you have found one that has captured your attention. One that has you tied to one spot. That is amazing!” I laughed and she joined me.
“You have no idea, Sofapillow . . . no idea… But hey, enough about me, tell me exactly what’s going on. I don’t have a shoulder for you. I do have an ear that…” Muffled sounds drown out the rest of her sentence.
“Gracee. Sounds like you’re busy. I’ll be fine. Go. Thanks for the house. Please come home soon. I miss you.”
“Sorry. Sorry. I’m the worst sister, but you’re right, I have to go. I don’t need to get in trouble,” she said with a definite, strange giggle. “Love you.” She clicked off before I could say goodbye. I hoped that she wasn’t in over her head. In the same breath, I hoped that whomever was dragging her off, was someone fabulous. She deserved the best. I, on the other-hand, deserved a friend, at this moment. I had someone already in mind.
Marco. Yes, I requested his presence. I got lucky. He was on his way out West. His newest job was working as the stage manager for a musical, which had a six-week-run, at the beautiful Art Deco Pantages Theatre in Hollywood. Happily, he accepted my invitation to stay at Gracee’s 1920s Mediterranean-style, mini-mansion in Beverly Hills with me. He proved to be just the right medicine for my ailing heart.
We shopped.
We dined.
We took in the theatre, both live and cinematic.
We floated in Gracee’s heated pool.
We chatted about our romances. His new beginning. My failed ending.
He was one of my best friends. He was perfect for comforting me on my first breakup. He was a godsend on my days off.
Back on the set or on location, I relied on Lila to keep the Drake path clear. I swear on a couple occasions she steered me directly toward stormy territory. Once, I nearly fell right into the arms of my ex-lover. A quick move, ensured my narrow escape of his strong hands, ones I longed to feel all over my body that tingled, whenever he was close by. Even minus the direct contact, the touch was there; his lavender eyes penetrated my soul, and I nearly stopped breathing. A lump formed in the back of my throat as I choked back a waterfall of tears that threatened to cascade at any moment. With one last glance, I clutched my chest to keep my heart from shattering, then walked away as fast I could. I ached every time I caught a glimpse of him.
Worse than being around Drake, were the times I had to deal with Blaine. Especially, when he saw Drake anywhere remotely near us. He would instantly move in closer. Corner me. Touch me, if he could. Those moments, he gave me the creeps. One day, I had had enough and I blew up in his face. My words seemed to roll off of him. They didn’t faze him. He laughed at me, of course. I wanted to scream louder. He wanted to get to me. He wanted to get to both of us. I wanted to hurt him . . . slap him, and even more so when he mentioned Marco. He didn’t know Marco. How could he know about my once-upon-a-time commingling with him?
I was confused. Turning to flee from Blaine, I saw that his sinister laughter was directed toward Drake, who looked hurt. His face displayed a sullen expression, his shoulders hunched. I wanted to say something. I wanted to explain. At least, he knew I wasn’t interested in Blaine. Marco was a different story. Nothing was between us. Nothing ever would be again, but to Drake, I was sure he was reminded of the conflict with Marco in Boston. I wished, like last time, I could reassure him. That he could claim me like he did in the park . . . and on the set, after one episode, when Blaine was too close for comfort to me, according to Drake.
Late one night, as soon as the soundstage cleared out, Drake pushed me to a bed, on the set that was used for a shoot earlier in the day. His eyes were darkened. He wore a sexy smirk. He licked his lips before attacking my mouth. I moaned and bit his lower lip, stretching my fingers through hi
s hair, he deepened our kiss. I wanted him to take me home. He wanted me right that minute. His fingers pulled at my clothing. “Not here, Drake,” I panted. He didn’t listen. “Let’s go to the trailer.” I tried to pull away. It was no use.
“I want you now.” His hands grabbed my hair at the nape. He devoured my mouth. He really didn’t need to convince me. He could have me anytime. Anywhere. Publicly. Privately. I was his. He didn’t need to prove it, but I loved it when he did. For his benefit, I pretended to be against his PDAs.
Breaking our kiss, he continued his demands, “Here!” standing his ground. Gripping my waist tightly, his voice reminded me of when he fucked me in The Commons. He was jealous of Marco then . . . now, it was Blaine. The look on his face, the tone of his voice, had me soaking wet and throbbing for him. I would do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t long before he let me know. “Now. Take off your clothes. Get on the bed. Spread your legs.”
Backing up, out of his reach, I slowly removed my top over my head, revealing a pink demi-bra with black polka dots, paired with matching panties. I tried to be playful with a couple sexy dance moves. He wasn’t playing. He quickly discarded his clothes, and then reached for me. He was so serious. A man on a mission. I was lifted on to the bed, my bra was unclasped, and my panties were ripped from my body. “For once, you wear panties,” he snickered as he tossed the damaged scrap of fabric, pushing me on to my back. He then grasped my thighs, pulling me abruptly to the very edge of the bed. I knew this would be fast. I knew it would be rough. I knew he was claiming me, once again. As I expected, he took me in one swift move, all the way to the hilt, making me moan from the sheer pleasure of his length. He proceeded to pound my sex perfectly. I cried out as he hit all of the right spots while feasting on my breasts. Filled with his hardness over and over, slipping in and out of me . . . so good, he took us all the way home.
He always made me quiver with delight, no matter where we were. God, how I missed him. As I thought back on that night, when Drake reminded me that I was his, I realized he fucked me on the same bed he was fucking the two women. Holy shit, he had fucked them on the set, too . . . in the sex tape. Suddenly, that time entwined didn’t feel so right . . . so special. It was no longer our magical moment . . . location. My stomach turned. How? How could he? I thought he loved me.
What was it with Hollywood? Did it change people? Did you get so wrapped up in the heat of the moment? The fake, fake moments of lust. That had to be what happened. People were only human. All day on a set, under cameras, surrounded by people directing every inch of your sexual moves. Yes, it was anything but sexy. Yet, let’s face it, feeling a naked body up against yours has to cause some stir to one’s libido. Many acted on those feelings. Many did not. I was sure that Drake would be one that would not. It looked like I was wrong.
Maybe I didn’t really know him, after all. Perhaps he had acted this way in the past when he was acting. Was he showing his true colors? God, he so didn’t appear that way to me. Was I trying to convince myself? Fooling myself? He seemed so sincere. Yet, how could I deny it? How could I look away from the facts when I had a full view shoved in my face? It was even worse, once I realized he claimed me on the very spot where he threw me away with his deceptive actions. Working on this set with Drake was getting more difficult. I was supposed to be enjoying my first time working on my dream job as a production designer. Not wishing it would hurry up and wrap.
Chapter Three
Drake…
Nearing the end of filming, Dave insisted we make a trip up north, to meet with the special effects team. He wanted to have a look at their additions and to see if we needed more. Naturally, key players in the production would accompany us—Blaine and Sofie—along with a couple executive producers. A perk of having the finance guys on our journey; one of them arranged a private jet to fly all of us up. The down side, also the upside, of this ride was the closeness to Sofie. Near to me . . . and yet, so far.
On the day of our flight, we all met up at Van Nuys airport. Parking Sofie’s SUV, I grabbed my overnight bag and headed for the tarmac. I stopped dead in my tracks as I saw Marco driving Carmen, Sofie’s prized Karmann Ghia, with my girl in the passenger seat. Watching, she leaned over, kissed his cheek, then climbed out of the car with her bag in her hand and made her way to the plane. I was thankful the kiss was chaste. I couldn’t handle seeing her passionately kiss another man—it would surely be the death of me. With the blood back in my legs, I followed her path to board the aircraft, but not before I heard the asshole speak. “Looks like someone’s got a new playmate.” It took every ounce of restraint to not stoop to his level and smash his smug-fucking-face. This would be a long weekend, sure to be filled with challenges:
Remain nonchalant.
Avoid killing Blaine.
Do not ravage my gorgeous Sofie, at least not physically. Mentally would be another thing.
If sitting so near to her in the cabin wasn’t bad enough, staying in the same hotel, on the same floor, only a door away, definitely was. After check-in, we went up to our rooms to drop our bags, before heading out to the studio. Entering our rooms, I quickly noted that Dave and Blaine’s rooms were nowhere near ours. I was starting to get the feeling that our mutual friend was trying to work some magic—shoving us together.
Dropping my bag on a couch in the sitting area, I received a couple of texts: One, from Dave giving us a departure time. The other one, a photograph of Sofie sprawled out half-naked on the bed in her trailer. The text was from an anonymous caller that continued to send me photos which stirred my emotions. Seeing this photo that was taken inside of her trailer, I was more convinced that Blaine was behind this buffet of images. Yes, he could’ve easily planted a wireless-camera, the day I saw him walking out of her trailer. I needed to let Sofie know her privacy had been invaded. Yet, for some sick reason, part of me loved all of the photos, except for the ones with Marco. This last picture had me stripping down for a much needed cold shower. I hoped it would help at the moment, but what was I going to do for the rest of the time she would be in my presence?
Refreshed, I changed into a new t-shirt then headed down to a waiting car Dave had hired. Opening the door, Sofie was already tucked in, alone. I stood looking at her. God, she was so beautiful with her long blonde hair, pulled up into a high ponytail. I longed to sink my teeth into the smooth skin on her perfectly exposed neck. Her dazzling green eyes pierced my heart. They spoke of love and sadness, all at once. Breaking our gaze, she looked forward. “Get in. Dave and Blaine hitched a ride with the other two, earlier.” Just as I had thought, our friend was intervening on our behalf. Following her instruction, I climbed in, wanting to slide across the seat, and pull her into my lap. Knowing if things were different, the privacy window would be up, and she would be happily straddling me. I laughed silently, adjusting my snug fitting jeans, once again.
Fortunately, the silent car ride was moderately short. I did like that I had her undivided attention, even though I couldn’t act on any of my thoughts. I wanted to say so many things. I wanted to do so many things to her. If only I could hold her tightly in my arms. Kiss her. Breathe her in. But all I had to do was look at her. Her body language told me; the time wasn’t right. She sat rigidly on her side of the luxurious bench seat, her head was down, focused on her cellphone screen as she texted away. Defeated, I leaned my head back, closing my eyes. I must’ve dozed off because next thing I knew, a gentle hand was patting my bicep, accompanied by a lovely voice softly speaking my name. “Drake… Drake… Wake up… We’re here.”
“Sofie,” I muttered, opening my eyes to see her curvy backside as she exited the car. Climbing out of the vehicle, I met her on the sidewalk outside of the facility.
As if speaking to tour director, she asked, “Which way?”
I wished to offer up my arm to her, but as that was not an option. I gestured with my hand toward the building directly in front of us. “Right this way.” Beginning to walk, she followed slightly behind me, off t
o my right side. Once inside, we were greeted by a couple of the guys I had met and worked with a month or so ago. I introduced them to Sofie and they began to fill her in on things they were working on while pointing out departments within the studio. Her own private tour. I loved the look on her face. It seemed to shine as she took in all of the sights and sounds.
Finally reaching the rest of our group, we were escorted inside of a large soundstage, and then into an in-house screening room. Several questions were asked and answered after we watched the scenes unfold. They had done a truly amazing job with what they pieced together; real footage with magical creation. It was a remarkably flawless combination. The special effects were outstanding! I couldn’t tell which were my models and which were the actual structures. Blaine’s camera work was dynamic. As much as he annoyed me, I couldn’t deny he was a brilliant cinematographer. Then it hit. Got me thinking about photography and how it could be manipulated. Was the sex tape another creation of his? He had filmed many of them. In his earlier days, he even edited them. Did he, perhaps, edit the tape?
I was lost in my thoughts when I heard my name spoken by those two lush lips I loved so much. “Drake… Drake…” There was no touch this time, but the voice caused my pants to tighten. It had been far too long since she was under me . . . over me. I heard myself groan. I hoped no one else heard me besides Sofie, whose eyes widen, telling me she was privy to my guttural noise. A second groan threatened to escape as I watched her bite her bottom lip. It should’ve been my teeth doing the nibbling. We held eye contact. I hope she realized I was silently begging her to believe in me . . . to forgive me. The longer we gazed at each other, I wondered what she would’ve done if I had touched her. A touch—that would never be enough—I wanted to devour her. If only we were alone.
