The Jerk Who Saved Me: A Romantic Comedy

by Ellie Rowe

  I step out of the tub, rivulets of water and suds of soap running off me. She sees my hard-on and her eyes go hungry. She runs her hand up and down my penis, ridding it of the bubbles that act as a sort of lubricant, gliding her hand. Then her mouth is all over my prick, licking, sucking, taking it all quickly, then slowly releasing.

  When I can’t take it anymore, I pull her to standing. I place my hands under her taut ass and lift her up. As she wraps her legs around my hips, I slowly lower her onto my cock. She softly “oohs” as I slide my entire length into her. Then she bounces lightly on my dick as I stand there holding her, both of us wet and dripping.

  I’m still inside her as I her back into the bedroom. I lay her down, pushing even deep inside her as I do. Once she’s down, I pull nearly all the way out -- then thrust back, slowly and deeply. She gasps. I repeat, varying how far I pull out, how deeply I thrust. As I do, her fingers go crazy on her clit, her cries of pleasure ramp up.

  Then she nudges me with her leg and we roll over. I’m on my back and she’s above me. I am so far inside her, I nearly disappear. She rides me hard, her hips making figure eights, her inner muscles contracting and releasing my dick like some sort of fucking machine. Literally. The starlets never work me like this.

  Her breasts move sensually to the rhythm of her hips. I reach up and massage them, then sit up enough to take an entire nipple in my mouth. She responds by rolling her hips harder.

  Our mouths connect again. We kiss like we’re trying to erase every boundary between us. She pushes me onto my back again, slows her own hip movements but never stops. She keeps getting me to the edge of an orgasm, then slowing. She leans forward, her hair falls around me and tickles my nipples. She gently passes her breasts across my chest. I press deeper into her with desire.

  She starts to speed up and I know we’re both close to erupting. I flip us so she’s on her back once more. Our fingers intertwine, gripping each other furiously. I press her hands into the bed and let her feel the full weight of me on her even as I begin thrusting more and more rapidly.

  Our breath syncs up, gaining in intensity as she begins moaning and calling out more. “Yeah! Yeah!” she groans as I grunt with exertion and desire.

  Her hips move in a perfect counter rhythm to my thrusts. Then, in a burst of deliriousness, she gives a cry and cums just as I explode into her.

  The passion lasts a bit longer as we exchange even more fervent kisses. We run our hands over each other’s bodies, each of us still reveling in our orgasms, the touches keeping echoes of the ecstasy currenting through us.

  We stay like that for a long moment. I enjoy being inside her even as we just lay there. I enjoy the totality of her.

  Our eyes lock as our breathing finally returns to normal.

  “Hank,” she says, her finger making lazy loops along my back.

  “Yeah?”

  “You have a fucking bathtub on your yacht.”

  “Wanna know something?”

  “Yes.”

  “First time I’ve ever used it.” I smile warmly at her. We kiss again.

  It’s lovemaking that deserves a sequel. To both of our surprise, it doesn’t take long for it to start shooting…

  Thirty-Three

  Veronica

  My eyes split open in fear as the smell of smoke hits my nose. They say women have a better sense of smell. Maybe that’s why Hank is still snoozing peacefully beside me. Damn, he even looks handsome when he sleeps. His silvered hair spills onto the pillow and those beautiful long lashes flutter as his eyes dart beneath, still caught in tranquil slumber.

  Why do men get long eyelashes anyway? Bastards. Here we are painting and gluing and injecting to have what they so effortlessly maintain. It’s cruel really.

  I’ll have to log that away for my petty injustice article. For now I want to reach out and run my finger along his stubble, when I remember the reason I’m awake.

  Smoke. Is it fire? I take a deep inhale, my heart pounding. Yup, that’s definitely fire. It’s fire and something foul. Suddenly I realize the other reason I’m awake. The sound. Like an engine. Oh my god, we’re moving!

  Though it pains me to wake him, I grab his shoulder and jostle him awake.

  “What the—fucking what?” He looks up at me all bleary eyed and fucking adorable. Focus Veronica. I open my mouth to speak but he’s already heard it and smelled it.

  “Come on!” I shout and we quickly dress. Hank takes my hand protectively and we charge upstairs ready for trouble. The smell is horrible, and the sound of the engine is even louder up top. We are definitely moving. But what the fuck is that smell?

  We round the top of the steps to see the cause. Garbage Island is completely engulfed in flames. Black smoke billows over the flaming island like a trashy hellscape. Pirates are scattering in whatever small boats they can manage, clambering over each other for safety.

  What the fuck happened? And where is Bruce? Hank pulls me out of my shocked stupor and around to the bridge. There’s one question answered. Bruce is steering the yacht away from the island with steely determination. We’re headed out to sea.

  “What in the hell are you doing?!” Hank yells as we rush to meet Bruce.

  “Well old friend, after a good night’s sleep in a bed made of feathers instead of sand…I realized I’m just about tired of living like an animal. It’s time to move on and get the hell outta dodge.” Hank and I look at him dumbfounded but Bruce just shrugs.

  “Seems like the right time to me. I figure a high-end, well stocked yacht is the way to do it.” I turn to Hank with wild eyes. Is this real? Or did I hit my head last night on the tub. Oof! The tub. My pulse quickens to think about all that went down against the porcelain.

  I squeeze my eyes shut to push it out of my mind, which is none too simple considering the cause of such torrid thoughts is standing right in front of me. He must be in his element. Adventure cruise, smoke billowing, fire raging behind him. Too bad there aren’t fake cameras on board, I’ll bet this shit would cost a fortune to shoot in the studio.

  The ripple of machine gun fire crackles up and I spin around to face the burning island. No. No fucking no way. A couple of the rust bucket motorboats have made their way off the shore and are high tailing it toward the yacht. They’re shooting at us. Holy fuck they’re shooting at us!

  “Veronica get down!” Hank hollers at me as another spray of bullets come flying towards us. No. I am not going down like this. I’ve tasted my freedom and there’s no way in hell I’m giving it up again. Not without a fight.

  I push Hank off of me and start scouring the deck for something to fire back with. I see a machine gun on the deck with a trail of ammo attached and ready for use. Perfection. Slinging it up over my arm I charge out of the bridge and to the back of the deck.

  “Veronica what are you—holy hell.” Hank has finally caught up to me while I swing the barrel of the gun to rest on the side of the ship. This thing is gonna kick like hell but I think I can take it. Believe it or not, in the hick town I grew up in I was a damn good shot.

  That was trap shooting of course: big old shot gun and a little girl taking aim at clay pigeons. It took me a while to be able to handle the buck of the gun but I got it eventually. With a machine gun…I had no idea what I was doing.

  All I knew was safety off and hit the fucking trigger. And that’s just what I did. I unleashed a spray of return fire which surprised the hell out of both the pirates and Hank. I scream for a moment as the sound of shells hitting the deck fills my ears.

  Fuck you. Every last one of you. You have no right to me or the people I love. Er. The people I care about. Deeply. And Bruce. Just eat lead maggots!

  I reposition my barrel toward the incoming fire and send another spray, keeping my head down to avoid getting blasted into oblivion. The metal clanks and groans nearby and I realize Hank has joined me. He gives me a devilish smile and clicks off his safety.

  “Thought I’d join you.” I smile back and we pivot to unleash
hell on the incoming motorboat. My shoulder burns a little from the recoil but I’m managing. I wish I knew what the fuck I was firing. Something semi-automatic that’s for sure.

  What kind of fight would this be if we all had to pause every round to stuff a metal ball and some gunpowder down the shaft? The adrenaline is coursing through my veins as I seek out which boat is sending the most damage.

  I have no fucking clue if I’m hitting anything. Is there a sight on this thing or do you just spray and pray? I don’t love the thought of one of these bullets actually killing anybody but better them than me. I didn’t do shit to them!

  I look down at my gun which has stopped firing. Shit.

  “Hank I’m out of ammo!” I call over the cascade of bullets he’s raining down on the nearest motorboat. Hank pauses for only a second before scooping up a nearby set and throwing it to me. Fuck that was cool. He didn’t even blink just…Christ he really is an action hero.

  I reload as quickly as possible and thank the high heavens I know as little as I do about wielding a gun. The last time I’d even loaded one was on the safari but it was more for show, I’d certainly never had to use it. Not like this.

  One of the pirates gets a decent aim and I hear the clink of the bullets hitting the metal. Hank grabs my arm and forces me behind the heavy walls of the ship to safety. He lands on top of me with a thud, bracing himself on either side of my head.

  “Are you okay?” He asks wildly, his eyes wracked with concern. He pads down my body with his hands looking for an injury, and something deep in my core tightens.

  “I’m fine!” I shout a little breathlessly and Hank nods taking my hand. We stand slowly, ducking against oncoming fire. Hank heads back into the fray and I stay down to finish reloading as fast as possible. How are we going to stop them? How can we punch a big enough hole to make them turn back?

  I’m loaded again and stand up to unleash hell. Hank is an excellent shot and his last round sinks some bullets so deep into the oncoming motorboat it bursts into flames. I try and figure out where he was aiming and try my luck.

  There’s a boat that’s gaining on us despite my best efforts and I take a deep breath to actually aim. I ignore the pirates and aim for the center of the ship, hoping to fuck up their controls.

  My latest round is rewarded with an explosion of fire and I watch the men dive overboard to save themselves from a fiery end. There’s no time to celebrate as the third motorboat is still out there still gaining on us. If they get to us and can climb onboard, we’ll be outnumbered.

  I can’t let that happen. Hank and I both point our fire to the last boat. Ah, it’s the one with the dead shit on the side. I’ll bet a nice sink to the bottom of the ocean would clean that up nicely.

  We’re both unloading bullets, Hank’s at the center and I’m aiming for the outskirts, trying to keep the pirates from getting a chance to fire back. I have no clue what kind of damage has been done to the yacht and can only hope we’ve done enough to hold them back.

  Hank lets off one last round and kaboom! The final motorboat goes up in smoke and flames. Oh my god.

  Hank and I are panting from the effort. My hands are shaking from the rattle of the gunfire in my arms. I drop the gun and stare open mouthed at the water.

  We did it. We fucking did it. I start to laugh. Maybe I’ve really lost it this time but I can’t help it. I can’t believe it. Hank throws his arm around me and the look on his face is nothing short of pride.

  I peel my eyes away from him to watch the smoke fill up the sky. He squeezes me tighter.

  “God you’re a lousy shot.” He says.

  I really may be falling for this asshole.

  Thirty-Four

  Hank

  The moon sits low over the ocean. The breeze is soft. The time is late. And the whiskey is a toasty, charred double cask rye that I got a case of for free. One of the perks of being rich and famous: you never pay for anything. People give you shit so other people will see you with it, and then (the company hopes), they’ll buy it.

  Doesn’t make the whiskey any less delicious. Bruce and I stopped pouring into glasses a while ago. Now we’re each drinking straight from our own bottles. It’s hard to describe how enjoyable this sort of innocent decadence is. Hopefully you can imagine.

  We’re lounging on deck chairs as the Let’s Do This makes her lazy way back to the continental United States. Back to Hollywood.

  I try not to think about what I’m returning to. Try to focus instead on just this moment right now.

  Veronica’s long since gone to bed, giving Bruce and I our first real chance to catch up. I’ve just finished telling him some scandalous tales from shooting my last picture. He guffaws loudly at the humorous conclusion to my ‘war story’.

  “Goddamn. What a crazy business…” he ruminates as he takes another swig of whiskey.

  “All right,” I say, cradling my own bottle in my arm. “Your turn.”

  “I got nothing as fun as your tales.”

  “Bullshit. You’re a fucking Pirate King!” Bruce guffaws again. He sings a few measures from Gilbert & Sullivan’s Pirates of Penzance. Fucking elitist. His kind of cultured spirit is surprisingly rare in Hollywood. I realize how much I miss it.

  I bet Veronica knows lots of cultured artist types.

  “C’mon, c’mon, Bruce. Spill. How’d you end up in charge of those bastards?”

  “What did you hear about me before I disappeared?”

  “That you cracked. Some people said you went home to Michigan. Some said you were in a cabin in the mountains. Some said you joined a cult.”

  “Certainly the most accurate of the rumors, I guess.”

  “What really happened?”

  “You remember Elaine?”

  “Sure I do.” You probably do, too. She starred in about seven movies in the span of five years. They ran the gamut from romantic comedies to sexy thrillers. Between movies two and three, she and Bruce met, had a whirlwind love affair and got married. Between movies three through six, the tabloids published expose after expose on Elaine’s affairs with her co-stars. Between movies six and seven, she and Bruce split up in a very public, very acrimonious way.

  “That divorce really fucked me up, boy,” Bruce continues. “I tried to soothe my soul in all the classic ways. Cars. Motorcycles. Drugs. Booze. And every woman over twenty-one I met. I think somewhere in there you and I lost track of each other.”

  A pang of guilt hits me. He’s right. He was destroying himself while my star was rising. “I was getting busy –”

  “No, I don’t blame you,” he assures me. “God bless ya, you handled the rise to stardom and all the paparazzi much better than I did. Last thing you needed was me hanging like an albatross from your neck.” He polishes off his glass. I pour him another one, top myself off.

  “Anyway,” he continues, raising his glass in thanks, “one morning I woke up and realized how much I hated it all. The Hollywood rat race. The tabloid escapades. Hell, I’d never set out to be in the movies. I’d wanted to have a stage career. Y’know, I wanted to be an actor. Instead I got famous. No offense.”

  “None taken.” I stare out at the waves. I’d wanted to be an actor, too. I took the fame instead. I wonder if I could leave it behind. “But how did you become a fucking pirate?” I chide, egging him on.

  “I sold everything I had, gave half of it to charity, spent the rest on a bitchin’ sailboat. Intended to go ‘round the world as many times as I could before I died. Instead, two days out a bunch of sorry-ass pirates tries to hijack my boat. I take one look at them and realize, they’ve got no idea what they’re doing. I take a second look and realize, this could be fun.”

  “You’re kidding me,” I interject, taking another long drag on my whiskey bottle.

  “No, swear to God! So I convince them: in exchange for not killing me and taking my shit, I offer to show ‘em a better way of working. It goes so well, they put me in charge! From there, it was just success after success. Pirac
y, it turns out, is a real meritocracy. My star just kept rising…”

  He raises his bottle the stars in the sky. I voice the sudden feeling in my gut, telling him, “I’m kind of jealous.”

  “Oh, it was fun as a free carnival for a while. But, I was never really made for leadership roles. I’m not like you – never had any aspirations to direct. Turns out being the Admiral of a pirate fleet is a shit-ton of work. And the employees aren’t great. I mean, they’re the literal scum of the earth. Plus, living in garbage kind of sucks.”

  “Guess you’re lucky we came along.”

  “A-fucking-men to that, brother!” We clink bottles and drink deeply. Then, he abruptly changes the subject. “So. What’s with ‘The Girl’?”

  “Veronica?” I ask stupidly. Who else would he be talking about?

  “She’s not the typical ‘Hank Wilder Conquest’.”

  “She’s not a ‘conquest’ at all, Bruce.”

  “Is it serious, then?”

  “No,” I protest too quickly, even for my ears. “I mean. We barely know each other. Our entire relationship has been a series of kidnappings and escapes.”

  “Been a little more than that,” he says suggestively. “Walls on the boat are kinda thin,” he teases. He studies me a moment. “What’s on your mind, man? C’mon, spill. It’s just me, you, the moon and the ocean.”

  He’s right. So I spill. “I know what you mean. About the rat race. About the bullshit. I’ve been feeling that, too. Then along comes Veronica and she’s like… no one I’ve ever met. She doesn’t need my money. Isn’t attracted to my fame. Has zero need to use me to advance her career. And I’m interested in her. Not just as a quick lay. Not just because of what being seen with her might do for my trending on social media or whatever…”

  “Not a woman to just play around with, then.”

  “Not at all. She’s a woman you –” I cut myself off.

  “Marry?” Bruce suggests.