At first.
The drive was beautiful. I took the car along Pacific Coast Highway, speeding, seeing how the old Porsche could handle corners, as the ocean shimmered on one side and scrubby mountains rose above on the other. I figured that if I got stopped, I’d just show the cops my French license—it usually did the trick. No points off because the paperwork was too much hassle.
When I returned I found the two women snacking, and drinking their Bloody Marys. I wondered for a second if Alessandra had done a Laura on her, as Pearl was innocently sipping her drink through a straw. Alessandra was wet, had obviously gone for a swim; her pert breasts clinging to her see-through dress, her hand on Pearl’s thigh. A vision of them kissing flashed through my head. I closed my eyes to think of something else so my hard-on would go away.
Alessandra looked up. “Hi Frenchie.”
“Hi, baby,” Pearl said. “How was your drive?”
“Beautiful.” I stood there, legs astride, watching the two of them.
“I was just trying to persuade your fiancée to stay on as we need to work on the script.”
I knew it. She was going to get her smooth, gay fingers all over Pearl. For a second, I felt a frisson of jealousy tingle through my spine. I stared Alessandra down. She’s mine, bitch-on-heat. I walked over to stake my claim. I put my hands on Pearl’s shoulders and kissed the nape of her neck.
I’d test Pearl, I decided. If she wanted to stay . . . well then . . . she’d get seduced and she damn well knew it. She’d have to battle with her inner-gay-goddess all on her own. If she came home with me, then she really was my girl. I couldn’t make that choice for her.
“Stay, chérie, enjoy the weather, have some fun with Alessandra,” I said with a wry grin. “Anyway, I have to go to Montreal for a meeting so you might as well hang out here for a bit.”
“I don’t know,” she wavered, looking at Alessandra and then at me. “I should really get home, but it is so beautiful here; so nice to feel the sunshine on my back.”
“You’re staying, Pearl,” Alessandra barked like the she-wolf she was. “I won’t allow you to leave yet. We have important work to get done here with the script.”
I almost wanted to take the two women at once and fuck them both, there and then. Show Alessandra who was boss. I was also extremely turned on thinking about them together. My heart raced just imagining our threesome, but I knew it would be a very bad idea. Pearl would go wild with jealousy, and anyway, it would feel like incest; Alessandra was too similar to me.
What would happen, I wondered, if Pearl were truly gay though? If she played around with Alessandra and got converted? The woman was every inch a movie star. She had the X factor, that je ne sais quoi that set her apart from the crowd. And she wanted Pearl. I almost felt like calling Ellen DeGeneres to break up the happy party . . . distract Alessandra, get her away from my woman. Insanely, I felt threatened by her. Ridiculous! Being threatened by a she-wolf when I was the alpha male?
I guess that’s why I toyed with the idea of Pearl staying on. To prove to myself I could handle it. So paradoxically, by not stopping her and being so blasé about it all, I actively encouraged Pearl to remain in LA for a few days.
PEARL
ON THE WAY BACK to the hotel, Sam called and confirmed my worries. He wanted Alessandra to “assist” me with script changes. He told me that the buzz was out, and he needed this film to not only be a blockbuster but a “classy blockbuster” –to have a chance to be nominated for an Academy Award. He felt that Alessandra was going to put it into a higher category because she was a “real actress,” and that we needed to respect her wishes. He persuaded me that I needed to stay on a few more days, work with her, before handing our changes over to the main script doctor. It all felt odd, but as I was a virgin to the world of movie producing, I had to take his word for it.
Alexandre and I were sitting on the balcony of our luxurious room that overlooked the ocean. We were listening to the rhythmical sound of the surf and enjoying the feeling of being on vacation. I used this opportunity to discuss Sam and Alessandra with him, and the rather bizarre situation.
Alexandre kissed my hand and said, “You make it sound as if it’s some sort of punishment, Pearl—don’t be so worried. How bad can it be to hang out in the sunshine with a beautiful actress while you fiddle about with the script?”
I sighed and fixed my eyes on some surfers in the distance waiting to catch the next big wave. “She’s just so persuasive, so . . . so . . . ”
A mischievous smile spread across his gorgeous face. “You’re worried she’s going to try and seduce you.”
I looked into his sparkling, amused eyes. “Yes.”
“Ooh, how dangerous,” he teased. Don gaire oose, his accent said.
“You’re laughing about it now, but what happens if she succeeds?”
“Sexy.” He grinned. “You can sex Skype me—the pair of you. I can’t think of anything that would turn me on more. Two beautiful women getting it on together—two, sexy, female bodies entwined. Feel my cock,” he said, taking my hand and putting it on his crotch, “I’m hard just thinking about you two together.”
I traced my hand over his huge, stiff erection, through his jeans, but then took it away and said, “Seriously, Alexandre, she means business, I can tell.”
“Have some fun and come straight back home. I’m not worried, Pearl, not in the least.”
“What, even if something were to actually happen? If she kissed me or . . . or . . . something more?”
He laughed, then pressed his lips lightly on my temple.
“You’re acting like this whole thing’s a joke,” I blurted out, a touch annoyed. “You might get jealous if something really did take place.”
“Baby, she’s a woman. How could I feel threatened by a woman?”
“What if a guy was coming on to me like this?”
Alexandre’s smile faded and a flash of irritation danced in his green eyes. “That would be a whole different story. I wouldn’t be allowing you to stay on in LA if some good-looking movie actor was demanding to co-write with you, I can tell you.”
“But this is my job, you can’t dictate to me who I work with!”
“I’m your fiancé. Didn’t anyone ever warn you that Frenchmen have a possessive streak?”
I thought of Daisy’s wise advice: He’s a Latin man at heart. “So you speak for the whole of France?” I asked with a laugh. “Or is it just a small minority of you who suffer from jealousy?”
“Not jealous, just claiming what belongs to me, that’s all.”
“Yet a woman couldn’t possibly pose a threat? A woman isn’t as powerful as a man, is that what you’re saying?”
“Now you’re twisting things. A woman doesn’t have a penis.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ah, so it boils down to that, does it? The testosterone factor!”
“Maybe.”
“So how would you feel about any of my past instances with men? How would you feel if you knew I’d been . . . promiscuous once upon a time?”
“Well, I happen to know that you weren’t. You had a steady boyfriend, what was his name? Brad, that’s right, the brother of your best friend . . . you dated him for four years and then you got married several years later. I don’t see someone graduating summa cum laude and doing as well as you did academically running around fucking lots of guys. Besides, it doesn’t go with your personality.”
I flinched. “But let’s just say, for argument’s sake, that I had been running around, but it was—”
His cell rang and our conversation was over. It was his sister. Of course. As if she could hear what we were saying. Sometimes I wondered if she wasn’t sneaking recording bugs into the room to spy on us. Alexandre ended the call, and now I felt compelled to speak out. This time, about Sophie.
“Alexandre . . . before we became engaged, you told me that you’d be opting out of HookedUp, that you and Sophie would go your separate ways.”
“That’s my
plan. But all in good time, darling, all in good time. That’s what HookedUp Enterprises is about—you and me. The two of us veering off in a new direction without Sophie.”
I knit my brows. “When will a ‘good time’ be?”
“As soon as the moment is right.”
Getting nowhere with this, I returned to Conversation One. “So to be completely clear, if something happened between Alessandra and me, hypothetically speaking—because I have no intention of letting her get her way—but if it did, you wouldn’t consider that I was being unfaithful to you, or cheating on you in some way?”
“No, not all at.”
“Just double-checking,” I said.
LATER, ALEXANDRE went surfing. Dressed in black neoprene, in a short-sleeved suit; his pecs defined and the bulge of his biceps accentuated by the outfit. I sat on the beach, a cardigan wrapped around me, with my headphones on, listening to the perfect soundtrack by the Beach Boys, Surfin’ USA as I watched my fiancé take each wave, moving his body in elegant swivels and jumps, flowing with the surf, bending and straightening his body at each perfect moment. He made it look effortless, gliding with precision under each barreling wave, never flinching, never falling. He surfed as well as my father, and that was really saying something. My stomach flipped at his prowess—there was nothing like watching a man excel at sport.
I felt warm inside. I loved this man, more than ever.
NIGHTMARES
PEARL
IT WAS PRESSED up against my face. I was gasping for air.
The boys’ repeated use of the word “cunt” was drumming in my ears. I hated that word—it was vulgar, demeaning to women—it made me feel cheap. I opened my eyes and saw the guy’s long, skinny penis and his hand fumble again on my face. I could almost smell his hyped-up hormones—the whole scenario was suddenly grossly wrong, disconnected from the person I was inside. How did I get to this point? What had happened? I felt sick at myself. I had only slept with Brad up until now. What had I been thinking?
Needle-dick pressed his thin, lanky erection on my mouth once more and shouted, “Suck my goddam dick, goddam it!”
I tried to maneuver myself up against the pillows, but my head was spinning fast. The other guy was on top of me suddenly, and I could hardly breathe with his weight. “Guys,” I said, “I don’t want to do this. It was a bad idea. I’m drunk—I had too much tequila.” I pushed my arms out at the blond one’s chest to get him off me but I couldn’t even see past the other guy, who was prizing open my lips with his clammy, smelly fingers, trying to stuff his needle-like erection into my mouth. I gagged with repulsion.
“I’m going to be sick,” I moaned, flailing my arms about as I tried to lever myself off the futon. “Please you two, I want to go home now . . . please somebody drive me home . . . I don’t want to do this.” My words were slurring, but they understood. “Guys, I apologize for leading you on but I don’t want to do this anymore. I made a big mistake, I just wanna go back to my dorm.”
“Fuck you, bitch, suck my fucking dick!” He was pumping his hips into my face now, his hand grabbing my long hair like rope, as his hot, sweaty balls were squashing against my closed lips.
“Get off!” I screamed, shaking my head and protecting my face with my hands. “Get the fuck off me, don’t you get it, the party’s OVER!”
“Get the fuck off her dude,” the blond one said, pushing Needle-dick away from me.
Thank God, I thought, and I took a desperate lungful of air, so relieved his crotch was out of my face. But the blond one then said, “I’ll fuck her first and then you can have her after me.”
“Fuck you, asshole, she was gonna suck me off!”
“She’s wasted, dude, can’t you see that? The slut’s off her fuckin’ face. It’s really taking effect now. Let me have her first.”
I started to scream and thrash about, but the blond one held my wrists together in a tight vice, and the other one muffled my mouth with his stinky palm. The blond was powerful, his football-trained muscles rippling beneath his chest. As I tried to sit up in one great burst of effort, my head started to spin and I saw stars trail about the room in waves. He crashed back on top of me and forced my legs open with his knees. I tried to free my hands to scratch him but I was still immovable. He started pumping into me, his elbow still holding down my arms. My legs were kicking in the air but my attempt to get him off me was pathetically weak. This guy was super-strong. The more I shouted and thrashed, the more turned on he got.
“That’s right, fuck that horny little slut, dude, you know she wants it,” Needle-dick chanted, getting a vicarious thrill out of watching his friend pound me while he simultaneously played with himself.
The blond’s breath was hoarse with whiskey as he panted his way to a fast orgasm. Jesus, I realized . . . he wasn’t even wearing a condom! He pulled out immediately and rolled off me. I lurched up to stand, but the other one grabbed my ankles in a rugby tackle and I went flying face-down on the futon, my head slapping hard against the pillows.
“Don’t think you can run off, you cock-teasing slut! I haven’t even started yet.” He rolled me over and smashed on top of me, lustily pinning me down. He too was brawny, my inebriated body—now feeling almost numb—was no match for his big, clumping frame. I clasped my legs tightly together so he couldn’t enter me, but he wrenched my thighs open and poked his weapon inside. I bashed his back with my fists, but it was like pummeling a brick wall. Grunting, he thumped himself farther inside my vulnerable spot, forcing my legs open wider. I screamed but nobody seemed to hear. Where was everyone? By this point I blanked out. I held my head to the side and closed my lips tight. Of all the horrors, being kissed seemed the most disgusting of all. If I could at least keep my mouth untainted, I’d be winning on some level. I felt repulsed at myself, horrified that I got my sorry ass into this mess, but all I could concentrate on was survival and somehow getting out of here. I eyed my clothing strewn about the floor and planned my getaway. The second he was done, I’d grab my stuff and charge out of the door. My shoes I’d leave, I’d need to be barefoot to move fast.
But then I heard another voice; a new guy barging into the room. My heart leaped into my stomach with both hope and dread. Would he save me? Or were things about to get much worse?
My lungs were heaving, my chest tight. I felt suffocated. I opened my eyes and heard the reassuring sound of the surf and felt a cool morning breeze wafting through the window. The sheets were crumpled in a mess. I’d been kicking, tossing and turning. I heard the shower next door . . . thank God, Alexandre was in the bathroom . . . he hadn’t been witness to yet another of my nightmares.
I got out of bed, holding my stomach. I felt nauseous and thought I may throw up. I sat on one of the comfy chairs on our balcony and breathed in the fresh, salty air. I already felt better. All of my past was surging back; the buried memories, which I thought had been blanked out of my life. No wonder men had grossed me out for so many years. Holy shit!
Alexandre found me on the balcony. He was dripping wet, with a towel tied around his middle of his toned abs. I looked at him, taking in his physical beauty and wondered if he would have once been capable of doing what those boys did. Were all men pigs at heart? Was it just a question of circumstance? Perhaps those guys were all happily married now with sweet, adoring children, who looked up to them and thought they’re the best dads in the world. Wives who would never believe you if you enlightened them to what their husbands had once done in their college years.
Nobody would blame them. Guys are guys. Girls should know better, shouldn’t they? Women should be smarter, not put themselves in precarious situations, not “ask for it.” Not “behave like sluts.”
Alexandre came over to me and gave me a hug. “You look very pensive, Pearl. What’s on your mind?”
“Just looking at the beautiful view, thinking how wonderful it would be to live by the ocean.”
“Funny, I was thinking exactly the same thing. I feel a real estate goblin knoc
king at my door. Shall we buy something here?”
“I still can’t get used to this,” I murmured.
“What?”
“Buying whatever your heart desires. It makes me feel guilty somehow.”
“Hey, I work hard for these privileges. You do, too.”
“I know. Just . . . well, we’re still so lucky.”
He held my hands and pulls me off the chair. “Come to bed for a little while. You look so sexy, Pearl. I love you in the morning all ruffled up. It makes me want to get as close to you as is physically possible.”
His body was so beautiful, my heart yearned for him, but the truth was that sex was the last thing on my mind, even with the man I loved more than anything in the world. I melted into his strong arms and nuzzled my face against his warm chest, and licked off a few droplets of shower water. He smelled of soap and his own natural Alexandre magic—he was my elixir, the potion I needed to keep me healthy and sane. I kissed him all over with sweet, girlish kisses. I wanted to be loving, not sexy, but it made him groan, and I could feel his erection press up against me.
I peeled away the towel around his waist and saw his beautiful anatomy, a penis that was substantial but wonderful, because it had never tried to hurt me or force me. Even that time that he was angry with me, after I hadn’t been honest with him about who I was and he came barging into my apartment . . . even then when he took me in the kitchen and ravaged me right there and then . . . he knew I was desperate for him, and if I had told him to stop he would have.
I bent down and kissed him below his waist and breathed him in: his kindness, his patience, his genuine love. And then I let out a sigh of relief; gratitude that he was the way he was. I looked up at him like a puppy.
Hooked Up: Book 2 Page 27
