by Amy Brent
I pulled up to the studio, and the security guy at the front door let me in without a second thought. I raced down the hallways with my suit coat flaring at my sides, and when I rounded the corner, the scene they were shooting had just wrapped up. Bridget was immediately isolating herself from her coworkers, going off into the corner for a drink of water before rounding the wall of the set to get to hair and makeup. I knew she was doing that because she was scared.
She knew the threat she was under would hinder more than just her career. I stood at the edge of the wall until she finally saw me in the shadows.
“Go the fuck away, Thomas,” she said.
“No. Bridget, whether or not you believe me, you’re in danger. You’ve hired me to protect you, and you need it more than ever right now.”
“Oh, was that your plan when you told someone? To make me more dependent on you than I already was?”
“What?” I asked.
“Did you not already see how much I needed you by my side? How much I trusted you and respected you and wanted the best for us? Could you not see past my fame for one fucking second to process the fact that there wasn’t a night I laid down alone where I didn’t want to cry out for you to be there?”
“Bridget, I didn’t tell anyone,” I said. “I swear, I would never do that to you. You know this.”
“Do I? Do I, really? I talked to my agent last night about it, and she thinks I should fucking get rid of you. She thinks I should slap you with a nondisclosure agreement, then take your ass to court when this all erupts in my face.”
“Bridget,” I said.
I reached out for her hand, but she recoiled from me in disgust. My heart sank to my toes in that very moment when the look of adoration she had for me twenty-four hours ago had been replaced with a look of utter disdain. The fire behind her eyes was directed toward me, and people on set were beginning to stare, obviously wondering if they should intervene and whisk the beautiful woman in distress away from the big, bad man trying to keep her in the shadows.
“Bridget, you aren’t safe,” I said.
“Thanks to you!” she exclaimed. “It’s because of you that I’m not safe!”
“Is there a problem?” the security guard came up and asked.
“I don’t want anyone like you around me anymore, Thomas. Go the fuck home. I’ll figure out what to do about your job later.”
The guard from the door slipped his arm around her before he escorted her back to the hair and makeup room. I felt sick to my stomach, like someone had nailed me in my gut with a dart full of poison. People on set were staring at me as I watched Bridget round the corner with that man who had his arm around her, and everything inside of me bristled. How the fuck could she actually think I’d tell someone after everything we had been through? After baring our bodies to one another and her assimilating into my home life, how the hell could she think I’d jeopardize that?
Did she not understand how I felt about her?
When she didn’t return, I turned on my heels and left. With a woman like Bridget, whose mind was made up until someone convinced her otherwise, I knew the best course of action was to simply give her what she wanted. I’d go back to my home, do some things around the house, wait to pick up Lacey from school, and try to get my mind off things.
And, in the meantime, I’d try to figure out how the fuck I’d win her back. Not because my job was at stake and not because she was in trouble, but because I cared about her.
I cared about Bridget Meyers, and I wasn’t ready to let her go.
Chapter 27
Bridget
Another fucking sex scene for this pointless fucking horror flick, and of course, all I could think about was Thomas. I didn’t feel sexy, I didn’t feel beautiful, and I didn’t feel wanted. The director was pissed that I didn’t bring my muse with me, and all I wanted to do was kick him in his tiny little nutsack. I wanted to scream at him that I had been betrayed and that he could suck his sex scene’s cock in a seedy back room. I wanted to push my co-star off me and stomp back into the room and close myself off from the world before crying myself to sleep in a dark, dank corner.
But all I could do was muddle through the scene and force the director to settle.
He eventually had to alter the scene. Instead of a full-on sex scene, there would just be the heated making out before we sank to the floor, but I had to compromise and show my tits on screen. That was fine with me, because I knew my tits were wonderful, and they would distract anyone from the fact that I was not into this whatsoever. The director seemed astounded that the Bridget Meyers had actually agreed to show her tits for his low-budget movie, but honestly? I didn’t give a shit. Whatever got me off this set sooner was just fine with me.
The truth was, I couldn’t stop thinking about Thomas. Every time my co-star kissed me or pressed his hips into mine or caressed my skin with his fingertips, all I could do was compare him to Thomas. My heart was betrayed, but my body still sang out for him. It still reverberated a tune meant only for his body to harmonize with, but my heart was bleeding out on the floor, waiting for someone to stitch it back into my body so I could keep on limping through this world.
How could he do this to me?
I wanted to be with Thomas. Everything inside of me begged me to just go to his house, beg for his forgiveness, then fall into his bed. Everything about me needed him, especially during a time where I didn’t even feel safe in my own home. I’d woken up this morning, and my heart pounded with unrelenting fury when I didn’t see him at the kitchen table because it was a reminder of what he had done. But every time I passed by a window, I couldn’t help but drop to my knees and crawl because I was petrified.
It was open season on Bridget Meyer’s life, and I was running through the woods with an orange target painted on my back.
My only issue was trying to figure out why the fuck Thomas would’ve done something like this. I mean, he brought me around his daughter, for shit’s sake! I’d gotten attached to her! She missed me! Why in the world would he do this to me, especially with his daughter in play? I saw the way he was around her and how that little girl was his entire world. Would he really jeopardize all that we were attempting to build and the way his daughter and I had connected just for a few bucks?
Had he really been that money-hungry to consider throwing fire onto the beautiful home we were trying to build?
Fine, we weren’t trying to actually build a fucking home, but it felt like it. It felt like he was slowly drawing me into his familial fold. It felt like he was test-driving me as Lacey’s new mom or some shit, and the issue was that there was none. I didn’t take issue with that at all, especially considering how wonderful Lacey was to begin with. I could’ve seen myself in that role for Lacey, had Thomas given us some time.
Had Thomas not betrayed me the way he had.
It just didn’t make sense, but it was the only logical conclusion. My agent had kept this secret for years, and Thomas had only known it a couple weeks. She had precedence for keeping my secret, and he didn’t.
That’s just how it was.
“Bridget!”
The director’s voice ripped me from my trance as I sat on the couch. Everyone was staring at me with a weird look on their face while my co-star was rubbing my back, and the only thing I could do was wipe the tears off my cheeks that were streaming down my face.
Shit, I’d been crying in front of all of them.
Fuck Thomas.
“Are you listening?” the director asked.
“Um, no, sir. I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Even I heard the hiccup of emotion in my voice, and I watched the director’s face soften. My co-star’s hand rubbed my back harder before it morphed into a massage, and the only thing it served to do was threaten to spill forth more tears. Everyone from the lighting crew to the makeup crew had pitiful looks dripping from their faces, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t angry with them.
All I could do was dip my
face to my lap and sigh.
“Let’s take a hiatus for the day,” the director said.
“But we aren’t done for the day,” I said. “We’ve still got two more scenes.”
“And we can tack them on next week. Right now, you need to go home.”
“Director.”
“Bridget,” he said, “I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t care. All I know is you’re not okay, and you’re no use to me if you’re not okay. If you need something, let us know. Otherwise, just go home and get some rest. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”
“I’m sorry,” I managed to say.
“Don’t be sorry. Just feel better, all right?”
My co-star helped me off the couch and escorted me to my car. I didn’t bother getting changed nor did anyone stop me from leaving in the outfit I was in. Bernie opened the car door for me, and my co-star tried to convince me to let him come, but all I did was tell him I’d see him tomorrow before I shut the door in his face. I didn’t want to be around anyone, most certainly not some dude from my movie set, especially since I couldn’t stop thinking about Thomas.
He invaded my every thought, despite the betrayal he had perpetrated, and I felt disgusted by it. His eyes still sparkled in my mind, and his thick thighs still glistened behind my eyelids, and even as I felt my tits harden in my bra, tears streamed down my face.
I missed him. I missed his warmth and his presence. I missed his smile and his touch. I missed his body writhing against mine and the way his lips felt on my neck.
But most of all? I missed what we had built. I missed the trust that had been burned to the ground and the imaginary home in the back of my mind that had been blown down by the big, bad wolf. I missed the life I had imagined for the both of us every time I came downstairs and saw him sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee.
How could I tell him I’d actually pictured his daughter running through the halls of this house?
“Shit,” I said.
I threw the door open and waved Bernie away before I stormed into my house. I locked the door and checked every single window before I ran myself up to my room. I knew the moment I collapsed onto the bed and spread my legs that I was in for a ride. Thinking about him soaked my panties and heated my body, despite what he had done to me, and I cursed myself even as my fingers shoved themselves between my legs.
“Fuck you, Thomas,” I said.
My swollen clit was pulsing underneath my fingers, and I knew it wouldn’t take long. I didn’t feel sexy on set, nor did I feel sexy in this stupid outfit, but thinking about Thomas and what his thick dick could do to me made me feel sexy. Seeing Thomas’s body thrusting into mine made me feel beautiful, and all the passion I should’ve had during that sex scene came bubbling to the top.
Thomas really was my muse, and in one fell swoop, he had managed to destroy my personal life as well as the inspiration for my career life.
“Damn it, Thomas,” I said breathlessly.
I thought about how his cock filled me to the brim while my hips bucked into my fingers. I thought about the wasted juices that were seeping out onto my bed. Thomas would lick it all up and swallow me down, wanting every part of me within him, as much as he could get. His cock would dive deep into my depths, shaking my entire body while he throbbed against every vulnerable part of me.
My clit grew bigger with every swipe, just like it did whenever Thomas massaged his tongue against it. My legs pulled taut and began to quiver, just like when he would pin me against the wall and drive his thick dick deep into my pussy. I imagined his balls slapping against my skin while my juices ran down his balls, leaving trails of lust on the insides of his thighs that I desperately wanted to lick up.
“Fuck… Thomas…”
My hips raised in the air while my fingers picked up their pace. My pussy was throbbing, and my breaths were coming in short pants. Every single time I screwed my eyes shut, I could feel Thomas inside me. I could feel his hips snapping against mine while his cock split me in two. I could feel him growing with every thrust while his breath built in the crook of my neck. I could feel his stubble on my chest while the warmth of his lips wrapped around my nipples.
“Oh, Thomas. Thomas. Yes. Just like that. You know how I like it.”
I bucked my hips wildly, inserting a finger inside me while my clit screamed out for mercy. I opened my mouth and licked my lips, preparing for Thomas to kiss them like I knew he would. I envisioned myself swallowing his massive cock whole, while he gripped my hair and his hips pumped into my face while his dick sank down the back of my throat. I thought about how wonderful he tasted on my tongue as he shot his hot come down the back of my throat, using me as his own little pocket pussy before pulling my body up and into his strong, glistening chest.
I thought about how he would drive his cock deep into my pussy before he stilled, capturing my lips in a kiss while he painted my pussy walls for the very first time. How beautiful it had felt to finally be marked as his, wholly and completely, while his teeth had sank into the side of my neck.
“Yes! Thomas! Oh… fuck!”
I came all over my hands, my juices slipping out and soaking my skin, while my chest heaved with exhaustion. My back collapsed to the floor while my body shook and stars burst behind my eyelids. All of a sudden, I saw Thomas’s smiling face. I saw his glistening cheeks slick with my fluids just before he leaned into kiss me, and I brought my hand up to cup his cheek before I came back to reality.
Thomas wasn’t there, and he wasn’t there because he’d opened those beautiful lips of his and betrayed me.
I rolled over with my juices still on my hands, and I cried myself to sleep.
Chapter 28
Thomas
I called my mother and asked her if he could take Lacey overnight and get her to school. I needed to get to Bridget’s before she got up and going for her day, and I told her to be on standby in case I couldn’t get to Lacey that afternoon, either. I hadn’t heard from her since everything went down at the studio, and I knew I wouldn’t sleep well until I knew she was all right. Someone knew about Bridget, and I had a feeling her agent had something to do with it, but the trouble was trying to convince her of it. I could’ve gone through the channels of chivalry and done something dramatic to show her how much I cared for her, but Bridget was the kind of woman that was more down to earth and practical than that.
No matter what she portrayed to the cameras.
“If I don’t hear from you, honey, I’ll assume I’m picking up Lacey.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said. “That means a great deal. I’ve had a couple days off, so I’m assuming she’ll need me early and late for a while.”
“Not a problem. Just keep us updated when you can.”
I hung up the phone with my mom before I prepared myself like I was going in for work. I stopped in to get Bridget’s favorite coffee before I got to her home, hoping it would entice her to at least open the door for me. I parked my car and went to knock on the door, looking each and every way to make sure nothing seemed out of place, but when her voice came through the heavy façade, my mind went straight to the task at hand.
“Bridget?” I asked.
“What?”
“I’ve got coffee,” I said.
“Well, I’m making some, so good for you.”
“Let me in,” I said. “We need to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said. “I know it was you.”
“Look. You’re scared, and I get that. And part of my job is to protect you. Even if this isn’t a personal relationship, I can’t do my job unless you let me in.”
“And letting you in is what got me here,” she said. “Letting you into my life is what put me in this position.”
“I don’t know why the hell you think it was me.”
“Just go away, Thomas,” she said.
“No. I’m not. Because I don’t want to. Because you’re in trouble. Because I care for you. Because my dau
ghter loves you. And I’ll keep rattling off reasons until you open this damn door and let me in.”
“No,” she said.
I sighed and leaned my head against the door. The iced coffees were getting warm in my hands, and I knew she would want it the moment she opened the door.
“Look, I got your favorite: a dirty iced chai with two shots and no added water. You like it rich and caffeinated, and you said you drank it year-round because it reminds you of fall. You told me you wished it could be fall year-round because you think you look better in sweaters and skinny jeans, but really you look the best beside me in bed covered in sweat. What kind of shithead man remembers stuff like that, Bridget? Come on. Just open up. At least so I can give you your coffee.”
I heard a pause on the other end before the lock on the door flipped. I wanted her to let me in, whether I had a key or not. I needed her to let me in voluntarily so I knew she was willing to talk. She slowly opened the door and stood before me with her eyes bloodshot and the bags of her eyes dark with lack of sleep. Her shoulders were hunched, and her hair was thrown up in a bun, and her pajamas were hanging off her shoulder as she reached for the coffee I was holding.
