Gary was opening up a wheelchair that had been tucked beside the wall, and Chris was standing next to Reena, his hand out to her. “C’mon. You know I’m not going to take no for an answer. You’re going out to eat.”
Reena shook an emphatic head. “Not looking like this.”
“I have seen the clientele here,” Gary put in. “Two days ago, when you were all blotchy and puffy and looking like a marshmallow on its period being roasted, you still looked better than most of the people here. Tonight, you’re going to be out there looking better than everyone else except Chris and me and”—he glanced my way and frowned—“and that cute cabana boy serving drinks poolside earlier.”
Obviously, I was not a pretty drunk.
“Blush up those cheeks a little, girlfriend, and you’ll even outshine him. You know I wouldn’t encourage you out in public if I didn’t think you were pretty enough to hold your own. Which, Dee honey, maybe it’s best we take you back to your room and you order in tonight.”
“Nonsense.” That was Chris, coming to my gallant rescue. “We’ll get a corner table. It’s an international crowd—can’t be that many fans here who’ll recognize us. And besides, we’ll all be gone tomorrow.”
Way to defend my honor Mr. Knight on a White Horse. “No, no, Gary’s right. Better if I stay in. You’ll probably want to dress up anyway, and this is all I’ve got. Go. Really. I insist.”
“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Chris asked for the dozenth time when he emerged from the bedroom outfitted in a white linen leisure suit with a hint of a retro flair reminiscent of Don Johnson in Miami Vice. You had to be confidant to pull off a suit like that these days, and on Chris it looked stunning.
I caught my breath. Obviously I was a horny drunk too. “Quite okay with that,” I answered, enthralled, not meaning him going out at all. Perhaps drinking hadn’t been such a good idea. I was losing the edge Gary had honed for me.
Chris grinned and my heart stopped. “So which do you prefer? Me in a suit…or out of one?”
I wasn’t that drunk. “Both. I like to have my beefcake and eat it too. So long as I can lick the icing off first…nice and slow.” Dammit, I was that drunk.
He kissed my cheek. “I won’t be gone long.” Then he blew warm breath into my ear. “I swear.”
I shivered at that breathy promise, alcohol undermining my resolve. “Take your time,” I breathed back. “I’ll still be here.”
“Let’s make sure you eat. What’s your pleasure? Other than beefcake.” He picked up the phone and relayed my order of antelope burger with a side of fried eggplant fingers and chocolate-dipped strawberries for dessert. He looked at me, then added a carafe of coffee and a bottle of champagne. Decidedly mixed signals, but ones I wasn’t sober enough to decipher.
With a last kiss, this one full on the lips, he slipped out the door, leaving a scent trail of hotel cologne in his wake. Whatever the brand of the sample, he needed to buy a gallon of it, I thought, as the dark musk of it tickled through every hollow of my body the deeper I inhaled.
I gave him five minutes before pulling out my tablet and connecting to the resort’s internet, the signal surprisingly strong used as I was to the latency and buffering of the satellite signal when I could even connect out in the bush.
Why did it feel like I was the one cheating on the sly? My heart pounded in fear that Chris would show back up and catch me. Exhaling slowly, I shook my head to clear it. Catch me what? Watching video that was aired publicly months ago and available in reruns and on-demand? Hell, he probably expected I’d already seen it—and had seen all his movies. And as Google brought up page after page of guest appearances on dramas and talk shows, he probably expected I’d seen all of those as well. Which, wow, were a lot. The guy did love publicity. Or at least his handlers did.
I refined my search to chris corsair wolf girl and clicked on the first 4-minute YouTube clip that came up, distressed to see multiple more pages of results.
When I saw the dark-eyed woman with the full mane of black hair who Chris was leading by the hand into a grove of trees, I opened the clip full-screen. The camera followed them at hip level, focused on the clasp of their hands, her swaying hips and the taut curves of his butt in cut-offs that barely covered it.
They stopped in a shady clearing, the camera hanging back voyeuristically behind the trees. Chris crooked a finger at Wolf Girl and when she heeled obediently to him, he covered her lips with his. Adjusting his legs wide, he worked his shirt off, fighting the material so the camera could take full advantage of the deep flex of his back and shoulder muscles before the defeated bit of cloth fell to the ground and he turned his attention to Wolf Girl’s tee.
She lifted her arms to cling around his bare neck as he rolled up her t-shirt, exposing first the curve of her waist, the ridges of her ribs, then the swell of her breast. The camera zoomed in lovingly to capture how dark and heavy her nipple was just before the nub disappeared between Chris’ lips. Then it was a confusion of twined arms and light and dark hair and roaming lips over each other’s chests before Chris caught the waistband of her booty-length cut-offs, unsnapped them and pushed them down over the firm round globes of her hips. The camera cut upward to catch the lust in his eyes, then dropped down to watch him unzip his own shorts.
With a bow to modesty, the camera followed the falling shorts over the perfect curve of Chris’ legs, lingering on the rumple of material after he stepped his bare feet out of them, conveniently turning his back on the camera so it could caress its way up, uninhibited, over calves and rock-hard thighs and a perfectly toned butt made famous apparently by this very shot, held and held while only teasing the actions happening just out of camera-shot. When it pulled back, Chris shifted a quarter-turn, one hand across Wolf Girl’s flat stomach, pulling her into him, her back to his front, and the other hand at the nape of her neck, pressing her down.
Bending obediently, she flashed a near-orgasmic grin at the camera as it zoomed slowly in on the clench and flex of Chris’ butt as he grabbed both her hips in his hands and began to pound. The camera slipped coyly around to better frame his face. The cut to close-up of the sheen on Chris’ brow and his jaw and cheeks tight with strain as he worked his way to climax told his female fans clearly enough this was the real deal. This was how they could make him feel.
A quick pan to a wider shot caught the hard pistoning of his hips against hers, brought a tendril of her hair as it fell across her panting mouth into sharp focus before cutting back to Chris’ face as his eyes squeezed shut and his perfect mouth twisted into a grimace of pure ecstasy. The camera again held and held until Chris’ grimace dissolved into a conquering smile. Pulling away, the camera caught Chris straightening Wolf Girl against him, one hand cradling her breasts, the other held protectively over her sex.
No other sign of protection between them.
That was my only thought because I was too numb to feel anything else.
What might have happened after, fans didn’t apparently care. The clip ended, and the option to replay beckoned.
I declined, knowing it would be there forever should I ever care to abuse myself with it again. Right now, there was another abuse awaiting me. I pulled up Google—
The knock at the door made me jump. Out of reflex, I stuffed the tablet into its case, hiding the…what—incriminating Google screen? It was room service, of course, and I giggled drunkenly at myself.
The bellhop place the tray and champagne bucket on the coffee table where I pointed him, leaving with a cheerful wave after I signed a nice tip for him.
I knew I needed to eat, especially if I wanted to drink more. And if there was one thing I knew before I even started the search for Shark Woman, it was that I’d want to drink a whole lot more.
The menu indicated the antelope cut in the burger could be kudu or springbok, nyala or impala, depending on what hunter guests who only wanted heads and horns to mount contributed to the kitchen. Whatever it was, it was well-seasoned, and the
planks of fried eggplant would have charmed even folk who usually hated eggplant because all the toughness had been cooked out, and the batter and oil left only a delicate hint of the eggplant taste itself.
Although I knew I should have plenty of time yet before Chris returned, I ate only half the plate and downed a single flute of champagne with it before pulling the tablet back out. I’d far rather be caught eating if Chris returned early for any reason, like Reena wimping out if she didn’t feel well enough to be out for long.
Shark Woman was tall and thin with short-cropped blonde hair. She might as well not have been wearing the thong and tassels that passed as her bikini considering how little they covered. Then again, the same could be said for Chris’ Speedo that left less to the imagination than the camera had during the Wolf Girl sexcapade.
Not that the suits stayed on long. The orange bloat of the setting sun reflected in the ocean seen over the rail of their boat was a fairly stock image. The two of them stripping against it wasn’t. Nor, likewise, was the way Shark Woman caressed the extremely phallic oxygen tank she handed Chris before taking one for herself. How cute then for them to kiss before placing the air tubes into each other’s mouths. Chis pointed over the rail, Shark Woman nodded, and hand-in-hand they leapt into the water, landing beside a shark cage the camera showed us from above.
Chris opened the barred gate of the cage, ushered Shark Woman inside, then pulled on a rope pulley to lower the cage into the water.
The camera followed them down.
I wanted to keep thinking of it as a disembodied camera, a detached and voyeuristic eye. As I poured another flute of champagne, I could almost make myself believe that.
Almost, but not quite.
I couldn’t forget it was Reena behind the camera. Reena playing Peeping Tom behind the trees with Wolf Girl. Reena diving alongside Shark Woman.
Reena, who was every fan’s eyes, watching and lingering over every naked inch of the man, over his every action, every emotion. No wonder Reena didn’t need a physical relationship with him. Who knew how many times she’d had vicarious sex with him?
And now she was sitting down the hall having casual dinner with him.
I swigged another sip of cold champagne as the scene on the tablet heated up. The whole thing looked awkward to me, with air lines and tanks and mouthpieces, but Chris and Shark Woman blew bubbles at one another and twined long legs together, dancing in the weightless water.
A pan of the camera revealed they weren’t alone, as curious fish swam by, followed by even more curious sharks. One particularly big shark nudged the cage, sending it swinging. Both Chris and Shark Woman reached between the bars to stroke the back end of the shark as its tail flicked by. Then their hands folded around each other and the mating dance was on. Chris spread Shark Woman up against the bars where she wrapped her outspread hands around them to keep from floating away. Bending at the hips, she lifted her feet to him, toes pointing provocatively toward the center of Chris’ shadowed hips. For a split second the lighting shifted and there was Chris in his fully aroused glory before shadow fell across him again.
I did what thousands of fans before me had no doubt done. I backed the video up five seconds then paused it at that moment of glory.
I took another sip of champagne before hitting play again.
Placing a hand on either calf, Chris spread those long legs before him, parting them like Moses parting the sea. Shifting his hands to her knees, he pulled himself forward. To her thighs and forward some more. To her waist, then nearly a foot away, the glory of him hidden between her legs, he bumped into her. Her sea-washed eyes widened in delight as the camera cut to them.
Then the camera was back on the clench of Chris’ hips. Wrapping his hands around the bars behind her waist, he pulled himself toward her as her legs folded over his to help increase the leverage in the buoyant water. Sliding his hands up the bars, then spreading his arms to grab the next set of bars to either side and turning his head sideways to face the camera, he positioned himself to thrust.
They moved in synched rhythm, he and Shark Woman, a slower motion sensual dance that the camera followed between cuts to close-ups of their eyes over air tubing that was taking a beating as bubbles rushed around them.
In the last moment, a dark shape rose up behind them. I imagined jaws closing on their fingers, their hands, the exposed bars. But the bull shark only gave them a cold eye, and Chris and Shark Woman climaxed together as the shark swam on by.
With Chris holding tight to the bars to keep them locked together, Shark Woman pulled their mouthpieces out, and there in the ocean’s depth they swapped air instead of tongues before the clip timed out.
I set the tablet down and gulped another flute of the numbing champagne.
At least I knew now that Gary hadn’t lied.
CHAPTER 30
Dee
As it turned out, I had plenty of time before Chris returned. Time to finish my burger, to savor each of the eggplant fingers, and to finish off all of the chocolate-dipped strawberries I’d initially thought to share. Time to finish the full bottle of champagne. And time to replay the video clips I’d just watched not only a second time but a third. And time to search online for even more of Chris.
The streaming speed of the internet connection here at the resort was slow in comparison to what I’d known in some metropolitan areas of the States, but it was magnitudes faster than anything I could get out in the bush. Here I could click from one video to the next and indulge in every raw, unbuffered moment.
It was surprising to discover just how famous Chris’ naked butt had become. Was there any movie he’d been in that didn’t require him to strip down at some point so the camera could enjoy at the very least a nice PG-13 butt shot along with some well-choreographed angles that would show him nude while hiding that X-rated member of his from hopeful eyes?
The movie clips didn’t enflame me the way Wolf Girl and Shark Woman did, of course. There was no doubt Chris enjoyed showing off his buff self on camera, but those were all scripted scenes. Gratuitous, to be sure, catering to fans who’d bought tickets precisely to ogle. The Living With… episodes, however, those were scripted and edited after the fact, with almost all of it improvised on location. Not that the showrunners couldn’t influence the direction of that improv by setting Chris up with the right kinds of women.
Women Chris chose to do his mating dance for the camera with.
For the ratings boost.
Damn Gary. Or bless him for opening my eyes. Whatever his motive.
By the time Chris swayed his way back to the room, on the edge of a full-drunk himself, early though it was with the prospect of having to see Gary and Reena’s flight off at dawn, I still had no plan for how to move forward.
My sober self, no doubt, would have handled things differently. But when Chris plopped down beside me on the sofa and the first words out of his mouth were, “I’ve been waiting for this all evening,” before he began to paw me and maul me with his mouth, the alcohol-laden air between us was all the trigger I needed.
Revenge sex.
I threw myself at him, determined to take full advantage of him the way he thought about taking it with me. Only it would end here, tonight. I would wring every pleasure from him, here where there were no cameras.
Give him hope for a future encounter he could commit to film—but then never follow through.
Tonight, though, he would be mine.
Under my spell.
Under my command.
CHAPTER 31
Chris
I blinked, wondering for a moment if I’d stumbled into the wrong room. Not that I was complaining if I had. The little beauty on my lap was definitely wriggling in all the right ways.
A glance at the empty champagne bottle on the coffee table was a clue. Had this uninhibited, self-assured sexpot been hiding like a genie in that bottle all along?
When her hand slid intimately yet insistently under my shirt before I even h
ad a chance to slip my jacket off, I took her by the forearms and physically moved her off me.
“Whoa. Slow down. I can wait a little longer.”
“Can you?” she whispered into my ear before flicking her tongue inside it. Then her hand was covering the front of my pants where my well-trained cock was coming to attention.
I groaned, caught off-guard and shrugging from my jacket. She tugged it the rest of the way off, tossing it on the matching chair as she stood up from the sofa.
“Bedroom,” she said. “We won’t see another bed again.”
So she thought she was going to lead tonight. The idea was…interesting…although the alpha in me protested. As a compromise, I swept my arm behind her knees, kicked off my loafers and carried her into the darkened bedroom where I dropped her on the navy blue down comforter that covered the king-size bed.
“How do you like it best?” Her tone was more challenge than seduction. Crawling to the headboard, she flung herself against it, spread-eagle, gripping the top edge. “Like this, or”—she whipped around to her knees, presenting her elevated butt to me—“do you prefer it like this?”
Clearly she was drunk and, although both positions were provocative and I would be happy taking her either way—or perhaps both before the night was out—neither was really her. “Let’s try undressing first and see where that leads.”
Kneeling on the bed, in the spotlight streaming in from the open door to the living room, she began a striptease worthy of a burlesque. When she ended stretched out, heels on the mattress, her straightened arms levering her hips and back up from behind, shorts unzipped, I accepted the invitation. Slowly I raked those khaki shorts down over her hips, thighs and curved calves, lifting her feet together in one hand while stripping the shorts over them with the other.
Proud Hearts (Wild Hearts Romance Book 2) Page 16
