The best thing about our sex is that I reach orgasm more often and with less difficulty with Drake than with any other man I’ve been with. Unlike some of them, he never has erection issues and I playfully call him RoboCock because he’s always hard at exactly the moment I need him to be. And every time I see that astounding physique I’m reminded of how many other women would want to be spending a week like this.
I’m a very lucky girl, floating on cloud nine during this week in Italy.
Until the bottom falls out.
That happens on the evening of my eighth day in Rome, with Drake shooting all day at Cinecittà. I spend the day strolling around Rome's Tridente district, an area known for its upscale shops and designer boutiques. At the intersection of Via Bocca di Leone and Via della Carroze, two narrow cobblestone streets, I spot the famous La Perla lingerie store and decide to buy something sexy to wear that evening when Drake returns to the suite.
I know immediately upon entering the boutique that I'm about to have a religious experience surpassing anything I felt in Saint Peter's Basilica. Everywhere I turn I find the most exquisite lingerie, each item more impossibly beautiful than the last. It's almost distressing because I have no idea how I'll be able to decide which of these lovely pieces to take home, and at these prices, I definitely can't afford more than one.
My fears prove unfounded, as it turns out I know the exact item I want the second my eyes land on it. It's an enchanting bodysuit in a delicate Chantilly lace tea rose design, a truly ethereal pattern. The high neck and full-length lace sleeves are graceful and sensual. It's both concealing and yet revealing, playful while also devastatingly sexy. The bodysuit comes with a lovely racerback triangle bra in stretch tulle and matching lace that’s meant to be worn underneath, but I already know I'll set that aside to be used another day. It’s absurdly expensive, about half my monthly mortgage payment, but I rarely treat myself to such luxuries and decide I simply have to have it.
Because the shooting schedules can be unpredictable, I only know that Drake will be home between nine p.m. and three in the morning. After dinner in the room, I shower and slip on the lace bodysuit without the accompanying bra. I also choose not to wear panties, leaving everything quite visible under the sheer material. The combination is breathtakingly beautiful and fits my curves perfectly, minimizing my flaws while accentuating my assets. I’m practically buzzing with anticipation, ridiculously excited to see Drake’s reaction when he walks through the door and sees me.
I don’t have to wait nearly as long as I thought. I’ve just finished the last step – my hair – when I hear the suite’s door open. Giddy as a school girl, I move to the door of the bedroom and try to glide sexily into the living area, nonchalantly and yet with an obviously dirty purpose. As I round the corner, though, it’s not Drake Manning I see.
It’s a woman.
She’s short with black hair, and she removes her jacket and drops it on a chair, along with her purse. Her flawless figure is poured into a tight black sequined sheath. The already-low top has a neckline that plunges dramatically and barely contains her sizable breasts, and the hem is so high that if she lifts her arms she’ll expose herself. She sees me at exactly the moment I see her, and we quickly scan each other’s clothing and likely arrive at the same conclusion: This is an outfit obviously meant to seduce a man.
Then I see her face and realize I’m looking at Siena Alessi, the Italian movie star who is Drake’s co-star in the movie. We stare at each other awkwardly for a second, then I ask, “Can I help you?”
In an accented voice that can no doubt induce immediate erections, she says, “I am Siena. Who are you?”
“I’m Allie. Was Drake expecting you?”
She ignores my question and coolly appraises my body with her eyes. “No, I was going to make a surprise for him. You are American. Are you his girlfriend?”
I start to say yes, then I realize I don’t know exactly what I am to Drake. Siena keeps looking at my sheer bodysuit and I say, “Excuse me,” and run to put on a robe. Part of me hopes she won’t be there when I return, that I had imagined it. But she’s still standing in the middle of the room in that ridiculously sexy dress. My god, those legs, that thin waist. I would give anything to have a body like that, just so I could wear clothes like that.
“Drake is still shooting,” I say, for lack of something better. “He’ll be back soon.” Why did I mention that? I do not want this woman to be here when he returns.
She seems to see the look of concern on my face and her attitude changes instantly. “No, no, no. I just came here to talk to him about the scene we shoot tomorrow, maybe to rehearse a little.”
There’s an uncomfortable pause before she says, “I should leave now.”
“Yes,” I say, my only way of defending my territory. Only now I’m unsure of whether the territory in question is actually mine.
Siena takes her coat and purse and moves to the door, stopping long enough to turn around and say, “Nothing happened with me and Drake.” I suppose she knew I would wonder. I have no reaction, then she leaves with a perfunctory smile, shutting the door behind her.
I stand there for a moment, trying to process what has just happened.
Then I burst into tears.
For the next two hours, I cry my eyes out, torturing myself with question after question about Siena Alessi’s presence in the suite. How did she get a key? Did Drake give it to her? Was he lying all along about not having slept with her? Will he simply lie to me when he comes back, and worse yet, will I believe him rather than risk losing him? And most importantly: Is he even mine to lose, or have I just been tricking myself into believing that was the case?
Out of curiosity, I pick up the shooting schedule from the dresser and look to see what scene is scheduled to be shot tomorrow, the one Siena seemed so intent on rehearsing. I’m hurt and offended to find that it’s the big sex scene, in which they’ll both be mostly naked together. The shoot includes moments in which the two are grinding together, kissing up and down each other’s bodies. It even calls for a shot where Drake takes Siena’s nipple into his mouth and sucks on it. It’s not X-rated stuff, but it’s very steamy and calls for them to be mostly naked and groping each other for hours.
Against my better judgement I decide I need to check the Drakecount site, to see if her name has been added since I last checked more than a week ago. My heart is in my throat as I wait for my computer to boot and load the site.
502
The new number might as well have punched in the face. It’s two higher than before. Any hope that I had sinks as I scan down the page to see who the new additions are, half expecting to see my own name atop the list. Instead, I see “Siena Alessi” at the very top, and the date of their supposed liaison is just before my arrival in Rome. Underneath her is the name Vanessa R., with a notation saying that entry is “unverified.”
There’s a link on Siena’s name and when I click I’m taken to a new page, the site of an Italian tabloid magazine called Chi. In my limited Italian, I know the word is pronounced like “key” and means “who.” I see photos of Drake and Siena in the lobby of this very hotel, the St. Regis, looking quite chummy, with her hugging him and pressing her body against his. As I Google-translate the article and read it, I discover they had an intimate dinner together, then returned to the hotel, where she spent the night in his suite. People on the set of Entangled States say they’ve been inseparable, making out between takes and spending most of their time in each other’s trailers. A camera operator said they had to stop several takes when Siena’s topless figure gave Drake noticeable erections. The final picture shows the two of them in the back of a limousine, the door wide open as they’re locked in a steamy kiss.
I close my browser, unable to fathom what a fool I’ve been. Then I remember the other new name on the list and stupidly open the browser again and go back to the site. There’s a link associated with Vanessa R.’s name, and I hold my breath and click.
This time I’m taken to a subforum on the popular website Reddit called “r/Starfuckers” which features posts from people who have supposedly bedded celebrities. This particular post, by the aforementioned Vanessa R., details “The Night I Fucked Drake Manning.” And it does so in extreme detail. I scan the text and see there’s only one photo, a badly focused picture of a naked man taken from behind in a dimly lit bedroom. This Vanessa claims she met Drake at a restaurant in Hollywood, where he was hanging out with friends, including Marcus Jennings of the Lakers. With minutes he invited her back to his place and she gave him head in his living room before he sent her on her way. Then he had an apparent change of heart and called her to come back to his house, where they “fucked like animals until four in the morning.”
This one sounds like bullshit to me, both the story and the picture, which could easily be of some other man. Then I happen to notice the date this rendezvous supposedly occurred: the same day I flashed Drake in my car, and the day before we made out in the back of the limo on the way to the airport – which would have occurred mere hours after their little tryst. Now convinced that the account can’t possibly be true, I take one last look at the photo. This man certainly has a beautiful ass like the one I’ve seen around the suite this week. That muscular butt, though, is blurry because the focus is on the foreground, where I see furniture and a dark red object in the corner that jolts something in my brain. I run breathlessly with my laptop to the bedroom, throw open the closet door and stare, my eyes fixed on Drake’s deep red suitcase. A black diagonal strip on the corner perfectly matches the one in the photo.
I crumple to my knees, my stomach churning.
How could I have possibly been so naïve?
25
Drake
Talk about being ambushed.
It took me all of one second to realize something was badly wrong. I entered the suite to find Allie sitting there, her suitcase at her side, computer on her lap, and her eyes puffy and bloodshot. The moment she sees me, the tears flow. I’ve seen that same look on women’s faces before and know exactly what’s at stake, but it catches me by surprise to see it on Allie.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, afraid I already know the gist of it.
She swallows hard, choking back tears, and says, “Tell me the truth: Did you sleep with Siena?”
I’m thankful that my co-star is the problem at hand, because I’m comfortable in my innocence, at least regarding the big question of sex.
“No, I told you that already.”
Allie swings her laptop around to face me. “This would indicate otherwise.” I glance at the page, a translation of a story in one of the many Italian tabloids. Pictures from the night Siena attempted to seduce me, but accompanied by a story claiming it actually happened.
“This is all bullshit, apart from us having dinner together to get to know one another,” I say. “The kiss was just a playful kiss goodnight and there was no intention behind it, I swear. The picture makes it look much worse than it was.”
She gives me a look of utter sadness, as if she’s caught me in a lie. It’s perplexing, because I know the truth about what happened that night.
“I swear that’s what happened. I’ll introduce you to Siena and you can ask her yourself.” I know that isn’t the most persuasive tactic, but it’s all I can think of.
“We’ve already met,” Allie says. “She came by earlier and magically had a key to the suite. She was wearing a tiny dress that may as well have had ‘FUCK ME, DRAKE’ written all over it. Needless to say, she was quite surprised to find another woman here.”
Well, this certainly isn’t good. “She… she was here? When? Did she say what she wanted?”
“She wanted to rehearse tomorrow’s scene,” Allie says. “You know, the sex scene? Why do you need to rehearse a sex scene, Drake? In your hotel room, no less.”
“I’ll be honest, Allie. Siena has tried to hit on me a couple of times since I got here. That first night – the one in the pictures – she wanted to come up here with me but I told her no. It’s a delicate situation because I don’t want to ruin our chemistry during the shoot, but I promise you I have not touched that woman at all, except for that one kiss that she surprised me with. Nothing else has happened.”
“She had a key,” she says, obviously unconvinced.
“The front desk probably gave her one. She’s a huge star in this country. Those poor Italian guys downstairs wouldn’t tell her no.” I’m guessing that’s what happened. I know she didn’t get a key from me.
Allie sits in silence, staring me down.
“What about Vanessa?” she asks. It’s more of an accusation than a question.
“Who is Vanessa?” The name doesn’t ring a bell.
She turns her laptop screen back toward her and hits a few keys, then spins it around again. I’m looking at an out-of-focus picture of a naked man, then I recognize my bedroom and realize it’s my own ass in the picture. I quickly scan the text and it dawns on me it was written by that stupid little slut I picked up at Miguel’s, the one I fucked in a misguided and unsuccessful attempt to get Allie out of my brain.
Now I know I’m in serious trouble with this woman. Even worse, I can tell by the look on her face that I’ve broken her heart.
“Let me explain…”
“Did you fuck this little tramp?”
“It’s complicated.”
“No, it’s actually very simple,” she says as the tears start to flow again. “Did you fuck her? Yes or no?”
It’s time to come clean. Lying might get me out of this, but for some reason I’m unable to lie to Allie.
“Yes, I did.” The words sting, but I can tell from the way Allie recoils that they hurt her even more. “But it’s not what you think.”
Before I can utter another word, she stands and stuffs her laptop into her bag, then heads toward the door with suitcase in tow.
“It’s exactly what I think,” she says.
I move to block her, but she shoves me aside as best she can.
“Allie, you have to let me explain,” I say. “There were extenuating circumstances. I was confused.”
She stops and glares. Somehow, that pissed her off even more.
“You are very confused, Drake. But you’re not a little boy anymore. It’s time to grow up. Your infantile behavior affects other people.”
The words “it’s time to grow up” are like a dagger in my heart, because I suspect she’s right. She’s out the door and down the hall before I regain my mental footing.
I want to chase her down and make her listen. There’s got to be a way of explaining why I had sex with that Vanessa chick. The problem is that I’m still not even sure why I did it. It felt like something I needed to do that night because I’d found myself thinking about Allie in a way I’m not accustomed to thinking about women. It all makes perfect, if somewhat convoluted, sense in my head. Instinctively, though, I know she won’t understand. All that matters to Allie is that right when we were beginning to have a genuine attraction to each other, I had to go and put my dick in another woman.
I had every right to do so, since Allie and I are not a couple now, and definitely weren’t at that point. Hell, we didn’t sleep together until after she came to Italy nearly ten days later. Still, even though I may not have technically been expected to be faithful to her, I have an overwhelming sense now that I’ve betrayed her.
Ever since I first became a household name, I’ve gone from one woman to another, never looking back. If someone I was sleeping with learned that I was fucking someone else, I was unaffected; I would simply forget about both of them and move on to the next.
As I stand in the suite, the door still wide open, for the first time ever I have remorse for what I’ve done.
Maybe it is time I grew up.
When I’m called to the set the next afternoon, I’m a bit of a wreck. I didn’t sleep a wink and pretty much just stared at the ceiling all night. Finally around five in the mor
ning I headed to the hotel’s gym and got a workout in, but I’m really spent physically and emotionally by the time someone comes to get me and escorts me onto the soundstage with the bedroom set. Siena isn’t there yet, and I haven’t spoken to her about her visit to my suite the previous evening. I plan to be as professional as possible and get through this day’s shoot, then worry about Allie tonight.
The set is gorgeous, supposedly the bedroom of Siena’s wealthy character, Chiara. There’s a huge bed with expensive linens, the set’s lighting is subdued, and there are candles burning on both nightstands. It’s very sexy, at least for a movie set. My CIA guy, Rance, has been summoned here by a text sent to a number on a business card he gave Chiara at the end of their earlier pool scene. That evening, she sends him the mysterious text that just says, “I need help NOW!” So Rance races over expecting trouble and finds it, in the form of a totally naked Chiara, tied to the bed. When I first read the script, I was excited about doing this scene, but at the moment I’d rather be anywhere else.
As I’m staring at the fake bedroom and its luxurious furnishings, someone pinches my ass and I turn around to see Siena standing behind me, her robe slightly open at the top and her cleavage screaming for attention.
“I am sorry to make trouble for you and your girlfriend last night,” she says, though I can tell she’s not too bothered about it. “She looked very sexy in that biancheria intima.”
I have absolutely no idea what the word means. “You had a good time later, yes?” she asks.
My glare tells her that isn’t the case. We have no time to sort it out, though, as the director approaches with some last minute thoughts. When he’s done, he asks Siena if she’s ready to do a take. She nods and he orders the unnecessary crew members off the set. Due to the nature of the scene, the set will be closed, with only the half-dozen most vital people remaining. When I enter the room, Siena will be on the bed naked, one ankle tied to a bedpost. She will be wearing a tiny modesty pouch to cover her pussy, then later there will be more takes with a body double for the raciest shots.
Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 1: Drake Page 13
