Desired

by Bianca Giovanni

  The crowd is cheering her on and shouting instructions.

  “Suck that cock, slut!”

  “Face down, ass up!”

  “You love it don’t you, you dirty little whore!”

  It’s humiliating. It’s demeaning. It’s harsh and mean-spirited and wrong, but she’s happily allowing herself to be debased. In fact, the more they degrade her, the more enthusiastically she services them. It’s baffling to me, but everyone here seems to think it’s no big deal, like a random suck-and-fuck is nothing out of the ordinary and it’s just expected that this is what girls will do.

  This is getting too real for me. I’m a bit queasy from how troubling I find this whole display. I have no problem with people enjoying sex, even sex of the more unconventional variety, but I think this takes it overboard. I realize that many people argue that porn objectifies women, but here’s a woman truly being objectified, and this isn’t on a set; it’s real life. She’s basically a receptacle for these guys, just a trio of available orifices—and it’s not a shoot, so she’s not even getting paid.

  I shake my head like I can erase what I just saw, and I return on the path to the bathroom.

  Like some kind of bitchy, whorish moon eclipsing my sun, Tara Morgan suddenly steps in front of me.

  “Hi, Lola. Having fun?” she says facetiously.

  I only glare at her.

  “Or are you finally starting to realize that you shouldn’t even be here?” she adds in a bitterly cutting tone.

  “What did you just say to me?” I ask, taken aback by her flagrant attack. All that subtle implication is gone, and now she’s just going for the jugular.

  “You heard me. I said you shouldn’t be here.” She steps closer and stares me down.

  “And who the fuck are you to decide that?” I spit back.

  “Face it, you don’t belong here. Whatever little fairy-tale romance you think you have with James is all bullshit. Retiring is the best way to boost sales of your old movies, he knows that, and claiming he’s leaving for love is a great PR move for him, since he’s locked down the female audience. You’re just a marketing tool.”

  I scoff, unsure of where to begin to refute that statement.

  “He’s one of us, Lola. You’re not. It’s as plain as that.”

  “Then why am I the one wearing this?” I ask her, holding up my left hand to show off my ring, the first and probably last time I’ll ever have the desire to flaunt a fancy jewel.

  That seems to jostle her, but only momentarily, and soon she’s laying into me again.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says, shrugging. “Married or not, he’ll always be one of us. He’s going to want things a prissy little princess like you can never give him. How soon before he gets bored with you and comes knocking on my door again, hmm?”

  I can feel my lip start shaking, but I bite it from the inside to steady it. I’m so angry that I feel like I could burst into flames…or uncontrollable sobs.

  “Maybe you don’t know this, but I own him at these awards. Me and him have a history, and we always have a lot of fun together,” she adds with venom. “By the end of the night, he’ll be mine again, and we’ll be doing things you’ve never even dreamed of.”

  I don’t engage her, just scowl at her.

  “I know what he likes,” she says, licking her lips and stepping closer to me. “I know everything he likes, and I know that I can do it for him better than anyone else.”

  “You’re pathetic,” I murmur.

  “Am I?” she says with a malicious grin. “Let’s see who’s pathetic when James gets tired of amateur hour and wants to go back to the majors.”

  My fists are clenched and I want to hit her or break down crying—I still haven’t decided which. I sigh and shake my head at her, which apparently leaves me open for more abuse.

  “You’ve got no chance, princess,” she says. “You’re just a new toy for him, but he’ll get bored playing with you soon enough.”

  “Suck a bag of dicks, Tara!” I spit harshly, feeling myself starting to fray.

  “Maybe you can watch me suck your boyfriend’s…again!” she replies with a smirk.

  I can’t breathe the same air as her anymore. I push past her and into the bathroom, locking the door behind me and putting my hands on the counter. I look like I’ve been through the wringer, like those black and white photos from the Great Depression where everyone was gaunt and miserable.

  Deep down, I know that the thing gutting me most is that Tara is right. I don’t belong here. I can’t hang with these people, go to events like this, watch spontaneous gang bangs pop up in corners, hear a vengeful bitch tell me that I’ll never be enough for James, or pretend I’m not imagining torture scenarios that I’d rather endure than spend one more minute in this room. So far, I’ve decided that I would eat a bowl of grubs, put my head in a box of tarantulas, get attacked by a hive of bees, or walk on broken glass if it meant I didn’t have to stay at this party.

  And, you know what? I’m not going to stay. James can hang out and have his fun, but I’ve hit my limit—in fact, I’m past where I thought I could go with this shit!

  I nod to myself in the mirror like I can affirm my decision and achieve some kind of confidence boost before I head out the door.

  I squeeze past the crowd of gang bang observers-turned-participants and make a break for Chad and Alejandro to tell them I’m officially signing off for the night. I have to pass by the bar to get there, so I try to hurry along and avoid the girl currently getting fingered while she sits on a barstool.

  If high heels could make a tire screeching sound, mine would right now.

  I spot James sitting at the other end of the bar talking to that blond, award-winning cocksucker.

  Why is he talking to her? Why is he even around her? And why is she standing so close to him?

  He’s up on the stool, his long legs open as she stands between his knees. She’s leaning into him, running her hands over him and—what the fuck? Did that bitch just kiss him?

  I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m watching some grisly snuff film. She’s shoving her tongue down his throat like something out of Species, and he’s not exactly pushing her away. This can’t be happening. It can’t be real.

  Unless…maybe…I was wrong about him.

  Maybe Tara’s always been more than just a colleague to him. Maybe she was right and he does want a girl who’s open to wilder experiences than I am. Maybe he was planning to keep her on the side as an outlet for his kinky desires and put up the façade of a vanilla relationship with me the whole time. I am naïve and inexperienced, right? I am innocent and ignorant, and I would never suspect that he was playing me while he fucked around with other women—one, in particular, whom I happen to utterly loathe. Maybe all those awful things Tara told me were true. Maybe I can’t give him what he wants and this “fairy tale” is bullshit after all.

  I manage to close my mouth, which has fallen open wider than an airplane hangar, and I blink my eyes. I will not cry…yet.

  I have tunnel vision, and the only thing I can see is the exit. I’m leaving. I’m leaving this room, going back to my room, and going to bed. Tomorrow morning, I’ll give James his ring back and tell him that I made a mistake trusting him with such a monumental commitment. I won’t be the wife of a man who cheats on me—especially with a human jizz depository like Tara Morgan!

  I’m walking at a rather steady clip when my heel slips on the floor and I tumble to the ground, but I don’t hit it. I’m scooped up in strong arms and righted again.

  Ethan Dane stands in front of me with a smile.

  “Almost took a spill there,” he says as I put my hand on his shoulder and adjust my shoe.

  “Yeah, that would have only taken things from bad to worse,” I remark, my voice sounding so haggard that it’s almost alien.

  “You all right, Lola?” he says, resting his hand on my hip. “You seem really out of sorts.”

  “I think I’ve just had my f
ill.” I’m straining so hard to try to smile that I feel like I could start sweating from the exertion.

  “Rough night?” he asks sympathetically.

  “You have no idea,” I say, managing a chuckle.

  “Let me walk you up to your room.” I note that his fingers slip behind me until his hand is resting on the small of my back.

  “I’m really tired, Ethan, and after the night I’ve had—”

  “Maybe I could cheer you up.” He smiles, possibly implying more than just a regulation pep talk.

  Yeah, that’s just what I need: more sex. “I-I just really want to try to get some sleep,” I reply with exhaustion.

  “Well, at least let me walk you to the elevators,” he says, giving me a little squeeze.

  His kindness is only making me feel worse because of its stark contrast to my fiancé’s behavior. Just the word fiancé makes me roll my eyes right now. Why would you ask me to marry you if you still wanted to keep fucking other women, James? And why the fuck did you have to kiss that despicable trollop anyway?

  Ethan takes my hand, not waiting for my answer, and leads me out of the room. He drapes his arm around my shoulders as we walk down the hall, and I do my best not to crumble.

  When we get to the elevator bank, he brushes my hair behind my ear and gives me a sympathetic look.

  “So, what’s got you so sad?” he asks.

  “A lot of things,” I vaguely reply.

  “Come on, vent a little.”

  “Tara. Tara fucking Morgan.”

  “Oh,” he says, his eyebrows raised knowingly. “They’re at it again, huh?”

  “Yeah.” I nod, just starting to consider what he means by “again.”

  “I’m kind of surprised. I figured he’d be over her by now. But I guess this is kind of their spot.” He shrugs.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They hook up at the awards every year. It’s kind of one of those unwritten rules everybody knows about.” He looks a bit unsure of whether he should reveal all this, but he keeps going. “Tara’s totally in love with him, and he knows it, so she’s kind of his old reliable here. A few years back, I was with them in a hotel room and me and him both had her. She’s down for anything. Personally, I’ve always thought she seemed too desperate, but I guess he likes that she’ll do anything he tells her.”

  Ugh. “Seriously?” I ask, my voice barely a squeak.

  “Yeah, I mean, I hate spilling all this to you, and I swear I’m not trying to start any shit for him, but they have a past, you know? I could tell at the table that Tara was not liking the way he was with you, and that girl can get vindictive. She goes after what she wants, and she always wants him.”

  I feel like I’ve gone twelve rounds with Manny Pacquiao. Heartbreak can be exhausting.

  Ethan pulls me in for a hug, and I sigh as I wrap my arms around him and press my forehead to his neck.

  “I wish I could make you feel better, Lola,” he whispers to me as he squeezes me tighter.

  “Thanks, Ethan,” I reply, still sounding undeniably miserable.

  “A beautiful girl like you should always have a smile on her face,” he continues, his hands moving to my hips and over the small of my back. “I don’t know exactly what he did, but if it’s something that’s got you like this, he doesn’t deserve you.”

  I smile when we part the hug, though very weakly.

  Ethan inches closer, and I worry that he’s going to kiss me. In a way, I’d love it. I’d love to get even, to kiss James’s number one rival just to stick it to him that he wasn’t the only one cheating tonight. Part of me would love to take Ethan up to the room and fuck him silly until James walked in and caught us in the act. Maybe that would teach him a lesson. Maybe seeing things from the other side would give him a nice little dose of reality.

  I feel Ethan’s lips barely brush mine, but my whole body tenses. He can tell, and he doesn’t go for the kiss—just another sign that he’s more observant than my thickheaded boyfriend! Instead, he softly kisses my cheek and gives me a warm smile as he steps back to press the call button for the elevator.

  “Will you let me see you smile?” he asks.

  I crack a grin from his cuteness. He’s really making an effort.

  “That’s better,” he says softly.

  He pulls me in for another hug, but he lowers his head until I can feel his breath against my neck. Very slowly, he presses his lips to my skin. I draw in a sharp breath when he kisses a small path up the side of my neck.

  “Ethan,” I quietly object. “I can’t.”

  “I know,” he says, kissing my neck a few more times before he backs up again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, it’s just…you just looked so pretty, and you smell nice—I just couldn’t hold back. I’m really sorry, Lola.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, no doubt flushing completely red. “I feel like I’m just really over sex right now, and it’s basically the last thing I’d want to do at this point.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, porn will do that to you.”

  “It’s so…everywhere! I mean, on the screens at the show, in the acceptance speeches, the strippers, the go-go dancers, the random gang bangs that break out in corners—”

  He laughs even harder.

  “I’ve had, like, five different people try to fuck me in the past twenty-four hours, and I really can’t handle another offer right now,” I say, chuckling.

  He snickers. “I completely understand. And I promise I won’t offer you sex again…at least not tonight.”

  I shake my head and playfully swat his shoulder before we both hear the elevator ding.

  “Good night, gorgeous.” He grins as I step inside.

  “Good night, Ethan.” I nod and hit my floor.

  Chapter 11

  James

  I OPEN THE DOOR TO THE SUITE, and I can hear the water running in the bathroom. Peeking through the window behind the bar, I see that Lola’s in the shower, washing her hair. I can’t help but watch her for a couple minutes, enjoying the way the water runs down her back and onto her tight little ass.

  Watching her like this is really turning me on. I’m all hyped up from earlier, and I want her so bad right now. I won an award for having great sex, and I want to celebrate it by having great sex with Lola.

  I start taking off my clothes as I walk toward the bathroom, tossing everything over my suitcase before stepping closer to the shower.

  “Hey, sexy girl,” I say, which startles her a little bit.

  She laughs for a split second, probably because she envisioned something out of Psycho, but then she turns away from me and runs her fingers through the conditioner in her hair—which smells awesome, by the way.

  My hand slides across her stomach, and I pull her closer to me, kissing up and down the side of her neck and pressing her against me so she can feel just how much I want her.

  She doesn’t lean into me the way she usually would. Instead, she stays kind of rigid and moves back under the water. Weird.

  “You’re so sexy,” I say to her, stepping closer again and holding her hips. “You feel how hard you’ve got me?”

  No response. Nothing verbal, and no receptive body language either. Something’s up, but I’m not sure what.

  I kiss her neck again, but she doesn’t bend it or open up for me, so I decide to move my hands up her ribs and start caressing her boobs. She always likes that, so maybe that’ll get some kind of reaction.

  Her nipples don’t firm up the way they usually do, and I have to rub my fingers over them for a little while before they get even remotely perky. Yes, something’s definitely up with her if her body isn’t even reacting to me.

  “I want to show you why I won those awards tonight, babe,” I say to her, trying to playfully lighten the mood. “Let me lay some of these award-winning skills on you, huh?”

  With that, I slide one hand between her legs and start to touch her, but she steps forward so I can’t get at her.

  “Wh
at’s wrong, Lo?” I whisper to her. The water might be hot, but she’s gone completely chilly.

  She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she starts rinsing out her hair under the water. When she turns toward me to slick it back, she won’t look at me. In fact, she won’t even open her eyes.

  I give her a concerned look when she steps out of the shower and wraps her hair in a towel. She starts drying off, leaving me there feeling totally confused.

  I watch her from the shower as she turns on the blow dryer and starts running her fingers through her hair. Most of the time, she lets it air dry, but she’s clearly in a hurry right now.

  I wash up, observing her out of the corner of my eye the whole time. She brushes her teeth and puts on moisturizer, never giving me a second look. She’s completely ignoring me. It’s like I’m not even here. I have no idea what’s going on and why she’s had this sudden mood swing. She seemed totally happy earlier. Could be the alcohol. I know she was hitting the champagne pretty hard at the show tonight. Still, it’s way out of character for her to give me the silent treatment like this. When she’s mad at me, she usually erupts like Vesuvius and tells me in no uncertain terms what I’ve done to piss her off.

  She leaves the bathroom, and I hurry up so I can talk to her. I’ve got a towel wrapped around my hips as I watch her from the doorway. She puts on my Denver Broncos T-shirt and crawls into bed. She’s been wearing sexy little short-shorts or nighties to bed the past few months, but now she just wants a big T-shirt. Strange turn of events, indeed.

  I dry off as quickly as possible and hang the towel before I get under the covers with her. She faces away from me, but I side my arm around her and tug her back toward me.

  “Do you want to tell me why you’re mad right now?” I whisper against the back of her neck.

  “No.”

  Wow. Very clipped response and an acknowledgment that she is mad.

  “Why not?” I ask her.

  “It’s not worth it.”

  “Why isn’t it worth it?”

  “Because explaining it would be a waste of time.”