by Pamela Ann
I’d been her protector since we had been kids, but this time, I knew, without a speck of doubt, I wanted to be free from the restraints she had on me. Her manacles had held me in a chokehold, holding me in check, which had made moving on completely impossible. But this time, we’d reach the point of no return. If I’d thought things couldn’t get worse than they already had, she had proved me wrong. The inevitable had happened.
“We’re not going anywhere, Cara.” I felt … nothing. How could someone kill someone when he was already dead inside? All thanks to this woman. “I have somewhere to be. Go back to la, Cara. I’ll arrange for you to fly out first thing tomorrow. I’ll catch up with you in Coachella.” By then, I’d have everything ready. I was setting her free. She could do what she liked. As for me, I was done, just fucking done.
“What?” she gasped, shocked beyond comprehension. “What do you mean? No, just no. You can’t just fucking get rid of me when we agreed I’d be staying with you until I leave for Toronto.”
“Do whatever you want. I don’t care.” Those were the last words I shot at her before slamming the door in her face.
The bitch was engaged.
She had played me like a damn fool. She always had. Well, it hadn’t taken her long to find a replacement for Juan. She what now … loved two men while another man owned her body?
This was all fucking twisted. Too fucked-up even for me.
She’d had sex with him. She had to have. I mean, how could she not? They were on vacation, probably sharing the same room, sleeping on the same bed, and he closed the deal by trapping her in the dumbest proposal I’d ever heard.
Cara had done more than enjoy Everett.
Well, she could have him. I was sure she was relieved to find out I was done with her. She was probably dancing with joy in her room, possibly calling the fucker so she could fly out to see him.
I didn’t care what she did. She could marry him tomorrow, and it wouldn’t matter. Not to me. Not anymore.
Fuck her.
I was going to fucking have fun tonight and forget this had ever happened. I would find a beautiful woman to get lost in. And by the time I woke up tomorrow, my headspace would be in a much better state.
Engaged.
BULL.
FUCKING.
SHIT.
Another man’s ring. Everett’s ring…
The bitch had some big cajones showing up here, wearing that stupid ring. My mind couldn’t wrap around the way she processed things. I mean, what the fuck was she thinking? How could she!
This was Hell on earth.
How many times did I have to go through the wringer before I got some happiness back into my life?
Jesus Christ. Did I really deserve this? Did I?
I had let her go off for two weeks and come back with this crock of shit? Cara didn’t care if she stomped on me, made me look stupid, or how she always got away with things she shouldn’t have in the first place. In retrospect, this was my fault. I had let this happen. I had asked for this by inviting her back into my life, knowing what she was capable of. I didn’t pay heed and followed my dick’s unreliable brainless radar.
Fuck. Me. This shit hurt like a motherfucker.
I was paying the price for the ultimate moronic move.
Chapter 17
River
The club was mad thriving, running wild, crazy, and free. The perfect scene to get lost in—a packed scene of people dancing, drinking, and having plain old fun. I’m one of the few who searched for a particular kind of entertainment this late evening, aiming for a quick hit—a mixture of the bad and the naughty kind.
Phoenix, Rock, Arush, Willa, and the rest of my crew who wanted to tag along tonight were all chilling in a private lounge section of the club. Since I required a little more privacy than the rest, I had made sure to have a private room all to myself.
Arush, who knew better than to pry for answers, canceled everything at a moment’s notice.
One look at me and everyone understood not to get in my way. They’d seen me like this before, and when I was in this headspace, no one had better fuck with me. It wasn’t as if I was unpleasant to be around—I was pretty chill really—but there was a certain edge to me, and I rarely cracked a smile … and if I did, it came out more of a smirk more than anything.
Apart from Arush, they had an idea whom I’d been keeping company with … especially Willa. However, they had more sense than to ask me straight up. No one bothered. No one dared. But they knew … They weren’t stupid. After how things turned out for us, my people weren’t her biggest fans anymore. They weren’t vocal about it, but I could just tell. Cara’s cheating affected them, too. After all, she was, at one point, one of us.
I appreciated their effort in respecting my decision to not share this private part of my life. It was no one’s business but mine and mine alone. Cara had been, and always would be, a no-go subject for me. I didn’t discuss her with anyone, not even when the bitch was cutting me raw, bleeding me dry, and pushing me to the last leg of rationality. I spoke to no one. There were no ill words. Nothing demeaning. Nothing hateful. I simply let things be. It was better this way. Besides, no one would be able to understand the complexity of my relationship with Cara.
There was a lot of unspoken tension, uncontainable rage, and through it all, my crew silently stood behind me, soundlessly giving me the strength to continue on even when the days grew bleaker, darker.
They were my family, as was Cara once upon a time. But I couldn’t call her that any longer. The woman purposely severed the connection. Tonight, I would be doing the same—cutting the proverbial tie binding us ever since I set eyes upon her that Sunday morning over a decade ago.
So, with me at the helm, hosting tonight’s event, we partied. We rolled. We rocked and kept on rocking with my favorite choice of poison: Vodka neat and its other perfect counterpart—coke neat. Straight up.
Line. Snort. Cavort.
My distraction came in a shiny silver dress. Cuban. Hot as fuck. Killer robust curves. With the sexiest accent that made my dick purr when she whispered in my ear. Her name was Dulce, like the candy, and boy did she just look delicious.
She would do … me tonight.
Abso-fucking-lutely.
After fifteen days of celibacy, I was dying to feel a hot body rubbing against me, riding and fucking me like my dick was their sole fucking purpose on earth. So, we danced, took several shots of kamikaze, danced some more, and then went back to the shooters.
We were amongst my crew, laughing, messing around as we partied the night away. Even though Dulce had been giving me the green light since the moment we met, I chose to have fun with her first. I liked to know the women first before getting intimate with them, no matter the duration of our tryst.
She liked how I doted on her and how I didn’t flirt with anyone else besides her. I gave her just enough, brushing her exposed back with my hand, almost kissing her while dancing as my dick pressed against her ass. Nothing too aggressive to the point of offensive. This was my less than subtle approach before I closed in on her.
The trick was to give them a little—just enough—but not enough to taste. This would pique her interest. As this built up, her cravings would, as well. In this nearly enraptured frame of mind, she would begin to know my smell, the feel of my hands on her skin, further heightening her arousal. And when she was about to lose control, that was when I came in, sweeping her off her feet before shoving her pliant body against the nearest flat surface then fucking her brains out. I wouldn’t stop until she could barely construct a sentence, her pussy was loose and deliciously sore, and she could hardly stand because her legs were shaky.
I was a damn good lover. A generous one … ensuring an unforgettable encounter, certifying she remembered this thick beast fucking her.
Private room, on ready and standby.
Dulce leaned forward, ensuring my line of sight gave me a great view of what she had to offer tonight.
Rou
nd, supple, bare breasts.
Did she have a pink, dusky, or dark nipples? My mind wondered as my eyes certainly wandered.
My gaze dropped to her generous cleavage. The enchanting valley was tanned, smooth, and silky, and I could hardly wait to discover what this delightful chick had to offer. Her body was bangin’. And guessing from her voice, her moans and screams were going to enthusiastically fill my ears.
This was sex—plain stick-it, shoot-it, leave-it kind of sex. Party people and casual hook-ups, a quick band-aid for individuals who didn’t care for romance, such as myself.
I was one of those men who’d readily encouraged to free the damn nipple. Let loose. Heck, dance on the motherfucking table. Get it. Work it. Love it.
I always appreciated women who didn’t suppress their sexual appetite—so long as they didn’t hurt anyone. I’d countlessly slept with chicks who were in a relationship back in the day. It was fucked up, but back then, I had thought if a guy couldn’t hold on to his woman, he didn’t deserve to be with one, anyway. Tides turned on that front, however. Cheating and cheaters no longer held appeal after Cara took the reins and smothered me with it.
Willa, Phoenix, Arush, and Rock had been sending us curious glances all night. But I didn’t care. If I was being careless, oh well. Usually, when I was in this kind of head trip, I never invited the woman back to the table to socialize with my friends. They remained anonymous, just as I preferred, but tonight was a different story.
I supposed it was high time things changed. Shake it up a bit. The routine had gotten boring, and boring was the last thing I required tonight. Besides, I was entitled to let loose after working so hard. I’d been on the road for close to a year now, and it could go on for another year if I let it. I was still weighing whether I had the energy to do Asia and more dates in South American countries. My manager Ari had been pressuring me to do it—as had my guys—but I was in the zone to work on new music. Cara had given me something to work on. She had managed to do that in a month’s time. Couldn’t fault her for being so remarkably unpredictable in her predictability, though. She had always put herself first above anyone else. And in some way, I respected her for always putting her interest before anyone else’s. Cutthroat and heartless, a vital trait in our tough industry. Cara would do very well. I didn’t doubt it. Soulless bitches always did.
As for the tour, I was hoping to have an answer right around Coachella. I’d been looking forward to this event, and I intended to do it in a massive way. By the looks of things, it’d certainly be massive, both in career and personal life. I was setting her free.
Finally.
All these months of hatred. Loathing her self-serving attitude. Endlessly condemning her and Juan. My tireless, incessant denials. The endless recounting and rewinding the lost times, the exact moments and the countless possible outcomes of each scenario during our time in Sweden had led me to this moment, a moment of truth … a moment of realization. Finalization.
The conclusion … of us.
Coming to terms with the ending was the hardest part. I’d accepted. Unequivocally. And as much as I still despised Cara, my soul felt less heavy, unburdened by the vicious crux I carried upon my shoulders when I manned up and took my fate instead of contesting it—fighting it until it began it eat me alive, implicating my very livelihood, penalizing my soul.
Fate had taught me a lesson. One I would never take for granted nor forget. It was to seize life—be in the moment, not the past. Engage in the present and embrace the opportunity to make new memories. Not to replace the old ones, but to allow the mind new material to encode, process, and visualize. The reprieve provided healing, mending its exhausted cortex, which systematically retrieved and replayed the past because of my persistent state of denial. An invaluable test, imparting a caveat—never go against its almighty current. Struggling would only prolong the journey. The tide would take me where I needed to be. To the next phase, the next chapter.
Change was inescapable.
Time was inevitable.
My present…
Absolutely unavoidable.
I could tell the guys were more than curious to see how far Dulce’s antics would go. Willa, who was used to our stupidity by now, didn’t even bat an eyelash as she pulled a passing Stassy to sit next to her as they looked on the packed dancing crowd below our lounge area, whispering and gossiping, like they always had almost every time we partied somewhere.
By the looks of it, sweet Dulce had reached the tipping point as she blatantly rubbed her braless tits against my arm. Taut little erotic beacons begged for my attention. They sure as hell got it now. As if I could look anywhere else. Those hot suckers craved to be licked, sucked, and bitten. My tongue tingled when a flash of an image appeared before me, doing the very same decadent deed.
It was definitely on. I was already going crazy. If I went another twenty-four hours without one, it would be ugly.
So long as I kept my attention honed-in on Dulce all night and rejected every damn thought of Cara coming my way, it was all going to be plain as gravy.
My mind was determined, hell-bent on proving to myself that I could go through with this without a hitch.
Tonight was my night. The shackles would come loose. I could fuck whomever, wherever, whenever I wanted.
No one dared to stop me, or Hell would fucking freeze over.
Eager hands gripped my arm. Drifting thoughts diverted me back to my present as Dulce unashamedly shifted her chest from side to side, making it rather difficult not to recognize the pebbled buds grazing my skin with each passing brush.
My dick swelled—well, fuck, it’d been swelling for so long I’d forgotten what sex felt like.
Okay. Chill. That was quite a stretch, but abstinence wasn’t my thing. What man would voluntarily choose this route? Well, no sane man did. Thing was, I never claimed I was one. However, I’d like to point out there’d been an exception—when I was in a committed relationship with Cara. It was the only exclusive relationship I’d ever experienced. There’d been countless times when women would really go to the ends of the earth to try to get me to notice them. But all it took was one thought of Cara, and any temptation, if there was one, vanished in a heartbeat.
It wasn’t until she disappeared on me for two years that I had become the man I was today. The driving force of being a stellar fuckboy got me through the olden dark days of hell. Fame, money, and my insatiable sexual appetite balled together … it was when the fuming beast was born.
I saw it coming. How couldn’t I? Back in high school, before I confessed I was in love with her, I’d been known as the “cherry popper.” Taking their virginity and keeping them horny had been my part-time job. The other half was invested in arts, pursuing what I loved the most, including the girl whose virginity I had made sure was intact. No guy dared to touch her, or I’d rip their heads off. No idiot tried—well, a few did. Let’s just say they didn’t last long.
Sex—the art of it, the method and perfecting the execution, and the mental stimulation it gave me—had been liberating for someone so young. It’d been downright intoxicating. Life-changing.
Sex was the zest of our very existence. The zinger. The most undiluted, purest form of life—receiving and giving it to one’s partner. Those raw, heady moments of unadulterated euphoria, just before one’s release were the most fundamental, primitive moments to a man. We were molded, formed, and created to solely mate. To share and exchange pleasure was as simple as breathing.
Suck and you shall receive. Fuck and you shall conceive. So, why on God’s beautiful planet would a man be deprived when he had the stamina of a horse?
Why try to be good when being bad was so fun? Besides, I loved and adored women too much. All of them. Different shapes, sizes, and colors. I delighted in variety in every sense of the word.
“Everything good?” I seductively whispered, brushing my lips against her cheek back and forth, countering her less than restrained advances. “Need help with somethin
g, babe?”
“Yeah, claro que sí … Can we go somewhere … quieter, papi?” she purred. “We can go to my place…”
Too personal. Besides, I never took them back to my hotel room. I did, however, take them to the same hotel I was staying at, but never into my personal suite. There was always a room reserved specifically for this occasion.
But with Cara staying in the hotel, as well, bringing another woman to screw only spelled trouble. Besides, these clubs always provided private areas for me, catering to whatever purpose I needed it at my disposal.
I’m ready for the real party.
“Come with me.”
After helping her up, Dulce began to gather her purse. As she bent over, it accentuated her ample derriere, and with the type of dress she had, it barely concealed anything. It left nothing to the imagination. Given my deprived state, one didn’t have to guess where my attention bore into. It was locked on her tight body like a dog recognizing a bitch in heat.
“Wrap it up.” Willa threw me the evil eye, while Rock hollered next to her, happily hooting, snorting before clapping in approval.
Rock raised a shot, cheering me on like a goddamn moron. “Wrap it up in foil before you check her oil, dawg.”
Phoenix, whose face and neck were red from too much alcohol consumption, just couldn’t let Rock have all the fun and decided to bless us with his own sense of absurdity. “He likes lipstick around his dipstick.”
At least one of us was getting laid. I sniggered as I chucked one of the Japanese peanuts we’d been munching on at Phoenix and Rock. “Shut up, fuckers!”
Why were they giving me crap, anyway? It was their choice to beat their meat off to porn instead of joining the massive pool of single, hot, and ready women.
Unlike Rock’s jovial demeanor, Willa’s severe stare never thawed for a second. “Dead serious, River. Keep it safe, ya hear?”
