My jaw ticks as I think about the “Edgelord” movie. This Vegas trip has been a nice escape, but Mark texted me yesterday, letting me know the cast was getting together earlier next week than initially planned, for a read-through and staging exercise. I shoved that information in the back of my mind, forcing myself to focus solely on Bex. But now, in the quiet aftermath of our lovemaking, with the morning sun starting to creep across the penthouse floor and the remote for the blackout shades out of reach, now is when I feel the shame start to sink in.
I haven’t been honest with Bex when it comes to my career. Every time she mentions it, it’s in the past tense—“When you were a porn star”—and I never correct her. I let her assume I’m only on the production side of things. She knows the last film I did was over six months ago, but she doesn’t know the reason I’m doing two-a-days is to get in shape for an upcoming film. And although I feel like I have made mention and hints toward still acting, I haven’t come right out and said it.
Idly, I stroke her back with my fingertips, scratching just light enough to feel good—nowhere near her clawing from last night. She hums and wraps an arm around my waist, somehow pulling me even closer.
The woman in my arms deserves the truth, but I’ve withheld it for so long at this point that I’m terrified she’ll walk away if I share it. While we haven’t defined what we are to each other, I consider her something more than a girlfriend. Bex is the first woman in my entire life that I want to fuck for the rest of my life. That means something… right?
I have to tell her. It’s the when and how of it that I haven’t quite figured out. Until then, I’m going to soak up every moment of intimacy I am privileged to experience with this woman. I turn toward Bex and lift her leg slightly to hook over my hip.
I must have dozed off because the next time I open my eyes, the blackout shades are shut, and there’s an empty space beside me where Bex should be. Rubbing my eyes, I roll out of bed and saunter over to the closet to grab a silk robe. Tying the sash, I run my hand through my hair, trying to tame whatever bedhead look I’ve got going on, and walk out toward the rest of the suite.
There’s a hint of coffee and other breakfast scents in the suite. I follow the smells through the massive sliding glass doors onto the balcony overlooking the Las Vegas Strip, where Bex is seated at a bistro table laden with an assortment of breakfast dishes. She’s wearing a silk robe as well, her legs crossed in such a way that causes the robe to part, revealing the length of her thick, creamy thigh.
Fuck the food.I want Bex for breakfast. I want to get on my knees for this woman and make her come on my tongue. I want her thighs clenched around my head, her hands pulling at my hair, her juices dripping down my face as she screams out an orgasm for all of the Vegas Strip to hear.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Bex says, snapping me from my fantasy. I lean down and press a kiss to her temple. “Hope you don’t mind; I ordered room service without you.”
“Not at all,” I say, sitting in the seat across from her. “This looks amazing.”
“I got you an egg white omelet and some turkey bacon, with fruit,” she says, gesturing to a plate near me. “You mentioned putting in the work and not sabotaging yourself. So, I thought I could help a bit.”
I’m stunned that she would do something this thoughtful for me. The guilt of withholding the truth from her creeps up in my throat, and I almost open my mouth to tell her when she says, “Of course, you can eat anything here! It’s certainly more than I can manage, although,” she grins, plucking a piece of bacon from a plate near her and leaning back in her chair, “I’m absolutely famished today. Can’t imagine why.”
The genuine smile on her face and the fire in her eyes, as she references how intense and hot our sex was last night, has my cock twitching beneath my robe. Nope, no way. I can’t tell her now. I refuse to ruin this mood.
Coward—the word hisses through my brain, but I shake my head, ignoring it completely.
“Bex, last night was… sensational,” I say, helping myself to a few slices of pineapple. “Never in my life have I come that hard.”
Her eyes widen, and I would give anything to know what she’s thinking right now. Is she curious about all the other times I’ve come? Theperformative, perfunctory nature of those orgasms? Instead, she gives a little shrug. “Which time?”
I bark out a laugh. Bex is saucy and sexy and genuinely fun to be around. Last night, she was unabashedly open and willing to try things with me, confident, even if a little nervous. Fuck. She’s my ideal woman.
I look around and try to burn this moment into my brain—the sights and sounds of the busy street below us, the cool whip of a breeze catching through Bex’s long, soft hair, and the look on her face of beautiful, utter satisfaction thanks to last night.
“What are you thinking?” Bex asks with a nervous giggle. “You’re pretty quiet this morning.”
I take a sip of coffee before patting my lap. “Come here, Bex.”
She almost jumps up from her seat, tossing a piece of bagel down on her plate before sidling over to me. “Yes, sir,” she murmurs as she slides onto my lap.
“Fuck, Bex,” I groan, wrapping my arms around her and burying my face into her neck. She’s either incredibly aware or just plain mean, because she knows what it does to me when she says those words.
“Corey,” she breathes against me, shifting her position so she’s straddling me. Her robe slides completely open, her breasts pressing against my chest and her lips near my ear.
How is this my reality? How many weeks ago was it that I almost punched Gary Park in the face for groping this beautiful woman? How absolutely clueless I was, so unaware of the change Bex was about to bring to my life.
Bex lets me hold her for a while. I’m not sure what she’s thinking, or hell, if she’s even still awake, as I reach beneath her robe and stroke the bare skin of her back.
Similar to when I woke up, my brain is a train, whirling away and trying to split off onto many different tracks. All my life, I’ve been going, going, going. Growing up in a small town where everyone judged you and everyone talked shit about everyone else, I grew a thick skin pretty quick.
My skin grew thicker during the few years I was in the Marines. I was friendly with the guys I served with—it’s hard not to be under circumstances and experiences like that—but we weren’t super close. When my time was up, I was out. The Marines, for me, had always been about getting out of that small town in Montana and moving on. It was part of the journey for me, not a destination.
When I got out, I flew out to California with some woman I was casually dating. Beyond being a dumb fucking idea to move across the country and move in with someone that casually, I was shit out of luck when she dumped me the first week we were there. We had no money and couldn’t afford a place to stay, and it was far easier for her to sell herself nightly in exchange for a place to stay.
Me? Not that lucky. I’d like to think, if I had started down that road of prostitution at that time, I might not be alive today. It was cut throat out there, literally—especially the area where I was pretty much stuck in.
As luck would have it, I wasn’t jobless or homeless for long. A few days after I got ditched, a man approached me on Sunset Boulevard and asked if I was into acting. I had no acting experience to speak of, but the man assured me it was okay. That afternoon, I walked into a casting office in Pasadena, and my life changed forever.
