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Chapter Fourteen
What did I really expect after that madness? Some renewed enlightenment or a body transformation, perhaps? No, I think not.
It was one thing to envision it, but another to experience it. Had I fathomed how visceral the interaction could get, I might’ve taken a moment to consider the consequences of partaking in such a raw film.
Endure became my mantra.
When the two more scenes rolled out in the next two weeks, my body’s treacherous responses remained the same—lurid and lascivious. At times, it became unbearable to control.
The only consolation was how Juan didn’t mind as much, since he, too, walked away with a burgeoning hard-on after each session. I sincerely thought there wouldn’t be any jokes anytime soon—his little pun was null and void. Not with how things were unfolding. The onscreen chemistry was off the charts. It simmered off-screen, too, slowly seizing us.
It became painstakingly obvious how our chemistry was becoming a hindrance to our blossoming friendship. Our conversations became strained, mostly on my part. However, I did try to be civilized when I was around him. It was petty since he wasn’t at fault. Regardless, I’d rather play it safe. Too much was at stake, and I wasn’t willing to risk any “accidents” from happening.
Though he hadn’t tried anything with me, his eyes foretold too much. On several occasions, I caught him looking at me with that wild look about him when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
Juan was mistaken if he thought I hadn’t noticed those lingering, unadulterated stares. I noted everything, and how dangerous this whole thing was becoming. Amidst it all, we somehow began to gravitate towards one another. He was drawn to me, that much was certain. It was one of the main reasons my guard was always drawn whenever he was close. There were too many sparks flying between us.
You know what they say: when there’s a spark, fire was close behind.
It was draining—fighting this invincible force between us. I had tried everything in my power to squash whatever it was. But when the lights shut off, the curtains drawn, the Spanish man would appear in my dreams, showing me what he wanted to do to me.
The images were vivid, beyond erotic, and unquestionably raunchy. Each night, I’d wake up in the middle of my dream, troubled and aroused like never before. The slick evidence would be between my legs, but for the life of me, I couldn’t bring myself to rub that button and unleash something I wouldn’t be able to control.
My dreams were becoming a hindrance to life itself. It made it impossible to calmly, rationally talk to him without my mind drifting to my pornographic nightmares. I wished to bury myself with shame.
The previous night, Anton and I’d had a lengthy conversation. And I admit, there were several instances when I was tempted to divulge these disturbing thoughts. But each time I tried, I managed to stop myself from spilling my shame. It would’ve granted immense relief to confide to someone, but at the end of the day, I believed there was no way of taking it back. Then those thoughts wouldn’t stay in my dreams. They’d become more real—realer than I ever wanted them to be. I couldn’t place myself in that position while I was stuck on this gorgeous island for weeks on end.
After the wearisome day I had, I couldn’t wait until I was alone. The car service had just dropped me back off at the hotel. It was a balmy evening, and the sweet, salty scent of the sea hung heavily in the air, beguiling one’s senses.
It was past seven and the beachgoers, had all retreated indoors to freshen up for tonight’s festivities—mainly clubbing and beach parties. The thought of partying and enjoying the night away while dancing up a storm made me miss my friends. The downside of shooting outside the country was the loneliness that accompanied it. Nighttime was when it severely thrived.
“Buena noches, Señorita Quinn,” Esteban, the jolly doorman, warmly greeted me as I entered the hotel’s reception area. After living here for over a week, it was safe to say I knew everyone.
Meeting the doorman’s cheerful smile, I nodded. “Buena noches, Esteban,” I replied back just as my stomach grumbled in protest. My hand immediately covered my bare midriff as if to hush it because there were a lot of folks brushing past me, desperate to get to their destination.
Upon entering the air-conditioned lobby, I zoomed past a dozen of Japanese tourists who were engrossed in their maps and scrolling at photos. I was just about to press the call button on the lift when I spotted Juan from my peripheral view, walking in long strides, purposely trying to catch up to me.
What does he want now? The man seems to be too dense not to take my hints. I’m not interested, but here he goes again … fuck.
My heart rate accelerated as the Spanish drew closer. This reaction had been an unwelcomed aftereffect whenever he was in close range. A nuisance I could do without. That and the man himself.
Irked at my treacherous body, I enthused my resting bitch face, barely acknowledging him when he towered inches from me. In my delicate five-feet-four frame, the man loomed over me with his over six-foot stature.
My pulse quickened. Breathing ragged. However, I remained steadfast with my mission—repel. Repel the fucking evil that was provoking me.
“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked, still sporting that blissful persona, while glancing upwards to the lift indicator ticking its way down to the lobby.
I hate it when he’s all smiles and happy. It makes it harder to ignore him. There’s something weird about overly happy people. Fucking get it together; life isn’t all that great.
Okay, that’s rather mean, but for fuck’s sake, just stop fucking smiling!
When I didn’t immediately respond, Juan’s fathomless pools honed in on my face. They caressed, roving over my delicate neck before halting on my lips.
Bitch, please, I irritatingly thought as I clutched my purse strap tighter. My stomach began to churn as if I was getting sick. Yes, this attraction was nothing short of sickening. Vile. Beyond appalling.
Breathe.
It’s not that serious, Cara.
