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"Naw. You go back and take advantage of the huge suite we are paying seven grand for. It's early enough, you might be able to find some sweet thing to enjoy itwith."
She knew her racy comment would make him blush, yet she also noted he didn't dispute heridea.
"If you're sure, I guess I'll head back. Call me when you get up. I'll come back with all your stuff. Don't forget, you have dinner reservations tomorrow night ateight."
Oh she hadn't forgotten. She'd been dreading seeing her parents. Just one more stress in herlife.
"Okay, willdo."
As soon as Trevor left, Khloe made sure to lock the front door, sliding the deadbolt into place. The click of the lock comforted her. Not only because it kept her safe, but told her she was finally alone. Finally off the public stage. It happened so rarely thesedays.
Khloe turned to take in the space she'd called home for the last four years, although in reality, she'd spent more time on the west coast than in NYC the last two years. Kicking off her too-tall high-heels that were killing her feet, she enjoyed the feel of luxurious carpet between her toes. The kitchen tile was cold in contrast and she opened the refrigerator, pulling a cold sparkling water out. She may not eat right, but she knew enough to at least stayhydrated.
Tension fell from her with each step she took down the hallway towards the sanctuary of her bedroom suite. As she flicked the switch to bathe the room in a soft glow, Khloe spotted her king-sized bed and couldn't wait to fall intoit.
Only then did she regret not having Trevor help her with her zipper. She spent a few minutes struggling until she was able to get the zipper lowered enough to slip the gown off her shoulders, letting it pool at herfeet.
The reflection of the woman in the nearby mirror jarred her. The mind was a funny thing. In the briefest of seconds before she'd registered that it was her in the mirror, she'd been horrified at the thin skeleton of a woman staring back at her. Yet, within seconds, recognition of her own body brought self-recrimination.
I'm not thin enough. Pretty enough. Famous enough. Talentedenough.
The tears she'd repressed earlier were threatening, and she hated it. She took a final minute to step out of her tiny panties and flick her bra off before crawling into her bed, pulling the covers up around her. Only then did she give herself permission to loseit.
The invisible wall she often constructed to keep the world at bay crumbled like a dam that had been breached by swelling floodwater. Waves of emotions, good and bad, crashed over the dam, hitting her squarely until her chest hurt from the weight of itall.
For months she'd been the perfect soldier, marching through the daily crush of responsibility. She'd stayed focused on the work because it was easier that way. It had been safer to keep working until she'd fall into bed, exhausted, each night. The alternative was obsessing on every sordid detail of her soap operalife.
Tonight she'd finally face it all. Everything she'd been refusing to let get close enough to hurt her for months. It was the only way she could purge the negativity out of her system and start fresh againtomorrow.
She cried for her strained relationship with her parents. They'd been only thirty minutes away tonight, yet they might as well have been halfway around the world. Just once, she wished they could be proud of her and her success. Just once, not compare Khloe to her perfect brother, Milek, who'd had the audacity to die in a fiery car crash. She'd give anything if Milek could have been there with her tonight to celebrate her success withher.
Khloe cried harder remembering it had been her first release party without her best friend–strike that–ex-best friend, Monica, there beside her. The Kaplans had warned her that betrayal was often the price of success. Being sold out by the half-dozen other friends she'd started acting with had hurt, but never in a million years had she thought Monica, her best friend since high school, the woman she'd trusted with every secret, would betray her by giving an expose on Khloe's inner circle toRolling Stonemagazine. The irony was there hadn't been that much to reveal. She lived a rather boring life for a celebrity. Still, it hurt to know her friendship was apparently not as important as the fifty grand the magazine had paid to find out that Khloe slept in the nude and struggled with the remnants of an eating disorder, like fifty percent of the women inHollywood.
But more than anything, she sobbed for a man she barely knew. Even as she bawled, she knew it sounded melodramatic, and maybe it was, but regardless, Ryder Helms had ruined her. She'd known it the minute she'd gotten in the limo that night in February and had been driving away from him. There would never be another man in her life who could push her buttons, literally, the way Ryderhad.
In a moment of weakness, Khloe got up and shuffled to the dresser across the room. She pulled open the top drawer, reaching to the very back corner and pulling out a sealed baggie before rushing back to the cocoon of her heaped blankets, burrowing in. Her hands trembled as she opened the zipped top of the small plastic bag and pulled out a crumpled man's hankie along with a pair of purple thong panties. A dangerous cocktail of regret, anger, and sexual heat flooded her as her core contracted with an empty longing for something she couldn'thave.
Like a junkie sniffing a line of white powder, she held the fabric close to her face and took a long drag. Memories of the most intense night of her life came to life. Her time with Ryder had been so brief, there were times she worried she'd dreamed the whole thing. Playing with him at Black Light, the hottest BDSM club on the east coast, had been life changing and, at times, felt more like a plot of a movie. The masculine smell of his cum on her panties and his cologne on the handkerchief were the conclusive proof she needed to keep her sane. To remind her he really had been her Master for three shorthours.
Closing her eyes, she took another drag, letting the faint scent of his masculine cologne take her back to Valentine's Day. Her body shuddered, remembering how he had mastered her–missing his dominance more than ever. She'd gone to Black Light feeling completely out of control, not unlike tonight. She still didn't understand it, but Ryder had seen through all of her layers of protection. Her public persona. Her celebrity shield she wore to protect her from anyone getting too close. He had torn through every layer and stripped her bare. Both physically and emotionally. His desertion at the end of the night had cut her to thecore.
Memories of his dominant control of her body heated her from the inside. She flung back the covers, suddenly burning up. She laid the hankie on the pillow, close enough that she could smell him and then let her hands roam her body, pretending it was his touch squeezing her left breast so hard it hurt. Ryder's probing fingers sliding down her tummy to graze her wet clit. A full-body shudder consumed her as she let her legs fall open obscenely wide, exactly as that night when she'd been restrained to the medical examinationtable.
As an actress, she enjoyed getting deep into her character and tonight, she was playing the role of Ryder Helms's sex slave. Her fingers pinched her tit, as she remembered he had done. Her hand slid through her dripping folds, faster and faster until she felt the desperation of emptiness. How she longed to have his cock thrust into her. Her own fingers were a sorry substitute as she started finger-fucking herself as she moved her left hand from her breast to her clit, pressing and rubbing it harder and faster, matching the quick insertions of her three fingers inside her neglectedcunt.
How sad that it took less than two minutes to bring herself off with a weak climax. It was a poor substitute for the real thing, but it was all she had left of a man she'd never seeagain.
Post orgasm exhaustion closed in and she welcomed it. Suddenly chilled, she snuggled back under the covers, but then regretted not peeing before she'd gotten into bed. She'd regret it in the morning if she didn't take off her layers of makeup and replace them with layers of the high-priced anti-aging creams she lathered her body in nightly, hoping to fend off the wrinkles she knew would end her career. Eventually, the pressure on her bladder insisted that she'd have to brave the chill of the room at least long enough to dash to the toilet if she hoped tosleep.
Swishing back the heavy comforter again, she dashed for the door to the bathroom across the room, flicking on the light as she sped into theroom.
Too late she registered thedanger.
Too late she tried to shrink back, but momentum propelled her into the center of the room before she lost her balance, falling to her knees. She was surrounded by a shrine of pictures of herself, taped to the mirror, the walls, hell even the glass slider to the shower. Photos cut from magazines. Grainy printouts of images she recognized from being postedonline.
The ones that scared her the most were the candid shots. Someone had gotten close enough to her to snap her ordering a drink at Starbucks. Another picture caught her jogging in Malibu, close enough to see the damp perspiration soaking her tank top. One photo showed her conferring with the director on the closed set of her current film project, a place no one unauthorized should have been able toaccess.
But it was the word MINE written in what looked like her own red lipstick above the bathroom sink that finally filled the room with her scream. Some pervert had been in her home. In her private bathroom. Only then did she think to scan the room, frantically praying she was alone. Self-preservation kicked in as she pushed to her feet and dashed back towards the bedroom. She grabbed the thick white robe from the back of the door struggling to wrestle it on as she full-out ran back through her bedroom, down the long hall and towards her front door, praying an intruder didn't tackle her before sheescaped.
