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She sprawls there, blue streaked hair flowing over her face, chest rising and falling. Those slight curves are shown off to perfection in the bustier which cinches in at her waist. Her skirt rides high, and I spot the garters she’s using to hold up her fishnet stockings.
The dress code of the wedding was casual, and Solene took it to heart. She came wearing her get-up of an upcoming popstar, which is what she is. Which is what I encouraged her to be. And damn if the look isn’t sexy as fuck. Combined with her flashing brown eyes and trademark dark-red lipstick, which I’d give anything to have smeared around my cock, she’s a walking, talking wet dream.
My cock lengthens further, stabbing into the crotch of my jeans. Told ya—the dress code was strictly informal.
"You piece of shit," she snarls, then shakes the hair off her face. "How dare you spank me?"
"You like it. If I thrust my fingers between your thighs, will I find you wet, Solalee."
She swallows. "Don’t use my nickname to try to soften me up."
"If I were trying to soften you up, I’d have my face in your pussy, my tongue inside your sopping wet channel, and you’d be crying my name as you tugged on my hair and came all over my mouth."
"Oh, god." She squeezes her legs together and throws her arm over her eyes. "Stop talking dirty to me."
"You never could resist word-porn baby."
"Don’t... Don’t change the topic." She pushes up to standing, then plants her hands on her hips, "You did that on purpose. You knew the pap was right behind us."
"I might have seen him hiding in the bushes, yes."
She gapes at me. "You…you admit to giving him a reason to splash us across the tabloids."
"If this is the only way to assure the world that all is right with us, then so be it."
"There is no us." She tips up her chin. "There has been no us for the last three months."
"And who’s fault is that?"
"You’re the one who was so busy with the PR for your upcoming release that you had no time to call me," she spits out.
"You’re the one who embarked on a tour of fifty cities in five months. And then you wonder why you’re so tired you’re unable to answer your phone whenever I call you?" I growl.
"I was focused on my career," she snaps.
"So was I."
We stare at each other, and the air in the bathroom thickens. Unsaid words, emotions, feelings press down on my chest, and my stomach churns.Bloody fuck, it is partly my fault that this relationship has deteriorated to where it is. Open your mouth and apologize, you asshole. Tell her it’s all your fault. Tell her you’ll do everything possible to make it up to her. Tell her she’s more important to you than your career. Tell her…you care for her. Tell. Her.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. If I tell her the truth, she’ll hate me. She’s going to loathe me soon enough. She’s going to be livid about what I’ve done. She’s going to tell me to fuck off and out of her life as soon as she finds out the truth of what actually happened with that woman.You screwed up your life, you wankhole and soon enough, she’s going to find out. And then, she’ll want nothing to do with you ever again, but until then… Until then, I have these last few minutes with her and I’m going to make the most of them.
I rise to my feet, then walk over to her, until the tips of my shoes brush hers. "I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you more."
Her shoulders hunch, and some of the fight seems to leach out of her. "I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to keep in touch."
"It’s no joke, trying to live up to the reputation that a first hit song confers on you."
"It’s no joke, trying to follow up a monster hit first move with another. I know how much you need it to consolidate your reputation at the box-office." She searches my eyes. "But I’m not sure I can look past your refusal to tell me what that woman means to you."
"She means nothing."
"Then why were you comforting her?"
"She’s an old friend."
"You mean an old girlfriend?"
I wince.
