stands. But
sometimes, like tonight, I’m just not in the mood for it.
I answer the call
anyway.
“Why did you leave
the gala so fast?” Amy complains into the phone, forgoing a greeting. “I wanted
to ride home with you. My brother was boring me.”
Amy’s older brother
Sam was the host of the event tonight, in an effort to raise money for
autism. He’s as different from Amy as he can be: kind, considerate and
normal. Because of those things, he’s not in show business.
I shake my head,
although she can’t even see me. “Because I was tired of the whole thing,”
I answer, not mentioning the coat check girl. “You could’ve left with
me.”
Lie.
Amy’s a freak in the sack, but she wouldn’t have enjoyed being with a coat-check
girl. She likes to think she has standards.
She sniffs.
“Whatever. Come over. I want to see you.”
I open my garage
door. “Nope. I just got home and I don’t want to go back out. You
can come here, if you’d like.”
There’s a pause while
she considers it. Finally she sighs.
“Can’t. I’ve
got an early call tomorrow. I don’t want to be a bitch on-set.”
“No?” I ask in mock
surprise. “Amy Ashby doesn’t want to be a bitch?” She laughs, a husky
contrived sound.
“You know, I’ve
changed my mind. I’m coming over and I’ll be a bitch tonight for
you. I know how you like it. Which riding crop should I
bring? The leather or the red velvet?”
A thrill goes through
me at the thought… of being tied up and of Amy Ashby whipping the shit out of
me right before she goes down on me.
It’s our favorite
thing to do together.
“The red velvet,” I
answer curtly. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes. Don’t be late.”
“On my way,” she
purrs.
I enter my lavish house
and disarm the alarm, before grabbing a tumbler of whiskey and heading out to
the back veranda.
As I stand looking
down on Hollywood, I ponder my life.
It’s not what it was
supposed to be. In high school, this wasn’t what I had in mind when I pictured
myself as a grown up. But here I am, at the mature age of
twenty-four and I feel like I’ve aged a hundred years. I feel as though
everything that could’ve possibly happened to me in life has happened.
And it’s left its
mark. I’ve got so many marks and scars hidden beneath my surface that I
can’t even name them all.
But that’s all
right. I don’t need to name them all. I need to shove them away and
forget about them, like I always do. I need to mask them in a wild kinky
night of S&M with Hollywood’s favorite starlet.
In the morning, we’ll
go about our lives as normal, both of us pretending to be what we’re not:
normal, well-rounded people.
The pretense is how
we survive.
Chapter Two
I duck in the
back of my favorite restaurant, Providence, and make my way to my regular
table. It’s in the back, in the shadows, and that’s just the way I like
it.
I’m different
from most of the people I know who eat here. Most celebrities like to make an
entrance through the front because they enjoy how the fans rush up to them,
surrounding them with pleas for autographs or pictures.
Not me.
That’s never
been me.
I’ve barely
slid into my booth before a waitress slinks over to me, her bright green eyes
lighting up as she sees me.
“Dominic,” she
exclaims, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squeezing. I grin up at
her, genuinely pleased to see her. Since she’s one of the only women who
have ever turned me down, I shouldn’t be so partial to her.
But that’s not
the case. I actually like her.
“Hey
Alex.”
She glances
around me. “Where’s Miss Ashby? Should I watch for her?”
I shake my
head, remembering how I spent most of the night tied up in silk cords and
getting my ass beat by her. She’d slipped out of my house before nine
a.m.
“Nope.
She’s at work today. I’m here
sometimes, like tonight, I’m just not in the mood for it.
I answer the call
anyway.
“Why did you leave
the gala so fast?” Amy complains into the phone, forgoing a greeting. “I wanted
to ride home with you. My brother was boring me.”
Amy’s older brother
Sam was the host of the event tonight, in an effort to raise money for
autism. He’s as different from Amy as he can be: kind, considerate and
normal. Because of those things, he’s not in show business.
I shake my head,
although she can’t even see me. “Because I was tired of the whole thing,”
I answer, not mentioning the coat check girl. “You could’ve left with
me.”
Lie.
Amy’s a freak in the sack, but she wouldn’t have enjoyed being with a coat-check
girl. She likes to think she has standards.
She sniffs.
“Whatever. Come over. I want to see you.”
I open my garage
door. “Nope. I just got home and I don’t want to go back out. You
can come here, if you’d like.”
There’s a pause while
she considers it. Finally she sighs.
“Can’t. I’ve
got an early call tomorrow. I don’t want to be a bitch on-set.”
“No?” I ask in mock
surprise. “Amy Ashby doesn’t want to be a bitch?” She laughs, a husky
contrived sound.
“You know, I’ve
changed my mind. I’m coming over and I’ll be a bitch tonight for
you. I know how you like it. Which riding crop should I
bring? The leather or the red velvet?”
A thrill goes through
me at the thought… of being tied up and of Amy Ashby whipping the shit out of
me right before she goes down on me.
It’s our favorite
thing to do together.
“The red velvet,” I
answer curtly. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes. Don’t be late.”
“On my way,” she
purrs.
I enter my lavish house
and disarm the alarm, before grabbing a tumbler of whiskey and heading out to
the back veranda.
As I stand looking
down on Hollywood, I ponder my life.
It’s not what it was
supposed to be. In high school, this wasn’t what I had in mind when I pictured
myself as a grown up. But here I am, at the mature age of
twenty-four and I feel like I’ve aged a hundred years. I feel as though
everything that could’ve possibly happened to me in life has happened.
And it’s left its
mark. I’ve got so many marks and scars hidden beneath my surface that I
can’t even name them all.
But that’s all
right. I don’t need to name them all. I need to shove them away and
forget about them, like I always do. I need to mask them in a wild kinky
night of S&M with Hollywood’s favorite starlet.
In the morning, we’ll
go about our lives as normal, both of us pretending to be what we’re not:
normal, well-rounded people.
The pretense is how
we survive.
Chapter Two
I duck in the
back of my favorite restaurant, Providence, and make my way to my regular
table. It’s in the back, in the shadows, and that’s just the way I like
it.
I’m different
from most of the people I know who eat here. Most celebrities like to make an
entrance through the front because they enjoy how the fans rush up to them,
surrounding them with pleas for autographs or pictures.
Not me.
That’s never
been me.
I’ve barely
slid into my booth before a waitress slinks over to me, her bright green eyes
lighting up as she sees me.
“Dominic,” she
exclaims, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and squeezing. I grin up at
her, genuinely pleased to see her. Since she’s one of the only women who
have ever turned me down, I shouldn’t be so partial to her.
But that’s not
the case. I actually like her.
“Hey
Alex.”
She glances
around me. “Where’s Miss Ashby? Should I watch for her?”
I shake my
head, remembering how I spent most of the night tied up in silk cords and
getting my ass beat by her. She’d slipped out of my house before nine
a.m.
“Nope.
She’s at work today. I’m here
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