DECKER
Melody Mona was just as I remembered: tall, stunning with blue eyes and dark hair, her breasts a nice firm D cup and her skin brushed golden with fake tan. Nothing at all like Andi, and she came with less complications. Melody wanted me and she was happy to share me with my career. It would be so easy to fall into a convenient relationship with her. Only problem was, I didn’t want her. I wanted someone and something that came with complications—Andi—the woman I had been trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to put out of my mind for the last three days.
Following the heated moment in her apartment, I hadn’t attempted to contact her, hoping a few days away from the spirited strawberry blonde would help my head regain equilibrium. Just the thought of her splayed on her bed in that sinfully wicked red lingerie sent my dick to instant attention, my heart would pound almost painfully inside my chest, and my head would demand I pick up the phone and call her. I had never been so thrown off kilter by a woman in my life. Now, as I sit in the first set meeting for the film I had signed on for with The Bishop, I felt fucking sick. When I had told Andi about my job as an adult film star, I had conveniently failed to mention this upcoming job. I’m not sure if it was because somewhere in the deep recesses of my warped brain I thought she might fuck me if she didn’t know. And there it was, the truth that burned into my guilty conscience like a red hot poker, I wanted to fuck her. I wanted her, and that fact alone pissed me off because I couldn’t have her. But when she found out what I did for a living, well, that officially put an end to any such wants or desires. In a moment that surprised the hell out of me, she had said it didn’t bother her what I did for a living, but with the rising of a new day came a new attitude. She did little to hide her revulsion. We’d yelled at each other like out of control children, honest and hurtful words were exchanged that could no more be taken back than a leopard can change its spots. And after all was said and done, I still wanted her. I wanted to take her face in my hands and kiss away the hurt I had put on her face. I wanted to taste every inch of her body and sink myself into her wet heat. The worst part was I wanted to be something more for her. I wanted her to look at me with respect and pride, not disgust, and that was something I couldn’t control or change. I was going to kick Bradley’s ass from here to damn hell and back for throwing Andi into my life like this.
“Decker with the big pecker, how are you, baby?” Melody whispered in my ear. The saying was so old I didn’t even bother to reign in the indignant eye roll.
“Melody, how’s things?” I asked casually. I needed to keep things cordial; I was supposed to be fucking her in four weeks’ time. Sooner if Melody had any say in the matter.
“I saw your last directorial piece. It wasn’t half bad.”
I smiled, but it was forced. I really didn’t care what she thought about my work. It’s not that I didn’t respect the girls I worked with, but Melody fell into a special little category of female that I liked to call soul eating succubus. She was hard and indifferent, going far and above to get what she wanted, and she always got what she wanted, until me. I didn’t do relationships, and if I did, it would not be with a woman like Melody. As she slid into the chair at my side, I wondered what kind of a girl she had been growing up. I picked her as the token stuck up cheerleader, going out of her way to intimidate and hurt the smaller kids at school, probably the type of girl who enjoyed belittling sweet little awkward girls like Andi.
“Melody, did you ever have a pet growing up?” I found myself asking her. She seemed taken aback by my question, and it took her a moment to find her voice.
“No, I’d never pick up dog poop and cats are nasty little fuckers,” she said with a smile.
Strike one for Melody.
“Ice cream, chocolate, or candy?” Suddenly, Melody seemed interested in my interrogation, perhaps even hopeful.
“Occasionally gelato, I watch my calories closely. It takes a lot of hard work to maintain this,” she whispered, running a hand down her arm. I managed to reign in another eye roll.
Strike two.
“What about books? Do you like to read?”
She nodded her head enthusiastically and pulled a rolled up gossip magazine out of her bag.
Strike three, you’re out.