Finding Willow

CHAPTER 4

I have never owned a car in my life. Living in Manhattan, there is little need for one. Everything is in walking distance, and if you really don’t feel like hoofing it across the city, you can hail a cab or take the subway. I’ve always laughed at the people who paid an ass ton of money just to park some fancy sports car. Not that money is an object these days.

Today, though, I’m buying a car. It’s time to leave the city. There really is nothing left for me in Manhattan, and if I am serious about ditching the lifestyle and getting my shit together, I won’t come back. I never thought I would own a car; as fuckin’ stupid as it sounds, it is a big deal for me.

I said my goodbyes to Seven and Levi this morning before they both left for the office. I didn’t want it to be some kind of long drawn out production full of tears and promises. I won’t be gone forever; at least, I don’t expect to be. I just need to get away from the fucking monotony of the city and everything my life has become. If I’m really going to give this whole sober shit a try, the further away from work and the life I’ve built, the better.

I pull my brand new shiny blue Mazda CX5 up in front of my apartment to load a couple last minute things into the trunk before I take off. I didn’t expect to come back, but the more I thought about leaving certain things behind, the more anxiety I felt. What if I never come back?

My music collection is my top priority, followed by my porn catalog, my laptop, and some extra clothes. Seriously, who doesn’t need glittery stiletto pumps and clear stripper heels out in hippie country?

I’m not sure where I’ll be staying once I hit Woodstock, but I will figure that out when I get there. Planning has never been my strong suit. I slip the Poison CD into the slot on my dashboard and crank up “Fallen Angel,” making my way to the West Side Highway. Fuck, New Yorkers do not know how to drive!

I guess this will have to do, I think to myself as I pull into the parking lot of a little Mom and Pop motel. When I was a kid, it was owned by an older couple, The Morrises. Of course, back then, they were already knocking on death’s door.

I put my car in park and open the door. The dusty dirt parking lot hasn’t changed a bit, although the aged motel clearly has a new coat of paint on it. The white building still looks worn, though, even under the cosmetic touch-ups. It reminds me a lot of myself.

I push the front door open and an old cowbell rings. Like I expected, little old Mrs. Morris doesn’t round the corner. Instead, a young kid with floppy dark hair and a small stud in his lip comes out from the office. He can’t be more than twenty-one. He throws me a lazy grin.

“Can I help you, Miss?” He has a thick New York accent, something you aren’t used to hearing upstate. I take notice that he isn’t from the area. I know most of the town; people never come and go. It’s a close knit community, made up mostly of people whom I wish I could forget.

“I’m looking for a room. Possibly for a couple weeks.”

I will myself to move to the counter once I realize I’ve been standing in the door the whole time, just staring.

The boy walks over to the dated rack of keys hanging next to a small laptop and pulls one down.

“I’ll just need some basic information from you. How about a driver’s license and the credit card you plan on using?” He types something, then places the key up on the counter. If he wasn’t so damn young, he would be fun to play with. My mind drifts into the dirt. A girl has needs, ya know!

I open my bag and find my wallet somewhere near the bottom of the pit of despair. I really need to fucking downsize. I throw both of the plastic cards on the counter and start searching for my cell phone.

“Starburst Bloom? You must be from this hippie hellhole of a town.” He laughs, and I have to join him. My name is fucking ridiculous. I hate it. One of the many fucking things I hate about myself. But I plan on changing it all. I am determined not to let the past dictate the future anymore.

“Yeah, I was born here, I think? Raised here for a bit and got the fuck out as soon as I could. Wouldn’t you?”

He’s stuck, too, I can tell. He has that look in his eyes, the one I had years ago before I bolted.

“I would love to leave, but I never could. This is my home now. It’s better off this way, anyway.” No details, just vague half-truths you admit to a stranger. We would get along, that is for fucking sure.

I finally find my phone at the bottom of the bag, and send Seven a text.

I can’t blame her for leaving me behind all those years ago. If I didn’t end up knocked up, I would have been right there next to her, spreading my wings. Maybe not going to college, since she’s always been the brains of the operation, but maybe I could have taken up painting in Central Park, or photography. The type of shit a girl with a free spirit should have done. Instead I opted for something that broke my spirit. Sex for money on camera. For so long, it was what I was told I was good at. I can still hear his voice in my thoughts almost daily.

“Star, I love you so much,” he whispered into my ear as he kissed the side of my face, heading down my neck. Every word that came out of his mouth made me feel loved, and cherished. Not hurt, or abused. He was everything a sixteen-year-old-girl could want. Aren’t we supposed to chase after older men?

“I love you too, Blue.” The words came out of my mouth without a second thought. The reality was that I didn’t know what love is. I had never had the opportunity to experience love.

“When is everyone going to be back?” I cautiously asked, afraid of getting caught again. After Seven caught us a few weeks back, I became paranoid that my parents would find out. Not that they would do much of anything in terms of punishment.

“Not for a couple hours, so why don’t you get naked?” He asked, but I knew it really wasn’t a request. He didn’t ask. He told me what he wanted and when he wanted it. I followed along like a lost puppy dog just hoping to get some kind of attention, someone to finally love me. No matter how negative and absolutely fucked up it was.

I slipped all my clothes off, leaving nothing but the black pair of boy shorts panties. I laid back on the inflatable mattress and waited. It was always the same. He would start with my breasts, then work his way down. He licked, kissed, teased, and sucked every inch until his fingers parted my soaking cunt and made their entry. Typically he was gentle at first, but that never lasted long. Every second that went by, he would get rougher, more desperate.

His arm reached up my body with his fingers clenching around my throat as he finger fucked me. I shouldn’t have liked it, but I did. Because for once in my life, I finally felt connected to another human being in the way I’d always craved. I learned early to mistake intimacy for love.

“You like that, you dirty little bitch?” he whispered into my ear. I knew it shouldn’t turn me on, but it did. He made me like it. He turned me into the sexual creature I was. I loved him and hated him for it all at once.

“Mmmmmm, yes, Blue.”

His finger grazed my sweet spot and I felt my orgasm starting. His hand got rougher, and his mouth bit at my nipples. I cried out with pleasure.

“Oh god! Right there!” That was all I could squeak out in between my lustful pants. My release crashed through my body. I could feel it from my lips all the way down to my soaked cunt. With each wave of pleasure, I soaked Blue’s hand with a fresh squirt of come.

“I love that disgusting little cunt.”

He pulled his hand out and I could feel him shifting around. I knew what came next. I got my pleasure, and I was done with the hookup, but I would never speak up and tell him that. I didn’t know what he would do if I did. Deep down, I was scared of him.

His body covered mine and he roughly pushed inside me. The pain mixed with pleasure. As much as I didn’t want to like it, I did. I always did. No matter how many times we would play this fucked up game, I continued it. He was rough and quick. Before I knew it, he pulled out and emptied all over my stomach.

“You look so good with my come all over your body. You are mine, Star. Mine.”

I shake off the memory. I fucking hate it when that shit creeps up on me.

“Miss? Miss?” The kid is trying to talk to me, and here I am in La La Land, completely ignoring him. Being back in Woodstock is already starting to get to me. I can’t say I didn’t know this was going to happen. The few times I have come back end the same way, completely mind-fucked.

“Sorry about that. It’s just strange to be back after all these years. This place always fucks me up.”

I don’t know why I’m here pouring my soul out to this kid like he is Dr. Phil, but there’s something about his soft green eyes that tells me he is a good person. Not that I’m the best judge of character.

“I know the feeling. I put you in the next room over. Number one. If you need anything, just come over here and let me know. The name is River.”

He hands me a key and smiles again. Maybe he’s being nice because he recognizes me from some porno he watched on the internet. I get that a lot.

“Thank you.” I accept the key and put my license and credit card back into my purse. I turn for the door, and he speaks again.

“One lost soul to another? This place is good to get your shit straight. I’m outta here at six if you wanna catch a bite to eat.”

I nod in his direction and head for the door. Am I really that fucking transparent? Do I really look that fucking lost that some kid barely old enough to buy a beer has me pegged?

Whatever.

This was probably a really fucking bad idea.

I look at the old yellow bathroom vanity inside the motel room, which is now covered in dark brown hair dye. I can’t dye my own hair. I have tried for years, but every fucking time it turns into a nightmare. I am going to have some serious cleaning to do before the dye starts to stain shit.

I squirt the cheap, store-bought hair dye into the last spot of blonde I can see, while I wish I had eyes in the back of my damn head. I toss the bottle into the garbage can and start to clean up the mess before me. As I scrub the dye off the edges of the sink, I fall into my mind again. Which is exactly what led me to think the two dollar box of dye would be a good idea.

I want to be a new person. I don’t want to be Star, the porn star, even though that label is going to stick with me as long as I’m alive. I want to be Star, the woman who wants the American Dream. I want to be Star, the amazing painter, the artist. I want to channel the talent I’ve never put to use. I want to re-invent myself. I want to change my life so one day Willow can say, that is my birth mom, and actually be proud of it.

Maybe this is finally me growing up? It’s probably something most average people go through at fucking nineteen, or maybe even twenty-one. Not damn near fucking thirty. At my age, this shit is just a fucking mid-life crisis.

I think about all the shit I fucked up over the years. Most of it was fueled by whatever drug I decided was fun that week. It’s been a few days, and I don’t have a single desire to get fucked up. I never realized how bad being numb actually made my life.. It wasn’t about not feeling or about being an addict; it was about the party. And that is clearly over.

Maybe jumping into the marriage and kids thing would be a mistake. Not like there are any stable men in my life anyway! Love really isn’t on my list of shit to do right now. Speaking of my list, after I got to my room, I actually pulled my laptop out and wrote one.

Find Willow

Establish a new Career

Dye my hair

Find a therapist

Buy a house

It really doesn’t seem like a lot. It seems downright pathetic really. To me, though, it’s everything. Once I find my daughter and work on repairing that relationship, if I can, I need to do some simple things for myself. At least I can cross dye my hair off the list.

The alarm on my cell phone goes off, letting me know it’s time to jump in the shower and wash the dye out of my hair. I crank the hot water on and let it run until the temperature is no longer arctic chill. I make quick work of washing the sludge-like dye out, shampooing twice before turning the water off and getting out.

I grab the white towel hanging on the dated metal bar next to the shower and slightly dry my hair before wrapping the towel up on top of my head and drying the rest of my body with the smaller hand towel. Little-by-little, I wipe away a bit of my past. With every pass of the towel, I make a new promise to myself.

No more drugs. No more alcohol. No more porn. No more Blue. Over and over again, I wish away everything I never want again. I will get healthy. I will re-claim my life. I will be everything I never thought I could be. And I will do it all on my own.

Dressed in a loose fitting pair of blue jeans and a fitted black Bettie Page shirt, I look in the mirror. My new short, dark locks are exactly what I needed. The light brown hair rests chin length around my round face. My bright blue eyes slowly start coming back to life. I thought I would never get their slight twinkle back. Kicking the drugs worked wonders. I mean, I still feel like a bag of ass throughout the day, but it beats my life wasting away. Complaining about withdrawal is for pussies anyway. Seven would punch me in the cunt if she heard me.

My stomach rumbles, and I look at the clock; it reads quarter to six.

I pull on my black hoodie and head over to the motel office. I figure I’ll take River up on his offer for dinner. Even though I know a good amount of people in this town, I don’t have any real friends. I cut all the ties years ago. A new friendly face could help me immensely, even if he is just a baby. Plus, the fact that he doesn’t know me or my history is a big plus.

As I reach for the office door, it flies open and a rock hard chest crashes directly into my body. Fuck, that shit hurt. What the hell? I growl. Legit growl. Like a fucking dog. I am pissed and in pain.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going!” I say.

I look up to see a mountain of a man. Tall, dark, and handsome wouldn’t even come close to describing him. He is extremely tall, at least six-four, dwarfing my five foot five frame. His head is shaved bald. I laugh to myself when I think about rubbing it. Would a genie pop out?

But then I meet his eyes. He has the most beautiful pair of warm caramel colored eyes. The slight hint of wrinkles around their edges shows mystery, depth. They scream of untold stories, a weight of burden. How do I know? Because I wear the same baggage on my very own face.

“Shit, I am sorry,” he mumbles as he continues his long strides toward a motorcycle parked on the far side of the lot. I can’t help but watch as he walks away. The way his jeans fit snug over his delectable ass. The way the white long sleeve shirt bunches on his forearms, exposing dark shaded tattoos. The way the black leather cut hangs from his shoulders, unbuttoned and moving freely with every step he takes.

A large patch spreads across his back reading, Hell’s Renegades. He is dangerous, gorgeous, hot, and sexy. Fuck, I could go on and on with various adjectives to describe him. None would do him justice. I continue to stare like a child. The motorcycle roars to life, startling me from my thoughts. Like that, he pulls out of the dirt parking lot, and onto the small two-lane road running through the center of town. He is gone, and I’m still frozen in the same spot. What the fuck just happened?

I shake my head and walk inside the office. River stands behind the counter, looking pissed. He doesn’t even acknowledge me. Maybe this isn’t a good time. Maybe dinner was a bad idea. Or maybe he needs the company tonight just as much as I do?

“Bad time?” I question, and his glare swings in my direction. His face softens, and he cracks a smile. Good to know I can make someone smile these days; it hasn’t been one of my strong suits recently. I can’t help but smile back at him. It is totally fucking contagious.

“No, actually. I could use company for dinner.” He pulls a jacket off the back of the chair behind the counter.

“Any preference? There isn’t much for choice around town, but there is a diner that is pretty good.”

Maggie’s. I remember it well. My parents never had much money, but every opportunity I had to scam some money, I ran there for French fries smothered in American cheese and gravy. Still, to this day, any time I step foot inside a diner, it’s a must.

“Maggie’s is good,” I tell him, and I pull the keys to my car from my pocket. His eyebrow lifts with curiosity. He’s finally taken a good look at me. The changes. The hair. Let the questions begin.

“You drivin’?” is all he says, though. I let out a sigh of relief, but I’m sure as soon as we’re packed into the snug booths at Maggie’s, he will start with the questions. Maybe instead of investing in a therapist, I will just hang out with this child. Seems like an easier remedy.

“Yeah, you wanna ride with?” I jingle my keys and press the fancy remote on my keychain to unlock the doors. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the excitement of having my own car. It’s not even a Volkswagen bus, or an actual school bus converted into a fucking home.

“Sure.” he reaches for the door handle and lets out a laugh. “But where am I supposed to sit?”

I realize I still have half my music collection sitting on the passenger seat. I climb into the driver’s seat and start chucking CD cases into the back.

“Sorry, it was a long drive.”

And like that, we’re off.

“So, you know Maggie’s?” River asks, as he picks up the petite glass of water off the table and chugs it back. I take a minute to think about exactly how much I want to dish to him before I know his story.

“Grew up in Woodstock,” I say, deciding to really lay it all on the line. This is the new and improved Star; no need for games. I’m not going to come out with the long, sad, sob story of why I’m hiding away in the mountains, but I am not going to hide trivial bullshit, either.

“I’ve been here for five years and never once seen you,” he responds with a sly grin. He’s right. I haven’t been back during that time. It’s been almost eight full years since I made it a point to come back to this hell hole.

“Haven’t been here in about ten years. Maybe a little longer, but I haven’t been keeping track.” I take a sip of the watered down Sprite in front of me and try not to gag on it. Nothing like outdated diner soda to remind you of home.

“What brings you back to this podunk, piece of shit town?” Well, that was blunt. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, oh youngen filled with angst.

“Change. I need to slow down. Re-evaluate my life. Start over.” It’s the truth. I think those factors, and Willow, are exactly what brought me upstate. I could hang around here for a while, try and blend in with the locals. Be a little carefree, and take in nature. Stop to smell the roses, something that is damn near impossible in New York City. Even though Woodstock harbors so many negative memories for me, there is so much beauty in the town. Rich culture from the hippies who never left after the memorable music festival. Believe it or not, many actually became productive members of society in this little tourist town.

“What about you, River? What brought you to Woodstock?”

The easygoing expression starts to fade from his face, and a more serious look takes over. He takes a long sip of the water again and places it down on the table a little harder than a normal person probably would. It’s a sore subject for him. I won’t pry, but I must admit, I’m curious. He lets out a sigh and then begins.

“Five years ago, my parents died. I was sixteen, so I had no choice but to move in with my oldest brother. He was twenty-nine at the time, and he had no interest in raising me. He left me to fend for myself. I guess I’m grateful for having a roof over my head, and food to eat, but I got stuck taking care of my little sister, Scarlett. I became her live-in babysitter.”

I can feel the resentment in the air. His distaste for responsibilities is clear, like most kids his age. But he shrugs it off and continues.

“But it’s life. No one expected our parents to get killed. You never think you are going to be taking care of a five-year-old girl when you’re sixteen. Don’t get me wrong. I love Scarlett, but my brother’s lack of presence in our lives made everything harder. It’s his job; he is on the road. I get it. I was just never ready to be a surrogate parent.”

For such a young kid, he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I genuinely feel bad for him. It’s been a long time since another person sparked that kind of emotional response from me. Especially a virtual stranger.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Your problems make mine look like a fucking paper cut in the grand scheme of things, River.” It may not be true, but then again, we can’t play a game of who has a more fucked up life, either.

“I’m cool with it now. It just gets under my skin every time I happen to talk to my brother. Whether I like it or not, he is still Scarlett’s legal guardian because of my parents’ will. I have asked him to reconsider but he won’t. It always turns into an argument.” Here I thought I was coming to get shit off my own chest. I might as well have him lie down in the booth and charge him a couple hundred bucks when we are done.

“Tell me about your problems. It looks like you want to get something out,” he says. Am I that fucking transparent? Probably. Seven can read me like a book. I guess I don’t have the killer poker face she does. Mine was lost long ago.

“My problems are pathetic. I’m a coke-addicted porn star looking for a new start. There isn’t much more to it,” I lie. I’m good at lying. I hate that I’m good at lying, but it has helped me through life. I may not have the emotionally evasive poker face, but I can lie like a fucking politician. I know I want to lay it all out on the line, but I just don’t want the world to know exactly why I am in Woodstock. My negative thoughts only have everyone trying to help whoever Willow is living with, hide her from me. Yup, I always think of the worst case scenario.

“That is where I know you from!” His voice echoes through the quiet diner. “You are fucking Star Bloom!” His excitement level is at a three hundred and seventy-two, and I need it at a fucking negative sixteen.

“Yes, that’s me.” I shrug as our food is delivered. River apparently thinks he is dining with some kind of celebrity now. The smile plastered on his face can’t even be removed by the shitty diner food, or the heavy convo flowing this evening.

“Seriously. You are, like, one of the best porn stars ever! The deep throat queen!” Once again, his voice echoes, and the embarrassment starts to seep in. I wanted a peaceful dinner, and now I have a deep throat fan front and center.

“Can we talk about something else? I am kind of trying to put that all behind me.” It was a huge portion of my life, but it is done now. I can’t go back to that lifestyle and I think I am going to stay away from the drugs. I realized that when I made the decision to leave the city. It wasn’t the drugs that I was hooked on; it was the lifestyle. They go hand-in-hand. I always thought I was an addict, but it wasn’t until tonight that I realized I craved the acceptance of the crowd I was running with, not the drug itself; I’m doing just fine without them now.

“It’s cool. I get it. That’s why we moved up here. My whole family needed a change of scenery, especially my brother. If we stayed in Brooklyn much longer, he would have ended up in jail, and been completely useless to us.” His brother sounds like a real fucking winner. But then again, who am I to judge?

I can’t help but smile. This dinner is exactly what I needed. I happily pig out on my cheese fries with gravy, savoring the greasy diner taste of every last one. It is so refreshing to have my appetite back. Two days have gone by and each day I feel a little bit better. I feel healthy, stronger. Like I am regaining the control I have been desperate for my entire life.

“I was on a bad path. I got shit I need to figure out on my own.”

River nods, and continues eating. The conversation continues for hours. We sit there like old friends, going back and forth about trivial shit. The deep part of the conversation is over and carefree nonsense flows. We laugh about pop culture bullshit. He makes fun of my tattooed sleeve of My Little Pony’s and he feels like the little brother I always wanted. Sorry, Journey and Paisley, but there was way too much fucking estrogen in our family.

We both pay our respective tabs and drive back to the motel, still continuing to laugh and joke like old friends. I pull my car into the dirt parking lot, occupying the same spot as earlier, when I notice the black motorcycle pulled up on the walkway in front of the office again. He is here.

We go our separate ways, making plans for another “family dinner” the following night. I think the boy is searching for something more than I can give him. But then again, most kids his age are. I just know I can see a good friendship developing between the two of us, and that is as far as I can let it go.

I lock myself in my room and open the shades so I can view the dark and empty lot. I hope to catch another look at the hot stranger on the motorcycle again.

An hour later, I’m sitting in front of my laptop when I hear the slam of a door somewhere. Maybe it’s him? I find my body working on autopilot and heading for the door. I grab the car keys and pretend I desperately need something out of my car. Without a sweatshirt to protect me from the cold New York fall night, I make my way for the car.

The cold November air is fucking freezing, and I realize this wasn’t the best thought out plan. I pop the trunk and start rummaging when I hear his voice. Deep and sultry.

“You are gonna get yourself sick like that.” He’s serious. His voice is fatherly and stern. A distinct tone of authority rings through it. Before I can turn around, I can feel his body towering over mine. He’s standing directly behind me. I’m not sure if I am scared or fucking thrilled. But there is one thing I know for sure; his voice alone has my cunt slick.

“I’m a big girl, but thanks for the concern, Dad,” I sass him. I’m pretty sure it was a bad idea, but I can’t help but laugh to myself. I don’t turn around and he continues to stand behind me. I figure he is thinking about his next move. I find the rogue shoe I was searching for in a cheap attempt to attract his attention. I stand upright and slam the trunk closed.

“Does Cinderella have a name?” he asks as I turn around, and when we make eye contact, I am completely sucked in. Done for. My fucking will is gone. It is replaced by animalistic desire for this sexy as fuck stranger.

“I prefer Cinderella, but if you must know, my real name is Star.” I give him a wink and head for my room. Heavy steps follow me; with each step, his boot meets the dirt with a loud thud. Not surprising for such a large man. I stop at the door, reaching for the keys.

“You following me, Prince Charming?”

I guess we are playing a fairytale game now, because he lets out a laugh. It is deep and goose bumps spread across my body. Maybe it is just the cold. I want to convince myself of that, but the fact is, the sound virtually made me come in my panties. Shit. I am in trouble.

“You gonna invite me in, Cinderella?”

No. I am not. The new Star wants to say no. The old Star is already naked on the bed. What would the middle of the road Star do? Maybe I should invite him in? Fuck. I hate making decisions, especially ones that seem so fucking important. I know this is going to be life changing, no matter what choice I make.

“Why would I go and do that?” Hard to get it is. I am through chasing guys.

My back remains toward him as I unlock the door.

He leans in so close his mouth almost grazes my ear, and he slowly speaks.

“Because I know you want to invite me in as bad as I want to come in.” I think he shattered the mere glass wall I had tried to erect in the past five minutes. It’s gone. My defenses are fucking finished. Gone. Shit. Shit. SHIT!

I open the door and let myself in. I stand in the doorway holding the door open, giving him an invitation to the place I now call home. His eyes look around, taking in all my personal touches. Custom designs by Star: clothes all over the bed, bags piled in the corner, and a vibrator just chillin’ on the nightstand. What? I didn’t know I was going to have company! A girl has needs!

He sits down in the rickety old chair next to the table in front of the window. The curtains are still wide open and the lone light of the parking lot shines directly into my room. At least we don’t have that much privacy.

“You know, I don’t even know your name,” I tell him. I know nothing about this man. Only that he is concerned about me getting sick from being out in the cold without a jacket. Why would he even fucking care?

“Chrome.” Of course he has some kind of biker nickname. From the cut I got a good view of earlier, it’s clear he is in some kind of motorcycle club. Apparently you must check in your real name when you join, so you can be called by some kind of accessory. I bet his friends are named shit like Sissy Bar or Prison Shank. Jesus. Christ.

“Interesting name,” I say as I pull my shoes off and slowly start to get comfortable for the night. Even if I have a stranger in my room.

“Says the woman named Star.” I want to laugh, but it’s true. How can I make fun of his nickname, when I am named after God knows what. Maybe a bad trip my parents had when they found out they were having a baby? Hey, it is a realistic fucking idea.

“Touche.”

He laughs again, and my insides completely melt on the spot.

“So why don’t you tell me about yourself, Star.”

Oh, we are playing the whole get to know you game? I figured that went out the window when he followed me into my hotel room. I am so not into games. He’s hot, but guys like this aren’t the get to know you type. They are the bag and bounce kind.

“Quit the games. What do you want? Blow job? Get your dick wet? Don’t play games. Just get it out in the open already.” I can’t help it. I’m just too blunt. Maybe something of Seven actually rubbed off on me all these years.

“Well, I guess you are straight to the point.”

The smile on his face starts to fade. The look that replaces it is dark, sexy. I’m not sure if I should be turned on, but I am. Men like this are going to be the death of me. Literally. One day I am going to invite the wrong guy in and he is going to fuck me, then kill me. Once again, I realize I have the worst fucking judgment skills. Or lack thereof.

“I wasn’t going to come on to you tonight, Star. But if you are offering…” His hand palms his sizable erection, which is pressing against his jeans. I can see every last inch of it. The only thing I want to do is drop to my knees and take him in my mouth, but I don’t. I choke down the giant lump in my throat as he stands.

Every ounce of self-control I have left in my body snaps like a rubber band, and I throw myself across the room at him. He catches my petite body and crushes me up against the wall next to the door. His full lips press against mine as he picks me up. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his wide waist, slowly realizing how massive of a man he really is.

My mouth has a mind of its own; each kiss I return with hunger. I part my lips and my tongue skims his bottom lip, asking for entry. He opens without any hesitation and I explore. He tastes delicious. Something fruity, maybe gum, or candy, mixed with the aftertaste of cigarettes. It seems like ages since I have shared such an intimate kiss with someone. We are frantic and passionate. We’re like high school kids who can’t get enough of each other.

Something bounces between our bodies. An electric charge. The energy fuels our desire as we go at it, up against the wall in my shitty hotel room. One arm lets go of my body and reaches down between us. My body slowly slides down his until I am on my feet once again, but he never once lets my mouth go. Not for a second.

His fingers go straight for the button on my jeans, but I have a better idea. I slowly pull my mouth away from his and drop to my knees. He has already freed his beautiful cock from the tight blue jeans, and it is definitely as impressive as it was inside those bad boys. That’s when I notice it. The piercing. Not your regular Prince Albert, the girly cock piercing of cock piercings. No, he has an apadravya, a beautiful barbell directly through the head of his cock. Clearly ribbed for her pleasure.

I slide my small hand down his delicious cock, lick my lips, and slowly suck the tip in between my lips, running my tongue up and down along the bead of the barbell. He leans forward, resting his arm against the wall to brace himself. My lips close around his throbbing dick and I take all nine inches down my throat. A growl vibrates through his body as my hands focus on playing with his smooth balls.

“God, you’re good.”

I laugh, even though his cock fills my throat, and that’s when I notice him: River. He is staring inside, his mouth hanging open. Under my heavy lidded eyes, I pretend I don’t see him standing there, watching. I can’t ignore him, but I don’t stop. I close my eyes and start to lick my way back up to the tip of Chrome’s cock. He pulls me to my feet. His mouth covers mine in a kiss full of possession. When I blink my eyes open once again, River’s gone. I try to move away from Chrome, to close the blinds, but he pins me against the wall.

“Nobody is out there this time of night. Don’t worry about the curtains.”

His fingers work the button on my jeans and roughly push them down my legs. I shimmy out of them and kick them across the room. Both of us still have our shirts on, and neither is in a hurry to lose them. He wraps his arm around my waist and picks me up off the ground again; my hands grasp onto his leather cut. Instead of wrapping my legs around him this time, I break the kiss.

“Condom” is all I can make out before his mouth is on mine again. He fumbles between our bodies, pushing me back against the wall, holding me in place with his massive body, as he rolls the latex down his rock hard cock. His hands caress up my body and dive right into my hair, once again completely skipping my t-shirt covered tits.

That’s when I feel it. His dick pushes against my soaking cunt. I can’t help but beg for it. To me, this is second nature. Something I am good at. Something I love. I don’t have much of that in my life, but I’m going to enjoy it tonight, because who knows when I will get a chance to fuck like this again.

“Fuck me, hard,” I say as my breath heaves in and out in quick pants. Chrome needs no encouragement; once he hears those words, he buries his dick so deep inside of me, I think I am seeing fucking stars. No. Fucking. Joke.

There is nothing romantic or loving about this. It is raw and carnal, frantic and passionate. There is something about each other we simply cannot get enough of. As his hard cock pumps in and out of me, I have to tell myself repeatedly that this is just sex because, for some God awful reason, for the first time in my life, it feels like so much fucking more.

A moan slips out from between my swollen lips into his mouth. My back slaps against the wall with each deeper thrust. I grip his cut and suck on his tongue while his pace quickens.

“Fuck,” he says briefly, breaking his mouth away from our kiss, and trailing his lips down the side of my neck. It’s an intimate action but I ignore the connection building in my own mind and remind myself: This is just sex. Really fucking good sex.

I am close. I can feel my orgasm building deep within my cunt. My moans grow louder, encouraging him. His thrusts get harder. Then, at once, we both let out strangled moans and share a release.

“Oh God! Oh God!” I scream while his mouth remains fixed at the base of my neck, breathing heavily into my damp skin. I can feel the wetness pouring out of my body, coating us both. My body goes limp between the wall and his strong embrace. Before I know it, I am moving across the room, half dressed and still holding on for fucking dear life. He carries me like I weigh nothing, only stopping once he reaches the bed. With one arm, he pulls the covers down, before tucking me in. I blink my eyes, taking in the sight before me.

Chrome stands at the door to the bathroom, pants around his ankles still, disposing of the used condom in the trash. Even after a round of mindblowing sex, his dick is impressive, which is more than I can say for some of the guys I have been with in the past. I try not to let him see me paying him attention, but he catches my stare.

“What are you thinkin’?” he asks me. I almost answer him. Until I realize a man just asked me what I am thinking after sex. I shake my head, and he drops the conversation. It looks like there is something he wants to say, but he stops. It’s better this way.

He pulls his pants back up, and heads for the door without looking back. Like that, Chrome walks out the door and out of my life.

Whatever just happened was more than just sex; there is no fucking way I am ready for anything more than just fucking to get off. Especially right now.

Thanks for mind-fucking me, you gorgeous fucking douchebag!