Blasphemous (6 page)

“I’m so sorry… forgive me…” I said in between sobs. I felt so wretched and utterly hopeless. I was losing him. I knew it.
I felt it
.

Bass was slipping away from me.

I was uncontrollably sobbing his name, but he was already gone.

It seemed that some things needed to be broken first to know their value and I had just realized how much Bass meant to me.

~E~

The next night, Bass came home drunk and I heard two women with him on the patio. This was
me
, always awake to wait on him. However, hearing women around him, made me think of Ants’s suggestion. What did I have to lose? All was fair in love and desperation—and fighting off conniving women who wanted to get a piece of my man.

“Am I interrupting?”

The women jumped at the sound of my voice. Guilt was written all over their faces. “We’re just dropping him off. He needed our help since he was too drunk to walk properly,” my stylist said before they reluctantly bid Bass goodnight.

Fuming, I marched towards the unreasonable man. “Why are you getting drunk almost every night now, Bass? This is so unlike you.”

“Ahhh! Here comes the beautiful Apate, the goddess of lies, guile and deception. Brava!” Bass was drunk, but he was still coherent apparently.

“Bass, you have to let this go. I want to be with you. I know you’re angry, but please don’t go out and get drunk with these women. You might do something that you will regret later on.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Damn it, Bass! If you need sex, then fine, you have me. If you need to lash out your anger on someone, do it to me.”

“Imagination is a cruel thing, Emma. It’s crippling me. I can’t get over the fact that you spent the whole weekend with him. That information alone cut me up. The rest just killed me.” He raked a hand over his hair and threw his head back in frustration. “I feel betrayed,” he screamed towards the stars.

“But I haven’t, Bass.” I was getting nervous, knowing where this conversation was going to lead up to, but I wasn’t going to let it get there. I had to halt it somehow.

When he saw me get on my knees and start undoing his pants, he started to protest, “Emma, what—” but stopped when my hand stroked his shaft.

“Let me do something to help you. I can’t watch you like this anymore.” Wetting my lips before I looked up to his confused face. “Let me ease some of the pain,” I said before my mouth sucked the engorged head.

“Fuck!” Bass hissed loudly. He started groaning when I took him deeper. I could feel him trying to fight it off, but he finally let out a sound of surrender, just before his hand went behind my head, encouraging me to continue.

I was never more focused on anything in my life. I wanted to give this man the best fucking blowjob he’d ever had, and I was going to fucking deliver it.

The back of my throat contracted when his mushroomed head went past it, sucking the life out of him as my tongue swirled around his shaft. “Emma!” he screamed as I deep-throated him, his cock fully screwed into my throat. When my hand massaged and started pulling on his balls, he yelped out my name while his hand gripped the back of my head, pushing me down more as his hot semen spurted down my throat. It was thick and it seemed like it took forever until he was done coming. By God, I loved every drop of him, too. My face said as much.

After I swallowed his come, I bravely got up and stood before him. Bass looked like he was rendered speechless. “Sleep well, my love,” I murmured, walking away. 

I paused when I heard him speak from behind. “This doesn’t change anything, Emma.” What little bravado I had was crushed along with those words.

“I know,” I whispered back without turning around. “And I’m sorry for that.”

It was bittersweet.

For days on end, we were inseparable here, but that wasn’t us anymore. He was practically telling me to back off and let him be.

Maybe this was a sign that some things aren’t meant to be. Some things are meant to be experienced, a few to be broken, and a couple to be kept.

We had two more weeks of filming if things went according to plan. May God bestow me extra strength to see it through the coming days because the pain that was rotting inside my heart was contaminating me, slowly but surely, until there was nothing left in me to fight for Bass.

Chapter 5

“No matter how many gorgeous faces you set your eyes upon, if you already set your heart for someone, you will hardly notice anyone.”

-Ritu Ghatourey

Bass

“Bass, why don’t you come with us back to our cottage? We can continue drinking there.” Her hand rested on my chest, rubbing. I subtly backed away, smiling and declining her offer at the same time.

“Don’t play hard to get. You know you want to.” She leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Once you have a taste of me, you’ll be hooked.”

Gold diggers, they were everywhere. Her persistent nature grated on me. “You know, you should learn not to sell yourself short. You need to learn how to wait until a guy asks you to have sex. Rethink your strategy. Maybe next time you might land a bigger fish in the ocean because
this
fish is already caught—hook, line and sinker.”

Shaking my head, I tipped my head back, finishing my beer before slamming it on the bar, leaving the gold digger behind. She needed to realize that promiscuous women, most of the time, don’t get taken seriously. The ladies of today needed to realize that playing hard to get works. It presents a challenge for us men. It’s in our nature to hunt. We loved the chase, but most of all, we loved the thrill of capturing our prize. A guy could appreciate a woman that way because she prided herself and knew her value.

The saying was true about a man wanting a classy woman by day, but wanting a whore in the bedroom at night. Emma used to be good in bed, but now, she was mind-blowing. She knew what I wanted, but most of all, she surrendered herself to me during our lovemaking. Apart from the phenomenal sex, she was an exceptional woman. I loved how cute she was about things she didn’t know, but pretended she knew what I was talking about. She would start biting her lips, blushing and saying ‘uh-huh’.  What I most appreciated about her was how she didn’t probe into my business. She waited until I told her, but from time to time, when she did ask, that’s a major indicator that she was worried.

I also loved how Emma never talked about money. Women usually, as if absentmindedly, ask how much I was worth or how much I made per film. Those things were irrelevant to Emma. The more indifferent she was, the more I wanted to spoil her, but when I take her out shopping, she ended up letting me buy her ice cream instead. She told me that she didn’t need my money because it was just me she wanted, plain and simple.

Emma Anderson, in short, was perfect for me—if you take Carter out, that is.

Carter Mason. Where did I even begin to express my pure animosity to the abhorrent excuse of a man?

I never thought I would come to hate someone so much, other than my parents, that I wished him dead. I knew once Emma got back to LA, he was going to try to claw his way in again, just like he did the last time.

On the way home, I was bombarded with my incessant thoughts. The end of filming was drawing near. I was already consumed with a lot of doubts. When pictures of her with the bastard showed up out of nowhere, I practically blew up and went apeshit-crazy. I had no clue who placed them there on my tent, but who ever it was, this person wanted to cause a rift between us, or maybe it was because the person thought Emma was cheating on me.

Emma was naïve to think that she wasn’t going to get recognized or maybe she thought that she wasn’t famous enough that those pictures wouldn’t surface on gossip sites. Emma has yet to see that Hollywood was a dangerous playground to be in. Glamorous, yes, but when cameras weren’t rolling, the lights were shut off and the set empty, the gritty Hollywood comes out. There were a lot of two-faced angels and a tidal wave of demons everywhere. Not to mention, the leeches that lurked to dry you out of blood for extra fame and money. Women
always
wanted something from me, until Emma.

Even though I barely trusted her now, I knew I had to come to my senses soon and see if we could move past this. I hated how she kept things because trust was a very important factor for me. It was the one thing that I always sought for in relationships and friendships, without it, I normally don’t bother with the person,
but
I wasn’t ready to let Emma go.

So, that left me with one option.

When I got to the cottage, I paused before turning the knob on my bedroom and glanced towards Emma’s shut door. Absentmindedly, I took the steps, opened her door and let myself inside.

I stood just above her sleeping form, studying her serene face, enthralled at her beguiling beauty. Even in her sleep, she took my breath away.
Why did my love life have to turn out like the others
? I thought with mocking disdain.

The best love stories, it seemed, were the ones with tragic losses, the wound so deep in its depths that it darkened the soul. Not a lot of people win with true love because either one will somehow give up along the way; something was just bound to happen to separate them. We read and hear a lot about such said love, but
not
one emphasized the crippling, ongoing battle it was to be. You’re basically in a war without armor or weapons. You’re bare and exposed like an open target to wound, to scar, to hurt.

However, in the end, you are one of many who fought. Some died, some went mental, some survived and lived happily ever after, but thousands chose to walk away.

Even though I was a wounded man, I was still standing after all that pain.

So here I was again, contemplating what to do with the woman who wrung me inside out as my eyes lingered on her face, then trailed towards her breasts. Emma was wearing a pink silk chemise that ended a few inches below the curve of her bottom. The sheet only covered her toned legs and her slightly parted legs looked just too inviting to resist. In a flash, my groin stirred and a deep ache settled in my stomach. Not able to hold back any longer, I reached out with the back of my fingers and caressed the side of her legs, admiring the silky soft skin as my fingers glided along her.

My hands slowly parted her thighs, stroking. When it went further inside, touching her womanhood, I was pleased to find that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath the silk scrap. In the beginning, I requested that she didn’t wear any if it was just the two of us around. For weeks, we consumed each other once or a few times a day. It was unfathomable to want someone so much as I did Emma, but my needs were met because she herself felt the same for me. After all, she initiated half of them. I mean, I had a healthy sex life before I met Emma, but when she came into the picture, I was constantly ravenous to the point were it was borderline gluttony.

Watching her now, my dick felt constrained in my pants when she let out a soft moan out of her slightly parted lips. Encouraged, I used my middle finger to part her folds, smiling when I found her aroused state. “Oh, Emma. You’re much wetter than usual,” I murmured, still playing with her.

I felt her starting to ooze more of her essence, which didn’t surprise me at all. Given her sexual nature as of late, she was probably dying without it. I was consistently hard for her as she was, unfailingly, always ready for me. It was cruel of me to punish us this way since we were so used to getting our daily fix, but we needed that time apart.

We were addicted to each other. Even when she’s sleeping, her body was prepped for my benefit. Memories of waking up with Emma riding me made my cock twitch in anticipation. We both were insatiable and I loved that she matched my passionate nature. We always woke each other up this way.

Undoing my jeans, I thought of how to enter her. Stripped from my clothes, my hand stroked my shaft as my heart hammered in anticipation in claiming her body again.

Joining her in bed, I bent over her parted thighs and struck out my greedy tongue to taste her ambrosia. She simply tasted like
my
drug, my gateway to Heaven. I ate her with gusto, swirling my tongue around her wet opening before licking her all the way back up and down her anal hole. I lingered there for a bit before returning to the dripping channel. Foreplay was my key to dominating and annihilating her ripened womanhood. She was past ready for my onslaught, too.

Hovering above her as I positioned myself, I gripped my cock and smacked her nub a few times before rubbing it back and forth to wet the mushroomed head of my dick. “Emma…
just be fucking mine
.” I groaned out as my steel length slowly pushed inside her wetness, cloaking it with little room to breathe, suctioning it with sharp, pleasurable, mind-numbing precision.

Pushing deeper into her core, it welcomed me home without resistance. I was lost in the tightness of her as my body trembled, demanding more. Once it pressed against her womb, her vaginal muscles tightened around my length. I had to pause, cussing out, to relax for a second before resuming the pleasure her body bestowed on me. After a few controlled breaths, I held her waist and started to roll my hips in and out of her, opening her more to accommodate my entire length. She still hurt from time to time, but she never stopped me because Emma—though she may seem sweet at first glance—actually craved rough, hardcore pounding. Her confessing that crucial tidbit truly was the sexiest thing for me.