Rendezvous (16 page)

Maddie already has dinner waiting when we walk through the door. She has been spending most of her time at the house since her breakup and I feel bad about her going home to an empty apartment. She seems to have hit it off with Dante so it doesn’t bother me in the least if when she asks if she can stay and hang out with us. I take it one step further and invite her to join in on planned shenanigans for the following days.

Her excitement is contagious as he jumps up and down in the kitchen, and adds her own opinion on tomorrow's event. She thinks it’s hilarious that men will be dressing in nearly nothing and prancing around with fake bows and arrows shooting unsuspecting women with toy darts, and I agree. Dante, on the other hand, is trying hard to suppress his drooling at the idea of several hot men letting their goodies show for a bunch of horny, underappreciated, undersexed, women who rely books to live out their sexual fantasies.

While pulling out my jeans and shirt for tomorrow, I’m informed there is no way in hell I will be wearing that, and instead will be wearing a vintage inspired red and silver sweetheart dress matching peep toe heels with which he managed sneak by me earlier. Something about dressing like a dolled up 50s sitcom wife makes me uneasy. I’ve never really been the girly girl type and I’m already uncomfortable about this event without him throwing this shit into the mix.

I argue with him relentlessly to pick something fucking else, but he just throws his hissy fit and demands that I owe him this.  Even if I did, this is equivalent to torture. I vow that after tomorrow, we’re even. That is if I make it through tomorrow alive. If so, I will be kicking his cupid loving ass on Valentine’s Day.

Chapter 15

Tristan

I look fucking ridiculous. Whoever picked this shit out either hates men or has some sick fucking fetish for men who look like small boys. I planned on wearing white boxers under this tiny fucking loincloth, and a small pair of wings. Instead I’m wearing second skin tighty whities that cover more of my ass than the loincloth. My cock and balls are damn close to being shoved up my ass. These fucking wings nearly drag across the floor and are strapped on with a chest harness. To top it all off, I have to carry around a gold bow with pink plastic heart tipped arrows. If this isn't fucking degrading, I don’t know what is.  My only saving grace is that I don’t have to stay in this getup the whole time and I won’t be the only one wearing it.

I listen as two of the other guys wearing this shit debate free-balling. While I’m inclined to like their train of thought, there is no fucking way I’m going commando when the only thing attempting to cover my dick is a tiny white cloth that wouldn’t even hide half my length flaccid. I don’t know how small these dudes are, but I doubt Bentley would appreciate having several hundred women staring at my package. I also wouldn’t appreciate the sick bitches that need to cop a feel like the last event. It’s going to be hard enough to keep my shit in check in this outfit; I damn sure won’t be adding to my humiliation.

I enter the room as the ladies are setting their tables up and look around for Bentley. She’s usually in jeans and a long sleeve shirt, but I don’t see anyone wearing that. Instead I find the most alluring woman leaning over a table with red seamed stockings, fuck me heels, and a dress that’s just begging to come off.

I try to find something else to look at when my focus settles on the banner behind her. It’s one of the photos I had taken with that photographer, Sarah. In print at the bottom of the cover is her name, Bentley Celeste. I have to bite back a fucking groan as she stands up and turns to Dante. Her chest is pushed up and peeking out of the heart-shaped neckline across her dress. Her hair was down and in loose curls. She’s wearing light makeup that highlights her lips and eyes, and a pair of glasses that have my dick throbbing.

It‘s painful to look at her; she so goddamn gorgeous. My dick is so squished in these damn micro underwear that even the smallest erection is torture as it pushes against this shitty fabric. I look around the room and see a few other guys that must be thinking the same as they stare between her ass and tits as she spreads her table out. A wave of jealousy crashes over me at the idea that these other guys might try getting a little too close to her.

I want to go wrap her in a damn blanket so no one else can see her like this. She’s a walking wet dream. She looks like something straight out of my wildest fantasy, and I can’t help wonder what the fuck came over her. Why on god’s green earth would she fucking wear that here? She hates being ogled by men. Has that changed since we were together? Did she suddenly revel in the attention of looking like a sex kitten? I know I’m not thinking rationally; I’m fucking pissed. I want to scream at her to go cover the hell up.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t even notice anyone come up to me. It isn’t until some asshole literally has a handful of my cock that I damn near lose it. I’m ready to start swinging when I turn to find Dante standing there. “What the fuck, man? You know I don’t fucking swing that way,” I say through my irritation.

“I know. I’ve been yelling your name for the last three minutes. It’s like you were in a trance. So I figured the only surefire way to get your attention is to play a game of 'handle the hardware.' What the fuck has your panties all up in a bunch anyway? Other than those god awful underwear… Who the fuck thought those were a good idea? Nothing sexy about having your junk practically shoved up your ass.”

“Was I really that bad? Sorry, I was just raging at that fucking outfit Bentley is wearing. What the hell is she thinking wearing that shit? Is this some kind of fucking payback for something I don’t know about?”

“Chill out, sexy pants. Bentley didn’t choose her outfit. She’s paying penance for deserting my ass this past year. This is her punishment, to look and act all girly for the day. I doubt she has any idea you're even here, so I can promise you weren’t considered when I chose my payback.”

Dante seems so damn pleased with himself. Little does he know Bentley isn’t the only one he’s punishing. It’s going to take a fucking miracle to make it through today without beating the shit out of the two assholes hitting on her. I don’t know what the one ass licker said to her, but it has her turning beet red. No way am I going to make it six hours while staving off grabby hands and trying not to kill every fucker who even looks at her twice.

An hour into the signing and I’m ready to kill someone. I’ve taken at least fifty pictures. My ass has been groped more than a buffet table, and at least three women made an attempt to size me up. I now know how the animals at a petting zoo feel. I try to keep an eye on Bentley, but she’s been avoiding any male attention as much as possible and still hasn’t noticed me. Normally she’s all social and shit, talking to everyone around her, making conversation. Not here though. She has her head tucked down and her nose in a book unless she’s approached.

I don’t know if I want her to notice me or not. I mean I’m here for her, but I don’t think even she would appreciate seeing me in true man meat fashion. She’s always hated how objectified the models are at these events, so she might see me and think it’s some kind of slap in the face. I tuck myself in a corner of the room behind her. I want to know what she thinks of these guys. A part of me is still pissed that she’s dressed like a fucking pin-up doll and every guy in the room has noticed. She has brushed at least three guys off that I witnessed, and who the hell knows how many I didn’t. For the most part, the other cover models I know are keeping their distance. Not because of me per se, but because of the loads of women who can’t get enough of them.

My morbid curiosity gets the best of me as I try hard to hear what Dante whispers to her, whatever it is has her giggling like a school girl. I move a bit closer and listen as she talks about the poor fucks parading around in their costumes. Apparently one of these dudes decided to don a g-string and it has Dante tickled pink that he got to play grab ass. I don’t know the poor shmuck, but it’s hard to feel sorry for him. We’re here to meet and greet and hopefully help sell a few books, not fill our little black books and pretend we’re male strippers. At least I hope he’s pretending. Either way I thrilled she isn’t impressed by anything she saw. Although that also means she would be equally unimpressed seeing me looking like the mythical god of love.

Bentley

I feel sorry for the men walking around me. I'm trying so hard to keep my snickering to myself, but when one of them bends over and flashes the ultra-tiny, way too fucking tight, briefs that look like they are trying to shove his dick back inside of him, I can't contain myself. This has to fit under the definition of cruel and unusual punishment. These men will be lucky if they could even walk tomorrow morning. Dante and I took a bet as to whether they’d be able to pee standing up tonight or if the angles their poor dicks were bent in would force them to take it like a woman.

One of the models I have on another cover is dressed in said attire. I  pick on him for even being willing to dress up like the notorious diaper draped flying bastard who is given credit for his flagrant matchmaking skills. That fucker is solely responsible for more broken hearts than a nymphomaniac housewife with a penchant for home wrecking. They say love is blind, but I’m pretty sure it was that pudgy bastard who is blind.

While joking around, he told me I have no right to be judging since my lover boy is a walking rendition of the fat little winged fucker. I have no idea what he was referring to since I don’t have a lover. I could only assume he’s referring to Tristan, but I haven’t seen him anywhere, nor can I ever imagine him wearing something so revolting and degrading. I am about to argue my point when another cupid wannabe bends over to pick up something some woman dropped and gives us the full Monte. Dante spent the next ten minutes talking about how perfectly symmetrical his ass cheeks are and how he wants to see how far a quarter would bounce off of them. I shake my head in laughter as he goes and grabs the guy’s ass cheeks to confirm they really are as firm as they look.

Needless to say, Dante’s confirmation was unexpected, but the guy had a good sense of humor about it. I’ve garnered by own fair share of unwanted attention and am ready to shove my size eight up Dante’s ass if one more man tells it’s his lucky day upon hearing that I’m now single. Not once have I mentioned my relationship status. However, seeing the woman from the photo with Tristan and the snarky smirk she keeps shooting my way, I think I know where all of the jerk-offs are getting their information.

After turning down the same guy three times, I’m starting to get really irked, enough so that I wish Tristan really was here. Even if we aren’t together, he knows how much I hate attention and would make sure it stayed at a minimum. Of course it’s just my luck, as I finish signing a book for someone, I look up and my jaw hits the floor. I swear, no sooner than I asked for him, he's appeared. He’s standing a few feet away from me. His arms are crossed, his lips are pressed together, forming that sexy smirk that on more than one occasion has made me forget all common sense, and his eyes are dancing. He is oozing a
fuck me
vibe and damn if I don’t want to oblige.

I have never wanted to throw myself at someone, but damn! He makes cupid look sexy as fuck, and he can pierce me with that arrow any damn day of the week. I’m practically drooling as Dante nudges me to get a hold of myself. As he walks over to my table, it takes everything in me to maintain my composure.

“I was under the impression cupid was supposed to be a fat little baby, not some near naked sex god in feathers and leather straps,” I say motioning to the leather harnessed across his chest.”

“Sex god, huh?” he replies, leaning across the table so he’s just inches away from me. “I might look like a sex god, but these death traps they have squashing my cock are neither sexy nor godlike since they are forcing my dick into places it was never meant to go.”

I laugh out loud at his admission. I don’t think before opening my mouth, “You could always just take them off, and give all these ladies a taste of what a real man looks like. I doubt that any of their wildest fantasies come close to comparing to what you’re like in real life.”

I instantly try to backtrack what I just said. I didn’t really mean to tell him that he should show all of these women how well endowed he is. It just came out that way and from the shit-eating grin on his face; I am so fucked when it comes to trying to correct myself. I stutter over my words, trying to fix my fuck up.

Tristan leans in even closer, so his breath grazes across my skin. “The only person who needs to admire the length of my cock is you. As long as you remember how capable I am at making you come, I don’t give a shit who’s admiring what. You haven’t forgotten have you, Bentley? How you scream my name in ecstasy as I pound into you? Do you remember the feel of my thick cock filling and stretching you around me?”

I am damn near panting at the memories he’s eliciting. I’m biting my lip to keep from audibly moaning as my body is reminded of all of the things he use to do to me, all of the things I wish he was doing this very moment. My mind rewinds to Christmas Eve, as I remember the dirty promises I’m sure he whispered in my ear. As I recall his words, I can feel my body growing flush. I wanted him so fucking much right now, that if we were anywhere but in a room filled with people, I would be begging him to bend me over this table and fuck me the way he promised.

I try to turn it off, to throw what he’s doing to me back at him, but my voice comes out low and gravely as I answer him. “I’ve never forgotten the things you do to me, Tristan. Nor have I forgotten the way my body seems to respond to your every touch. If I remember correctly, you didn’t seem to have any problems reacting to my touch either. Perhaps you’ve forgotten how the lightest touch of my fingers down your spine would make you hard as a rock. Do you need to be reminded, Tristan?”

I know I’m playing with fire. The huskiness in his voice has my lace panties soaked, and I’m feeling my heartbeat in places it has no business pulsating in. He isn’t even touching me and my body is aching for him. My nipples are pebbled and painfully brushing against the lining of my bra, begging him for attention. I want his hands on me so fucking badly.

He pulls back to look at me and my eyes are drawn immediately to his lips. Those lips have done wicked, delightful things to me and I want to feel them on me more than anything. He must be reading my mind because he leans in and captures my bottom lip between his own. I part my lips wanting more. He tastes intoxicating, as his tongue swirls in my mouth. I’m lost in his embrace until Dante interrupts us. I’d forgotten where we are and several people turn to watch our short display of affection. I step back from the edge of my table to shy away from the prying eyes.