Survival of the Fiercest (21 page)

Ever since Big Skinny was arrested in Los Angeles—right where Josie said he would be—things have fallen into place for her. Skinny’s incarceration uncovered a whole mess of illegal activity, which put him in jail for years and shut his porn company down. Josie’s contract became null and void.

She is still fighting to get the money from her movies, but her lawyer seems confident it will come through. Until then, Josie needs a job. And I need a video journalist. Weekly, Josie films wildly popular three-minute videos called “Date Like a Porn Star” where she answers sex and dating questions from our readers. It’s ironic to hear a porn star tell you not to have sex on the first date.

Before I leave the office, I check our daily stats. We’ve achieved a little more than eight million page views so far. I do a little dance in my chair.
Eat that Khan!
I heard that Flossbulb is being sued by multiple celebrities and may shut down. Plus
Bizrage
magazine recently called them a “brand graveyard.” Not a great outlook for Viper. Oh well, I guess it’s the survival of the Fiercest.

* * * *

When I walk into my apartment, the lights are low and there are glowing candles strewn sporadically around the living room. Something mouthwatering is in the oven, and I spy two plates and wineglasses set up on the kitchen island. Softly shutting the door, I sing hello.

Evan emerges from the hall, his limp almost gone. It’s only been a week since we saw each other last, but I ache at the sight of him. He hugs me tightly, and I bury my nose in his thick cardigan. We cozy up to each other and kiss.

“How was your day?” he asks.

“Who cares? You’re here,” I say.

“Damn, you feel good.” His palms round over my ass and pull me tighter against him.

“Mmmm… How’s the leg?”

“Stiff.”

“How’s the rest of you?” I breathe. I run my hands down his chest.

“Stiff,” he says, taking my hand and placing it over his erection. He lets out a groan when my palm molds around him.

“Well, I still have my nurse’s uniform,” I murmur before capturing his bottom lip lightly in my teeth. Bedridden for a week, Evan reentered the world through his iPad. Business was conducted, fantasy football was played, and I was sent an elaborately packaged gift every day. One was a sexy nurse’s uniform. He got himself a hospital gown, and we lived out my dirty hospital fantasy.

“Good,” he whispers. “Because I really need to make love to you right now.”

A yelp escapes me when he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder. Before I know it, my back hits the bed, and Evan pulls my arms above my head, pinning me with his body from chest to thigh. For a moment, we look at each other. He is grinning. Then we are a feverish jumble of arms and legs and lips.

The oven timer interrupts our undressing. Ordering me to stay, Evan runs to the kitchen, then returns, stopping just over the threshold of the bedroom. In that short time, I’ve taken off my blouse and am lounging in my bra. He takes off his pants and stands in his boxer briefs. I slide my gaze over him and stop at the scar on his thigh. I frown.

“Have you been to the club?”

He rubs the back of his neck, and I can tell his answer before it spills from his lips. We talked about this. How I would feel better if he laid low for a while. How he should up security in the club and get rid of the walkway to the gallery, since the gallery was how the kid got in.

“Baby,” he says cautiously, “I have a business to run.”

“Run it from your iPad,” I snap.

He grins at my petulant tone. “I’ve upped security, just like you asked.”

“I also asked you to lay low.”

“How about I lie here,” he says, stretching out on top of me. His lips capture mine, and his hands mold around my breasts.

“Evan, I’m not kidding,” I say, pulling my face away; the fear of almost losing him is still fresh.

“Mmmmm,” he answers, his mouth moving lazily over my neck, his knee parting my thighs.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” He pops his head up. “I love it.” His heavy-lidded gaze finds mine. “I love you.”

The words melt into my brain, putting all reason on pause while his hands travel inside my bra. He kisses me again, firmer, fuller, intent on getting in. Heat explodes through my senses. It’s been too long. Serious issues can wait.

In the next moments, he nips at the softness of my ear, and he whispers how much he loves me and how he intends to show me the extent of his love.

“This discussion isn’t over, just postponed,” I say, breathless, moving my hands down to the waistband of his boxer briefs.

He murmurs his assent, focused on worshiping my exposed breasts. I feel the familiar electric shock of his wet mouth on first one nipple, then the other. My skin tingles underneath his onslaught. His warm lips brush over my heart, then slide down to nip at my belly button. Quickly I am relieved of my skirt, and all thinking has stopped. I need him to fill me. Evan grabs a condom from the nightstand and swiftly puts it on. He travels back up my body, and I close my legs around his hips, grazing his erection with the pulsing ache of my pussy.

Evan thrusts forward, his arms tightening around me, my legs locking to hold on. We rock together, our moans muffled by our harsh breathing, our whispered
I love yous
accented by endless kisses.

Loose Id Titles by Chloe Blaque

Survival of the Fiercest

Chloe Blaque

Chloe Blaque is a writer and fashion executive in New York City. Her work has appeared on several webzines including Salon.com, The Huffington Post, TheFrisky.com and CNN.com. She has also contributed to the Madonna Anthology
Madonna and Me
published by Soft Skull Press. When not writing, she can be found reading, snowboarding, drinking margaritas, and traveling the world.

Links to reach Chloe Blaque:

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http://www.chloeblaque.com

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