Chapter Eight
How could he do this to me? I raged inside my head. How could he go through with consummating the love we clearly share, without giving me a head’s up that his best friend, my uncle, was coming to dinner?
I sat opposite the gorgeous antique mirror that grew out of the equally lovely, old oak dresser that made an excellent makeup table in my room. Nude Halle Berry’s eyes stared down accusingly at me, like she knew exactly what I’d been doing. She’d already seen me act like a disgraceful slut, letting Vanessa bring me off on the very bed lovely Halle kept watch over. I knew she judged me for the whorish way I’d ground my naked ass against Warren until he came in his pants, then begged him to fuck me until I came on his cock as he shot his load inside me.
And, no matter how we acted in front of Clive, my uncle would know exactly how I’d looked as I grasped Warren’s head and forced his mouth harder against my hungry pussy, or how I’d sounded as I screamed while he fucked me, hammering me to the first of my orgasms with him. It would be immediately obvious what we’d been up to from the moment he saw me, and no amount of the foundation I was brushing onto my face was going to be able to hide my shame.
I was just finishing my makeup when I heard a knock on my chamber door. I sat in my black bra and thong, ready to slip into the one vaguely formal dress that I’d had the foresight to pack – my little black cocktail dress – so I got up, pulled on my silk robe and went to answer the door, pinching my robe closed with my left hand.
The door opened to reveal Warren standing behind it. Who else could it have been? He wore his dinner wear but had, so far, not gotten around to the jacket and bowtie. It had been his idea to dress for dinner, something to do with a tradition he and Clive had that went back decades. His white dinner shirt was open down past his chest, his eyes shone and, in spite of my annoyance with him, he looked damn good.
“Your Uncle Clive is on his second aperitif and can’t wait to see you,” he smiled, his eyes checking out what little I was wearing. “But I guess he can wait a little longer for you. Can I come in?”
I couldn’t think of a reason to say no. It was his house after all, so I just let go of the door and headed back inside, releasing the grip on my robe but not taking it off. “Is he okay?” I asked.
“He seems his normal old self,” Warren replied, “busting my balls and claiming to be the sole reason I became a success. But, like I said, he can wait a little longer.”
I felt his hands on my shoulders. I hadn’t even noticed him come up behind me. “Warren, what are you doing?” I asked him, feeling him slide the silk off my shoulders so the robe spilled off me to pool at my feet, leaving me standing in only my underwear.
“Whatever I think we both want,” he replied, his soft lips going to my neck and his hands taking a strong but not too firm grip around my upper arms. I couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped my lips as he kissed my sensitive skin, any more than I could stop the flood of juices that rushed to lubricate my hidden lips or the sudden tingling in my clit. “We have a few more minutes before we really have to be downstairs.”
“Oh, do we?” I answered, an unintentionally suggestive tone in my voice. His hands moved over my bare stomach, down my hips, and back up to my breasts, roughly pinching my budding nipple. I needed him to go, but I was enjoying his touch too much. My skin goosebumped while my most sensitive parts tightened and throbbed, my body silently begging him to keep doing what he was doing.
Suddenly, he moved me, hard and fast. He walked me up to the wall and leaned me against it, before I could say or do anything. Then, he pressed his body against me. I could feel his erection trapped behind his slacks, before he opened his fly with one hand while dragging my panties down over my butt with the other. Another gasp flew from me, as I felt his hard cock, white hot against my cool skin, poking against the back of my thighs and the lowest part of my ass, so close to my open pussy.
“Push your ass out, baby,” he breathed, “I want to fuck you once more, quickly, before we go down to dinner with Clive.”
“Are you serious?” I said, my face almost pressed into the cold stone of my bedroom wall.
“What?” he stopped trying to press his dick between my thighs to sound surprised.
“I don’t know what you were thinking this afternoon, but I’m not willing to be a way for you to win some argument or prove something to your oldest friend. One of my family’s oldest friends, to be exact.” I felt him release his grip on me and back away, leaving me bent against the wall with my underwear pulled down. I covered myself and turned around, my eyes searching to find the robe he’d slipped off me.
“Baby, I promise you,” he began, “when we were together is was only about us. And, I’m sorry, but I wasn’t trying to fuck you as some slight towards Clive. I was just horny for you and thought it might be a little daring and unorthodox to have sex while your family waited downstairs. I thought you might get a thrill, that’s all.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“So I see,” he continued. “Listen, this wasn’t just another fling for me. I know you’re young, but I didn’t expect you to freak out at the first opportunity. Like you said, Mary-Jane, you’re twenty-two. You’re a full-grown woman, brilliant and beautiful. What you do with your life, whatever choices you make, are no one’s business anymore. Not even your family’s. And that included dating an old family friend. You told me that yourself yesterday, but obviously don’t really believe it. It’s time you grow up and accept things.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but he’d already reached the door. He opened it and marched out. He’s right, bitch, I heard my inner voice smile. You’re old enough to seduce him, to have sex with him, you’re old enough that you don’t have to hide anything anymore. Stop being a child about this.
I still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a guy I’d looked up to and then lusted after for as long as I could remember. That meant that he was a guy who’d seen me grow up, known me since I was a little girl, and something felt wrong about that. I was sure my family would see it that way at least. I wasn’t regretting sleeping with Warren – it had been beyond my wildest dreams – but now reality was biting and I felt bad.
*****
I came down to the kitchen ten minutes later to find everyone sitting down around the huge kitchen table. There was something vaguely amusing about seeing everyone dressed for fine dining, then gathering in the kitchen. I guess keeping a formal dining room wasn’t high on Warren’s priority list when he remodeled the place. Vanessa was across the table, facing the door and thus the first to see me as I walked in. She stood and revealed a little black cocktail dress very similar to mine, only she must have been wearing hers twenty times better than I was. It cinched in perfectly to accentuate her slim waist, and gathered her bosom up top to create an eye-popping cleavage that I knew I could just never compete with.
“Oh, my God!” she beamed as the men turned around. “You look sensational. I wish I could pull off one of these little numbers half as well as you.”
I felt flattered but skeptical, until my Uncle Clive stepped over to hug me. “Vanessa’s absolutely right, as always,” he said, “you look astonishing, MJ.”
He was his usual, slightly rotund, slightly red-faced, incredibly cheerful self. I’ve been told he was quite a player in his younger days as well, but it was clear he just hadn’t aged as well as Warren, even as they both wore almost matching dinner jackets. “Thanks, Uncle Clive,” I smiled, leaning into his embrace. “You look as full of life as ever.”
“I am, I am.”
“I have to agree,” Warren chipped in, indicating the seat next to Vanessa. “You look beautiful.”
I still felt bad from our encounter upstairs, and only managed to offer him a curt nod in return. I took my seat and Clive poured out some of the white wine they’d been drinking.
“I must say,” Clive began, clearing his throat, “Vanessa showed me some of the stills you two have come up with during your so far short-lived collaboration.”
My heart leaped into my mouth. Please, please tell me Warren hid the nude pics from the bench on the hill. Or the shots of him walking from the ocean. Or the shoot we did this afternoon. I really don’t need my Uncle to see me trying to hump a shop dummy’s leg, naked!
I raised my eyebrows at Warren, who was over by the giant refrigerator collecting our appetizers, trying to telepathically communicate with him, desperate to make sure he hadn’t left those photographs in plain sight. And he seemed to understand. He fixed my gaze with those soft brown eyes of his and quickly, almost imperceptibly, shook his head. I felt a small surge of glee. Not only that he’d kept our business hidden, but that he seemed to get me. I could feel my frostiness toward him beginning to thaw.
“And they are fantastic,” Clive continued, “a depth of field and use of natural light that I think must have taken this one,” he indicated towards Warren who was returning to the table, “about five years to develop. If you’ll pardon the pun.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re way past anyone pardoning anything about you, Clive,” teased Warren, as he set down a platter of immaculately prepared mousse roulades, no doubt handmade by him from freshly caught and smoked wild Scottish salmon. I helped myself to a couple and found them to be delicate, light, and delicious, with just the right amount of dill and lemon.
“You are hardly one to talk,” Clive smiled. It was both amazing and entirely unsurprising exactly how easily and quickly the two men seemed to fall back into their well-established, self-deprecating comedy routine. The ribbing and gentle tormenting went back well beyond my time on this Earth, and when one of them started the other would never resist taking the bait. “Apologies, Mary-Jane but, up to now, I’m pretty sure all the tales of Warren’s sexploits have been a little watered down for the benefit of your younger ears.”
“And?” I queried, as Warren got up to clear the dishes from the finished first course away.
“And, now you’re all grown up, I think you might just have to put up with hearing them in all their gory detail.”
I really didn’t want to do that. Poor Clive. He was smiling from ear to ear and simply intent on embarrassing his old friend. He had no idea that my skin was beginning to crawl at the prospect of listening to stories like that all night.
“I’m sure she can take it,” grinned Vanessa, looking over at me and winking. What was she doing? She seemed to have an uncanny sixth sense about certain things, but there was no way she could know about Warren and I. Not unless she’d seen the new photos. Or he’d told her. My blood began to boil.
“Awesome!” shouted Clive. “Then there’s nothing to stop me from reminding Warren about one of his early photo shoots.” My uncle named a woman among the most glamorous of the Hollywood glitterati, who would now be in her sixties. “So,” Clive continued, “there was a definite tension in the air, if you know what I mean, and Warren clears the set. He sends all of us mere mortals out of the studio. And this was the time of that rumor about her and her daughter’s new husband.”
The actress in question was married to another screen legend, who had brought, with him, his early-twenties daughter from a previous marriage. The daughter was an up-and-comer, having just gotten a Golden Globe nomination for her first starring role, and the press had been having a great time painting the elder actress as an evil stepmother.
“I’m pretty sure everyone remembers this one, Clive,” Warren sighed, plating up the thick steaks he’d grilled and adding fried onion rings and baked potatoes, the American way. “You really don’t have to.” He looked over at me as he placed full plates in front of Clive and Vanessa, a sad, apologetic look in his eyes.
“Nonsense, I’m sure Vanessa is too young to have heard about it,” Clive announced, “and I know Mary-Jane is. Anyway, so Warren’s alone in the studio with his subject and who should arrive, furious about what she’d heard regarding her stepmom and her beau? That’s right!” Clive was almost in tears of laughter. “I tried to stop her, but she literally sidestepped me and ducked into the studio.”
“If only you’d locked the door!” cried Vanessa. Warren looked shameful. He really wasn’t enjoying reliving the tale. I needed it to end as well, but thanks to the resentment I was feeling towards him, I was enjoying watching him in discomfort. His godlike, arrogant air was dissipating.
“I know, right?” chuckled Clive. “But, after the initial screams of shock and anger died down – I’m thankful to say I saw nothing of what they were doing. I can only imagine – it went quiet for some time. Eventually, fearing one of these hotheaded starlets had murdered the rest of the room, I gingerly put my head around the door.”
“Oh, my! What did you see?” Vanessa gasped. I seethed, feeling I knew what was coming.
“Again, thankfully nothing. But I heard stuff that definitely wasn’t a family argument and the rumors and bad blood between the mom and daughter vanished. I feel like both those women should get down on their knees and thank Warren that they still have marriages.”
“It sounds to me like they probably did,” I muttered. Why does he have to have such a wild and notorious past? And why do I have to hear about it? He was so attractive and nice in real life, the kind of man any girl would be happy to bring home to her folks. But he came with all this baggage, these fabled tales that made him a world-famous lady’s man. How could I, so pure and true in my father’s eyes, ever expect them to take my feelings for him seriously? How could I, a virgin until a few hours ago, ever expect to adequately please him or fulfill his appetites if we stayed together? Nothing was fair and it was all making me very angry.
Clive and Vanessa were laughing, Warren was smiling politely and avoiding looking at me, while no one seemed to have heard my remark. And all I could think about was that thing he did, getting in close and touching me intimately, to draw the sexuality out of me, that he’d done that in this story too. For the first time or for the hundredth time? I had no way of knowing. I just knew I was feeling worse with every second that went by.
“Hey, buddy,” Clive said to Warren, “you need to lighten up, or I’ll tell the Angelina story!”
“Oh! Tell it!” giggled Vanessa, obviously enjoying torturing her boss.
“Yes, tell it!” I suddenly heard myself yell. I hadn’t even realized I’d stood up. “Tell us about fucking Angelina! And the time you fucked Demi! And don’t forget your famous four-way with Drew, Cameron,1 and Lucy, while they were shooting their movie! Leave no stone unturned. Just don’t expect me to sit here and listen.”
I saw Warren opening his mouth to say something, and the other two staring at me in shock. I didn’t want to hear anything from him right then, so I left. I stormed out of the kitchen, leaving my steak untouched and my pride behind.