Until We Burn (3 page)

Jet lag is a
bitch.   A serious, wenchy bitch with a hard-on for revenge. 

I roll over in
bed and glare at the alarm.  I didn’t sleep much on the plane.  In part
due to the fact that I never sleep well on them.  In another part because
of Abbi.  The girl aimed to please.  Over and over again. 

Tally
pretended not to see as Abbi knelt in front of me, not once, not twice but
three times during the eleven hour flight.  It was nice at the time, of
course, but after arriving into Heathrow at 6am without a wink of sleep, I
decided to check into my hotel and get a couple hours of shut eye. 

Of course now,
three hours later, it’s time to get up and I feel worse than ever.  I
probably shouldn’t have slept at all. 

I grab my
phone and punch in Tally’s number. 

“Dude, I can’t
get up,” I groan.  “Postpone the promo shoot, would you?  I need to
sleep.”

Tally
sighs.  “Stop acting like your brother.  Sin always does this shit to
me. Get your ass out of bed, take a cold shower to wake up and get here. 
You’re already five minutes late.”

He hangs up
and I throw my phone.  It hits the wall and slides to the floor, apparently
unbroken.  I should have thrown it harder.   Fuck this
shit. 

As I head into
the shower, I grab the room’s phone and dial the front desk.

“Send up a
Blood Mary,” I tell them without preamble.  “In fact, send two.” I don’t
wait for a response before I hang up.

When I step
back out of the shower ten minutes later, two icy cold Bloody Marys are waiting
for me on the table in my sitting room.  I already feel better from the
cold water.  But the Bloody Marys make me one step closer to human.

Not close enough
to deal with Amy’s drama this early, however.  Her name flashes on the
face of my phone and I wonder if she has already arrived.  I vaguely
remember Tally saying she’d be a day late. 

I let it go to
voicemail.

She calls
right back.

I let it go to
voicemail again. 

She’s got to
learn that I won’t drop what I’m doing for her.  I’ll
never
do
that.  I don’t care
who
she is.

When I’m in
the car riding to the set, I listen to her voicemail.  In the first one,
she’s snotty.

“Dom, where
the hell are you?  I know you’re on set, so I know you have your
phone.  Answer it.”

I’m rolling my
eyes as I listen to her second message.

“I’m sorry,
babe.  I was being bitchy.  I’m bitchy when I’m tired.” 
And
hungry, anxious, bored, calm, or otherwise
, I think.  “Anyway, I just
wanted you to know that I can’t wait to see you.  I’m getting in later
tonight.  Let’s have a late dinner, OK?  Talk to you soon. 
Kisses.”

I sigh as I
slip my phone back into my jacket pocket.

She’s starting
to get clingy.  They always do.  And I had really thought that with
Amy’s prickly personality, she wouldn’t.  But here we go. The same old
song and dance.  I know how it ends and it won’t be pretty.  But it
won’t end
yet
.  I’ll get what I can out of it while it lasts. 

I close my
eyes for a few minutes, until the car glides to a stop.  I glance at the
window and sigh.  Fans are already lined up.  How they know where
I’ll be, I don’t know.  This is just a promo shoot, for God’s sake. 

But I paste a
smile on as I step outside of the car, as the fans scream and faint and try to
touch me.

Sign
myshirtDominicSignmyboobsDominicCanIkissyouPleaseDominicTakeapicturewithmeDominic!

Dominic! 
Dominic! I love you, Dominic!

Their voices
blend together as security pushes them back and ushers me through the masses,
through the sweat and perfume, and into the building.  I take a deep
breath as we step into the silence and I don’t glance back.  I know what
I’ll see. 

People
scrambling to get another glimpse of me, hoping that I’ll come back
outside.  They don’t even know me, but they think they do because they’ve
seen me on-screen so often. 

My fans are
why I am so successful.  I know that. And I appreciate them.  I do.
But I’m an intensely private person and having people tear at my clothing
unnerves me in a way I’d never thought possible. 

But in order
to avoid looking ungrateful, I grin and pretend it doesn’t bother me.  I
flash the sexy smile that the world recognizes as mine. 

They don’t
have to know that it’s a mask, that it’s all an act. 

I’m an
actor.  They should expect it.

*******

“I want to see
the Tower of London this time,” Amy demands as she takes a bite of cracker
slathered in caviar. 

I stare at
her.  “Aren’t you worried they’ll keep you in it?  They’ve confined
witches in it before.”

Amy stops
chewing for a moment, her blue eyes astonished.  Then she laughs. 

“You’re such a
dick, Dominic,” she chuckles, leaning over the sofa arm to slide her fingers
along my cheek.  “But that’s why I adore you.  You say what you want
to say to me.”

“I just call a
spade a spade,” I shrug.  “You know you’re a bitch and you don’t
care.  It’s one of the things I like about you.”

She eyes me,
her expression hardening a bit.  “You
like
about me?  I just
said I adore you.  And you
like
me?  What the hell, Dom? 
I’m not feeling the love from you lately.”

And here we
go.  I knew this was coming. 

I set my
whiskey tumbler down and level a stare at her. 

“Amy, you knew
going into this what I’m like…. What I’m after.  I’m not after a
relationship. At all.  I like you.  I respect you.  I enjoy
having you in my bed.  But love?  That’s not who I am, Amy.”

She leans
back, her eyes narrowing now, but filled with amusement. 

“That’s what
you think now,” she tells me knowingly.  “Just wait.”

“For what?” I raise
an eyebrow.  “Until hell freezes over?  Because that’s how long
you’ll wait if you’re wanting more from me than what we’ve got.”

She shakes her
head.  “Whatever.”  She waves one hand, the diamond rings adorning
her fingers sparkling in the dimmed light of my sitting room.  “I’m going
to be jetlagged.  So I should take a sleeping pill and go to bed. 
But first, let’s
go to bed.
”

She stares at
me, her gaze turning dark and sultry, as she stands up and slowly begins
shrugging out of her clothing. 

I lean back in
my seat and enjoy the show. 

Half of Amy’s
body isn’t real… it’s been enhanced by plastic surgeons. But because of that,
it’s perfect.  Her tits are large and round, her nipples pointed to the
sky.  Her stomach is perfectly flat, her hips swelled to perfection. 
Due to liposuction, there isn’t one trace of fat on her. 

She’s
unnaturally
perfect.  I personally prefer real curves, imperfections and all. 

But I don’t
say that.  Instead, I just enjoy the show. 

Bending over
in front of me, she slides her panties off and tosses them into my lap.  I
pick up the lace with one finger and hold it to my nose, inhaling it. 

“You smell
good,” I observe. 

She smiles.

“You know I
do,” she purrs, gliding to my side and dropping onto my lap.  Reaching
into her nearby purse, she pulls out a pair of padded handcuffs. 

“Get on your
bed, Dom,” she commands.  “I want to be in charge tonight.”

It’s a good
thing I’m in the mood for that.  Lying back and zoning out… letting the
intense feelings of pain and pleasure blend together until I can’t tell one
from the other? 

Yes, please.

“Fine,” I
smirk, as I get to my feet and head for the bedroom.  “But stay the hell
away from my nipples.  If you pull that nipple clamp out of your bag, so
help me, I’m out of here.”

“This is your
room,” she points out dryly. 

“Whatever.
Then
you’ll
be out of here.  And I won’t give you time to put your
clothes on, either.”

She giggles
now, unconcerned. 

“You’d like
that, you freak.  Watching me strut down the hallway naked, with everyone
watching me?  I know you’d love that.”

It’s
true.  I would.  And I’d also like to watch.

“Don’t
blindfold me,” I instruct her as she folds her body against mine and begins to
unbutton my shirt with experienced fingers.  “I want to watch your tits as
I lick you.”

She sighs into
my mouth, her tongue plundering my own.  She tastes of vodka and caviar.

“Lick me from
back to front and everywhere in between,” she tells me.  “And then,” she
pauses as she reaches one more time into her bag.  She pulls out a pierced
dildo, ten inches long and pierced through several times, Prince Albert
style.  “And then fuck me with this.  After I unlock your handcuffs.”

“Consider it
done,” I murmur huskily as she snaps the manacles around my wrists.  “And
you’re a fucking freak, too.”

“That’s what
you like about me,” she whispers as she crawls over me and arches her hips
against my lips. 

That’s
true.  It is. 

Amy grinds
into my face and I absorb her taste, her smell.  She bends backward and
rakes her fingernails into my thighs, hard.  I’m sure she drew blood, but
I don’t care.  I’m already at the point where the lines between pain and
pleasure have blurred.

I know that
tonight will be spent in just such a place, a place filled with varying shades
of gray, where no guilt or worry lingers.  Memories from my past will be
gone, guilt from my past nonexistent. 

Just for
tonight.  It can all resume again in the morning, but for tonight, I’m
going to enjoy every kinky hour of oblivion.

There will be
no blacks, no whites, and no rights, no wrongs. 

I’ll do what
feels good, without regard to what society might think. 

Because I’m
Dominic Fucking Kinkaide….and that’s what I do.

“Why won’t you
fuck me?” Amy asks me, out of the blue. 

I look up in
surprise. 

After Amy
slipped out of my hotel room in the middle of the night, we met here on set for
breakfast, and have been curled up in my trailer for the past hour.  As we
wait to be called into makeup, Amy’s got her head buried in a magazine, but
she’s staring over the top of it now, her blue eyes accusatory.

“Excuse me?” I
ask stiltedly, although I heard exactly what she said.

“Why won’t you
fuck me?” Amy demands again.  “Everyone on the planet wants to fuck me,
and I offer myself to you on a platter and you won’t do it.  Not
really.  You have no problems fucking me up the ass or letting me suck you
off….but you won’t actually fuck me.  I want to know why.  I know you
don’t have a problem getting it up.  So what
is
the problem?”

Icy pangs
shoot through my heart and I try to ignore them, to push them back down to
where they belong.  I knew this was coming. 

I knew this
was coming
,
I remind myself.  A confrontation about what is wrong with me.  I
knew it. 

But knowing it
never makes it any easier. 

“I don’t have
a problem,” I answer icily, staring her down, her blue eyes locking with my own
green ones.  “Just because I won’t fuck you, you think I have a problem?”

She shrugs
with her slender shoulders.  “You must.  Everyone wants to fuck me.”

She’s tense
now, poised stiffly on the edge of her seat, prepared for rejection as she
waits for me to answer.   I know her.  I know what she thinks,
how she feels.  And like most artists, she’s secretly insecure. She’s
afraid that there’s something wrong with her and that’s why I don’t want to
fuck her. 

I don’t allay
that fear.  I’m not a good enough person for that.  She doesn’t
hesitate to cut people down to size simply because she feels like being a
bitch.  I feel no guilt over not soothing her ego right now.

“Maybe
everyone
does,” I tell her as nonchalantly as I can.  “But I don’t.  Not
right now.”

She sits up
straighter, her shoulders back and her chin stuck out.  “Oh, really? 
And why exactly is that?”

I stare at her
coolly.  “Because I don’t feel like it.  Too much drama.  You’d
only fall in love with me.”

I play it off
like that, like I’m arrogant and cold and like I really believe my own
words.  Everything’s an act, you see.  And this is part of my
character.  I’m an arrogant asshole. 

Except, of
course, I really am.  At this point in my life, the act has become my
reality. 

But regardless
of my words, I’m not afraid she’d fall in love with me. That’s not the reason
that I haven’t fucked her… or that I haven’t actually fucked someone in six
years.  Six. Fucking Years. 

Six years
since
it
happened. 

The mere
thought of it, of
her
, constricts my heart tightly in my chest, like a
fucking vise grip has its claws wrapped around it. 

Emma. 

A vision of
her wide blue eyes sparkling at me ripples through my memory and I squeeze my
eyes shut to close her out.  Reaching into my pocket, I grip the necklace,
her necklace, allowing my fingers to trace over the cool aquamarine.  It’s
the only thing that helps, the only thing that calms me down.  It reminds
me. 

And makes me
forget. 

“Dominic?” Amy
snaps, bringing me back to the present, and away from Emma’s glistening
eyes. 

I open my
own. 

“What?”

“What’s wrong
with you?” she asks curiously, her eyes softening just a bit as she stares at
me.  I realize that I’m clammy and cold. Anxious.  On edge. 

This is what
Emma does to me even now. 

I put her out
of my mind and turn my attention to the needy woman in front of me. 

I force a
grin.  “Nothing’s wrong.  At all.”

Amy stares at
me.  “Then prove it.  When we’re done here, let’s go on a date. 
Take me to the Tower of London, then take me back to your hotel room and make
me scream your name tonight.”

“You scream my
name on a regular basis,” I point out wryly.  She rolls her eyes.

“You know what
I mean.  I want your penis inside my body while I’m screaming it this
time.  For real.”

I shake my
head, then run one finger over the swell of her fully clothed hip. 

“Can’t. 
Not tonight.  I can take you to the Tower, but then I’m flying out to
Amsterdam to see my brothers.  I’ll have to take a raincheck.”

Amy’s
interested now.  “Sin and Duncan?  I want to go.  You know I
love seeing the Devil’s Own.  Maybe you can make me scream your name in
Amsterdam, instead.  In fact, let’s make a bet.  I bet you that I can
make you want to fuck me before we leave Amsterdam.”

That’s never
going to happen. 

But I don’t
say that.  Instead, I smile. 

“And if you
win?”

She smiles
back.  “Then you get to fuck me.  That’s your prize.”

“And if I
win?”

Amy scowls
now, displeased by the mere thought that I might not want her.  “If you
win, your prize will be not having to hear me bitch about this anymore, because
we’ll be done.  You’ll go your way and I’ll go mine.”

“Interesting,”
I reply calmly.  “So basically, if I don’t fuck you by the time we leave
Amsterdam tomorrow night, we’re done?”

She nods,
pleased by what she thinks is her ultimatum.  What she doesn’t understand
is that I don’t give a flying fuck if I ever see her again…at least, in a
personal capacity.  She thinks she’s got all the power and control in this
equation, but she’s wrong.

I’m going to
see exactly what she’s willing to do to get me to fuck her… and then I’ll leave
her without looking back. 

I smile. 
“Okay.  Challenge accepted.”

She smiles
back and cups my crotch with her thin fingers. 

“You’re going
to like this.”

“I’m sure,” I
answer.   Because I know I will, but ultimately, Amy won’t.  You
don’t try to push me around—or manipulate me.

It will never
end well for you. 

********

“Dude,” my
brother Sin shouts into the phone. “What the hell?  You don’t call for
weeks, then you call right before I step onstage?” 

So that
explains the loud screaming and noise in the background. Everyone is waiting
for my rockstar brother to appear. 

“Sorry, bro,”
I answer, unconcerned.  “Just calling to tell you that I’ll be there later
tonight.  I can’t make your show, but Tally figured out a way to fit a
visit into my schedule at least.”

That perks up
Sin’s attention and he hollers to our other brother Duncan. “Hey, little
D.  Dom’s coming to the party tonight.  Order more hookers.”

He cackles
into the phone and I have to laugh….at several things.  One, because he
called Duncan little.  Like Sin and me, Duncan is tall. Really tall. 
6’4 or so.  Broad-shouldered, slim-hipped.  Not little in the
slightest.  And two, that he’s ordering hookers in Amsterdam.  The
irony of it, because he’s surrounded by groupies all of the time who would do
anything he asks… for free.

“Hookers?” I
ask dubiously.  Sin snorts into the phone.

“It’s
Amsterdam,” he says, by way of explanation.  “We can’t come into Amsterdam
and not visit the red light district.  That would be sacrilege.”

It’s my turn
to snort.

“The red light
district?” I chuckle.  “And how exactly are you and baby brother Duncan
going to slip into the red light district unseen by paparazzi?”

I can
practically feel Sin shrug through the phone. Because he doesn’t give a flying
fuck.

“I don’t care
if they see me or not,” he answers flippantly.  “I don’t live my life
according to what they think is acceptable or not.  And speaking of that,
I’ve got to go.  Are you going to be here for my party or not?”

“Yes.”

He hangs up
without another word and I glance over at my manager. “It’s going to be a long
night.”

Tally grins
without even looking up from his smartphone.  “Yep.  You might want
to drink a few cans of Red Bull, old man.”

I shake my
head.  “Do you have any?”

Tally glances
up. “I had them stock the plane with it, enough for Amy too.  She’ll need
it if she’s going to keep up with you.”  He pauses, then stares at
me.  “Be careful how you treat her.  The public loves to see you
starring together.  You’ve got to think of your image, first and
foremost.”

“I’m very
close to being done with her,” I tell him calmly.  “I’m not going to stay
with her just to satisfy public perception.”

Tally
continues his stare-down.  “And I would never suggest that.  I’m just
telling you to let her down with respect.  Don’t treat her like a
whore.  Break up like a normal person.”

I pause,
considering that.  “But what if she acts like a whore?”

Tally shakes
his head.  “It doesn’t matter.  Be a gentleman.  The public
loves that about you.”

“Is Amy
already headed out to the plane?” I ask, grabbing a gulp of Tally’s
drink. 

“The last I
heard, yes,” Tally answers, getting to his feet and straightening his
jacket.  “Although, she got into an altercation in the lobby with some
fans.  Some little girl wanted her autograph and Amy went off on her for
invading her personal space. For fuck’s sake, Amy needs some lessons in
PR.  She’s a nightmare.  You ready?”

I nod and we
walk from the hotel to a waiting car.

The drive to
the airport doesn’t take long and within a few more moments, I’m walking up the
stairs and entering the plane.  I’m immediately struck with the vision of
Amy sitting with two young blondes on a leather sofa. 

The two
blondes are topless and Amy is in the middle, dressed only in a red leather
corset. 

My dick
tightens in pants. 

Tally slams
into me from behind, since I’ve stopped dead-still in the aisle and he swivels
around me to see what the hold-up is.  I hear him suck in his breath.

“You’re a
fucking lucky son-of-a-bitch, Kinkaide,” he mutters.  “I’ll just…stay up
here.”

I don’t
answer.  Instead, I take a step, then another.

“What’s this?”
I ask nonchalantly, staring down at Amy’s upturned face.  She reaches out
and trails her fingers down my thigh. 

“Oh, this?”
she asks innocently, glancing at her two friends.  “These are my
assistants and I’m going to loan them to you for the evening, as well. 
Anything you need, just ask.  They’ll be happy to oblige.  And
me?  I’m in a rare accommodating mood, too.  Whatever you desire, no
matter what it is… ask.  And it’s yours.”

And now I’m
amused.  Amy Ashby is stooping to this?   For what?  Just
to fuck me?  I have a growing suspicion that it’s less the driving need to
fuck me and more about saving her wounded ego because I don’t seem to want
to.  Her ego is the biggest thing about her.

“Well,” I
smile.  “This could be an interesting evening.”

Amy smiles
back and pats the seat next to her.  The blonde to her left moves over,
giving me space to sit.  When I do, they each loop a leg over one of mine,
effectively holding me down.

“Would you
like a drink?” the other blonde whispers to me, her full lips mere centimeters
from my ear. 

“Yes,” I
answer.  “Whiskey.  Neat.”

“Done,” she
answers.  She slips away and while she’s gone, her blonde friend massages
my thigh, then slips her fingers around to my lower back, soothing my tired
muscles. 

Within
minutes, the other girl comes back with a glass of whiskey on a tray, and a
black velvet blindfold.

“Amy wants you
to wear this,” she says softly.  “Let me help you with it.”  Bending
forward, her soft tits envelop my face as she slides the blindfold over my
head.  I inhale her feminine scent, soft and flowery. 

“Now what?” I
ask as I lean back, totally blind. 

“Now, enjoy
your flight,” the girl says brightly. 

And I fully
intend to.  

But as they
softly stroke my back, my thighs, my face, my chest… their soothing touches have
the opposite effect on me than they intend.  Because I’ve been up and
on-set for ten hours today, I’m exhausted. 

Instead of
turning me on, their soothing touches put me to sleep. 

When I wake, we’ve
landed in Amsterdam and Amy is glaring at me from across the plane.

“Seriously?”
she demands.  “I went out of my way to plan the perfect evening for
you.  I have everything you could possibly want on board this plane… and
you went to sleep?   What the hell, Dominic?”