Blasphemous (Torn #3)(13)

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 na?ve 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.