No.I shake my head.My stomach is churning, a writhing mass of jumbled words inside, shaking around.He put me on his desk at Low Vice.He had me touch myself.
But the rough interlude that followed depicted the dark leanings of a depraved mind.The victim in the video was his former girlfriend andAcademy of Ghostscostar, Nicola Johnson.She wept and pleaded while he ignored every one of her entreaties.
If any actor should be banned from Hollywood, it’s Gage Hawthorne.
I hate this.I hate everything I’m reading.It can’t be true.What did he say to me?You aren’t going to like what you see if you search my name.He must have known I would find articles like this.
At the bottom of the article is a still-frame from a video.Everything sensitive is blacked out and blurred, but it’s obvious that two people are having sex.Gage’s face is visible, along with a welt on the woman’s torso.She’s wrapped in rope, as well.
Her eyes and nose are blacked out, but not the pain-filled twist of her mouth or the tears streaking down her face.
And Gage?He looks fiendish, like every tear she cries is fuel for his lust.
A sob escapes my throat.I bite my knuckles, trying to hold in the pain.
You aren’t going to like what you see if you search my name.
I should have listened.But now I know.
* * *
Dmitri
I don’t know what wakes me up.The room is quiet.Instinctively, I reach for Leah.
My hand meets with cool sheets instead of her warm, curvy body.
Something isn’t right.
The bathroom door is cracked open, no light or noise coming from there.I get out of bed and slide on my boxers.My shirt isn’t where I left it.I bet Leah put it on.There’s nothing I love more than seeing her in my clothes.
“Leah?”
No answer.Nothing strikes me as ominous.But a sliver of unease has wormed its way into my gut.When I’m at Low Vice, this is the feeling I get when a “Dom” is actually an abuser.It’s the feeling I get when a scene is about to go sideways and we have to intervene.
It means something isn’t right.
I hurry down the stairs.“Leah?Where are you?”
“In here.”
She’s in the kitchen.Her voice sounds tight, garbled.Is she fucking choking?
I run.I skid into the kitchen, breathing heavily.
She looks up from one of the bar-style seats at the kitchen island.Moonlight reflects off the tear tracks on her cheeks.She holds up a hand.“Dmitri, I’m okay.”
“No the fuck you aren’t.”I stride forward and wrap my arms around her.“What happened?Was I too rough last night?”
I took her from behind, choking her while ramming her pussy, hard and messy.Maybe it was too much, because afterward she joked that I “fucked her brains out.”
“No, no, that was fine.Better than fine.”She starts to laugh, but it comes out like a sob.
She feels so fragile and small in my arms.My large T-shirt draping over her slender shoulders makes her look even smaller.I rub her bare arms, trying to bring heat to her chilled skin.
“If it wasn’t the rough sex, then what is it—” My words break off when I see her phone on the counter in front of her.“Leah.What the fuck did you do?”
“I was an idiot.”She nudges the phone away from her, like it smells bad.
