Harder We Fade (15 page)

I was running on the beach one morning when the music stopped pumping through my earbuds because I was getting a call. It was Grace.

“Krystal had a girl.”

“That’s great.”

“Why are you out of breath?”

“I was running,” I said. “How’s Krystal’s baby?”

“She’s fine. No sign of any trouble.”

It went unspoken, but we were referring to the possibility of Krystal’s baby having problems related to Krystal’s drug use. The timing told us everything would probably be okay, but you never know.

I had slowed down to a walk and when I got back to the steps that lead from the beach up to our house, I sat down on the first one and stretched. “So what’s the name?”

“Ginger. I’ll send you a picture of her. Wait until you see this red hair.”

Off in the distance, a guy worked a kite in the wind. A few people were surfing, but having little luck due to the unusually calm waves. Gulls skittered where the waves broke, looking for lunch, and oddly reminding me I needed to do the same.

As I sat on the wooden steps leading up from the beach to our house, there was a heaviness in my gut that had nothing to do with being pregnant. It was guilt. I was keeping some of the biggest developments in my life from Grace, probably the one person on the planet — other than Max, of course — who I wanted to know about this. But I had good reason to keep it to myself as long as I could. It was the same situation as the marriage — I knew what I wanted in life and I knew I was strong enough to have it; but there were a few unfortunate but temporary casualties along the way.

We exchanged some small talk for a few minutes before I told her I needed to get ready, grab something to eat, and get to the office.

Later, I showed the picture of Krystal’s baby to Max.

“Beautiful,” he said.

“She really is. She looks just like Krystal.”

We were at the offices of OliviMax, watching dailies from the shoot. It was a part of the movie industry that I found fascinating, mostly because of how raw the footage was. I looked forward to watching it go from that to a highly-produced and stylized final version, complete with different angles edited in the shot and whatever background music we selected for the various scenes.

“Do you want a girl or a boy?” I asked him.

He looked at me with a straight face. “Why? Can you control that?”

“Yes, actually I can,” I joked back.

He took my hand, lifted it to his face, kissed it and said, “Surprise me.”

Max and I met Carl, Loralei, Anthony and Monica for dinner at Dan Tana’s restaurant on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood. I had been there a few times and really loved the food, but not so much the gaggle of paparazzi hanging out on the sidewalks. This was one of several celebrity hot spots, so the photogs were drawn to it like sharks to chum.

The good thing — as always — was that those who recognized and wanted to shoot Max were always immediately drawn away from him the second an on-screen Hollywood star showed up.

I once mentioned to Max when we were going in that a couple of them seemed truly interested in his work, asking about his next project and really sounding like they followed his career.

“They do follow it,” he said, “but they’re just trying to kiss ass to get an exclusive.”

I noticed that Max was keenly aware of this, and once, when a few true fans of one of his early actions movies spotted him and asked for autographs, Max signed them and spoke to the fans, completely ignoring the questions from the reporter. Who, by the way, was talking over the fans’ questions, and Max got him to quiet down and back off. He knew who to give his attention to.

At Dan Tana’s that night, Max let it slip that I was pregnant.

I got looks of shock all around the table.

“Nice going.” I rolled my eyes.

We were several weeks in at that point, and everything was looking good so far from a medical perspective. So we were getting close to the point where we would start telling people anyway. I just hadn’t planned on it at that time.

Our table got a little loud for a few minutes after Max’s premature revelation — the guys congratulating Max, the girls smiling and tearing up along with me, glasses were raised, hugs and handshakes all around.

“I wondered why you were drinking sparkling water,” Loralei said to me.

“Yeah, I kind of thought that would give it away.”

Monica said, “Okay, so we need to start planning the first shower, like now. Oh, I can’t wait. You and Max are going to have the most beautiful baby.”

“Don’t let our kids hear that,” Anthony said. “They’d be crushed.”

“If they took out their earbuds long enough to hear us,” Monica said.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” Carl asked.

Monica rolled her eyes. “Not quite, but almost.”

“There’s an idea for a reality TV show,” Anthony said. “Put a bunch of kids in a house — sort of like
Big Brother
— and the one who can hold out the longest without using their phone or tablet gets a million bucks.” His mind was always working, like Max’s, looking for new ideas, so while we all laughed we also all knew he was only half-joking.

“Why kids?” Max said. “We’re all addicted to those things.”

“Not me,” Loralei said.

Carl huffed. “Right. Your hands are on your iPhone more than they’re on me.” He looked around at all of us. “Why do you think we don’t have kids?”

We all laughed.

Loralei was smiling, but she said, “Don’t expect any action tonight.”

Max and Anthony both groaned.

Max ordered everyone another round of drinks, and a soda for me. Not diet, either. I wasn’t denying myself those simple pleasures. In fact, as the night progressed, my focus gradually shifted from the company of friends to the enticing dessert menu, and when the waiter asked if we wanted dessert, I ordered a chocolate and vanilla parfait topped off with strawberries.
For two
. And I ate the whole thing. Screw it.

Later, just before we left, Steven Spielberg and his wife approached our table to say hello to Max. Minutes after that, Max introduced me to Russell Crowe, who said he and Max needed to get together and talk about a project.

I’d long since ceased becoming star-struck. Not that it wasn’t a thrill to mix and mingle with the biggest names in Hollywood. But rather I was starting to feel like I really belonged.

I was running on the beach one morning when the music stopped pumping through my earbuds because I was getting a call. It was Grace.

“Krystal had a girl.”

“That’s great.”

“Why are you out of breath?”

“I was running,” I said. “How’s Krystal’s baby?”

“She’s fine. No sign of any trouble.”

It went unspoken, but we were referring to the possibility of Krystal’s baby having problems related to Krystal’s drug use. The timing told us everything would probably be okay, but you never know.

I had slowed down to a walk and when I got back to the steps that lead from the beach up to our house, I sat down on the first one and stretched. “So what’s the name?”

“Ginger. I’ll send you a picture of her. Wait until you see this red hair.”

Off in the distance, a guy worked a kite in the wind. A few people were surfing, but having little luck due to the unusually calm waves. Gulls skittered where the waves broke, looking for lunch, and oddly reminding me I needed to do the same.

As I sat on the wooden steps leading up from the beach to our house, there was a heaviness in my gut that had nothing to do with being pregnant. It was guilt. I was keeping some of the biggest developments in my life from Grace, probably the one person on the planet — other than Max, of course — who I wanted to know about this. But I had good reason to keep it to myself as long as I could. It was the same situation as the marriage — I knew what I wanted in life and I knew I was strong enough to have it; but there were a few unfortunate but temporary casualties along the way.

We exchanged some small talk for a few minutes before I told her I needed to get ready, grab something to eat, and get to the office.

Later, I showed the picture of Krystal’s baby to Max.

“Beautiful,” he said.

“She really is. She looks just like Krystal.”

We were at the offices of OliviMax, watching dailies from the shoot. It was a part of the movie industry that I found fascinating, mostly because of how raw the footage was. I looked forward to watching it go from that to a highly-produced and stylized final version, complete with different angles edited in the shot and whatever background music we selected for the various scenes.

“Do you want a girl or a boy?” I asked him.

He looked at me with a straight face. “Why? Can you control that?”

“Yes, actually I can,” I joked back.

He took my hand, lifted it to his face, kissed it and said, “Surprise me.”

Max and I met Carl, Loralei, Anthony and Monica for dinner at Dan Tana’s restaurant on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood. I had been there a few times and really loved the food, but not so much the gaggle of paparazzi hanging out on the sidewalks. This was one of several celebrity hot spots, so the photogs were drawn to it like sharks to chum.

The good thing — as always — was that those who recognized and wanted to shoot Max were always immediately drawn away from him the second an on-screen Hollywood star showed up.

I once mentioned to Max when we were going in that a couple of them seemed truly interested in his work, asking about his next project and really sounding like they followed his career.

“They do follow it,” he said, “but they’re just trying to kiss ass to get an exclusive.”

I noticed that Max was keenly aware of this, and once, when a few true fans of one of his early actions movies spotted him and asked for autographs, Max signed them and spoke to the fans, completely ignoring the questions from the reporter. Who, by the way, was talking over the fans’ questions, and Max got him to quiet down and back off. He knew who to give his attention to.

At Dan Tana’s that night, Max let it slip that I was pregnant.

I got looks of shock all around the table.

“Nice going.” I rolled my eyes.

We were several weeks in at that point, and everything was looking good so far from a medical perspective. So we were getting close to the point where we would start telling people anyway. I just hadn’t planned on it at that time.

Our table got a little loud for a few minutes after Max’s premature revelation — the guys congratulating Max, the girls smiling and tearing up along with me, glasses were raised, hugs and handshakes all around.

“I wondered why you were drinking sparkling water,” Loralei said to me.

“Yeah, I kind of thought that would give it away.”

Monica said, “Okay, so we need to start planning the first shower, like now. Oh, I can’t wait. You and Max are going to have the most beautiful baby.”

“Don’t let our kids hear that,” Anthony said. “They’d be crushed.”

“If they took out their earbuds long enough to hear us,” Monica said.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” Carl asked.

Monica rolled her eyes. “Not quite, but almost.”

“There’s an idea for a reality TV show,” Anthony said. “Put a bunch of kids in a house — sort of like
Big Brother
— and the one who can hold out the longest without using their phone or tablet gets a million bucks.” His mind was always working, like Max’s, looking for new ideas, so while we all laughed we also all knew he was only half-joking.

“Why kids?” Max said. “We’re all addicted to those things.”

“Not me,” Loralei said.

Carl huffed. “Right. Your hands are on your iPhone more than they’re on me.” He looked around at all of us. “Why do you think we don’t have kids?”

We all laughed.

Loralei was smiling, but she said, “Don’t expect any action tonight.”

Max and Anthony both groaned.

Max ordered everyone another round of drinks, and a soda for me. Not diet, either. I wasn’t denying myself those simple pleasures. In fact, as the night progressed, my focus gradually shifted from the company of friends to the enticing dessert menu, and when the waiter asked if we wanted dessert, I ordered a chocolate and vanilla parfait topped off with strawberries.
For two
. And I ate the whole thing. Screw it.

Later, just before we left, Steven Spielberg and his wife approached our table to say hello to Max. Minutes after that, Max introduced me to Russell Crowe, who said he and Max needed to get together and talk about a project.

I’d long since ceased becoming star-struck. Not that it wasn’t a thrill to mix and mingle with the biggest names in Hollywood. But rather I was starting to feel like I really belonged.

About halfway through my second trimester, I was really starting to show and was becoming a little obsessed with it.

I was spending almost as much time buying new clothes as I was doing my job on the film. Max had no problem with me doing whatever I wanted, and since a lot of my work could be handled over the phone — problem solving and such — it didn’t matter if I was on the set or browsing in a store somewhere trying to find the perfect shirt that would hide my growing baby-bump.

More troubling, though, was the sex between Max and I. There was something decidedly different about it. For one thing it had decreased in frequency. But when we did have sex, he didn’t seem as into it as much as he always was — especially when compared with how he had been in the months before we found out I was pregnant.

I had noticed it with increasing clarity over the last couple of weeks, and it coincided with the time my body was noticeably changing.

At first, I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself. But then that resolve to just deal with it turned to a little bit of anger. Frustration, at least.

And that’s how I was feeling one day when I was trying on some new clothes in front of the tri-fold mirror in my large walk-in closet. I had gone through a few skirts and pairs of slacks, along with a few shirts, and I didn’t like any of them.

I was between outfits, trying to decide which to try next, standing there in my bra and panties, when I started to cry. Not sobbing, but just feeling a little overwhelmed by all of this. And I’m sure the hormonal changes had something to do with it, as well.

“What’s wrong?”

I was startled by Max’s voice and as I turned toward the door to see him, I reflexively threw one arm up across my bra and dropped my other hand down in front of my panties.

Max looked simultaneously worried and amused by my reaction.

“Olivia,” he said, moving toward me. “What’s the matter?”

He wrapped his arms around me and drew me in close to him.

My forehead fell to his chest and I continued to sob lightly.

“Talk to me,” he said.

He put a finger under my chin and lifted my face, looking into my eyes.

“Are you not attracted to me?” I asked.

His brow furrowed and his head tilted to the side. “What? Why would you think that?”

“You’re not…it’s not the same.”

Max put his hand on the side of my face and with his thumb he wiped away a tear rolling down my cheek. “What’s not?”

I exhaled heavily. “When we make love.”

He slowly shook his head. “No, no. That’s not it at all. I just want to be gentle with you.” He smiled. His hand drifted down the front of my body, finally coming to a stop as his palm rested on my belly. “You’re as gorgeous as always.”

I raised up on my tiptoes for a kiss.

Max wrapped his arms around me again and held me close, not letting our lips separate. Then he lifted me off the ground, and a few steps later, out in the bedroom, he was laying me on my back.

“I don’t want you to be different with this,” I said, looking up at the ceiling.

Max was kissing my neck, then the upper part of my chest. I looked down and watched as his tongue traced the edge of my bra over my plump breast.

He looked up at me. “I lust for every inch of your body, and I’m going show you.”

I arched my back so he could unclasp my bra, and he tossed it off the bed. He lowered his head, and traced circles around my left nipple, then my right, then back to the left one where he opened his mouth wide and sealed his lips around it, sucking it into his mouth.

Since becoming pregnant, my nipples were hypersensitive, and Max was clearly picking up on that fact, giving them more time and attention than he ever had. I squirmed beneath him as the sensation radiated from my breasts to all of my extremities.

I could have stayed there for hours as the tortuous pleasure engulfed me, but Max had other ideas.

Gently, he turned me onto my side, his tongue never leaving my skin, sliding along my side, then to my back as he positioned me onto my stomach.

I felt his soft, warm kisses on the middle of my back. Then higher, between my shoulder blades, and higher still, to the back of my neck as he swept my hair off to the side.

As he made a trail of soft kisses down my spine, he hooked his fingers inside the waistband of my panties.

Moving his mouth down lower to the small of my back, then to the curve of my ass, he slipped the underwear down my legs, following down the back of my right leg, kissing and licking along the way.

Then to my left ankle, and back up my left leg, slowing as he neared the top, then surprising me by biting me lightly on the cheek of my ass.

Max turned me onto my side, facing him. His head was still near my waist. He lifted my leg and brought it to his face, kissing the inside of my thigh, then moving farther up.

Rolling me over onto my back, he said, “I’ll never get enough of you, Liv.”

His tongue dragged up my thigh, just passing by my sex, and coming to a stop on my inner hip, where he kissed it and looked up at me.

A few quick, teasing licks of my clit. My hips rocked upward, reacting to his tongue. With one hand on each of my thighs, he spread my legs wider.

I thought he was about to make me come with his mouth, but he moved. He knelt between my legs and swiftly pulled his shirt off.

He then unbuckled his belt, lowered his zipper and let his pants fall to his knees, then pushed his underwear down.

I watched his fully erect cock spring free of the constraint of his boxer briefs, and his hand was immediately wrapped around his shaft.

He stroked himself, from base to tip, letting his thumb glide over the swell of the head, picking up the little bubble of moisture that had gathered there. He spread the silky precome around the head of his cock, and I could see it glistening from the lamplight.

Even after countless times being with Max, I still marveled at the sight of him naked — the way his muscles flexed and rippled under his taut skin.

“You’re gorgeous, Liv, and it’s been a while since I’ve fucked you like I should.”

His voice was deep and like a breathy rumble, and the way he matter-of-factly announced what he was going to do to me almost made me beg for it.

But I didn’t have to.

I felt the weight of his cock resting just above my sex as he leaned down to kiss me on the lips. His erection seemed to be radiating heat as it lay against my clit.

One slight shift, and the head of his cock penetrated me. Then another push, and he was inside.

“You’re so wet,” he said, tilting his hips left, then right, settling himself deep inside me.

He was going slow now. With each thrust in, he did that squeezing thing, making his thick erection swell even more.

I wanted this badly, and he was deliberately drawing it out to a tease. I tried to shift my weight and roll him over so I could ride him.

The corner of his mouth curled up into a half-grin as he grabbed my wrist, holding me firmly on my back.

“Trying to get on offense?”

“Yes. I need it,” I said.

He shook his head, adding a frown for effect. “Sorry, but you’re on defense from now on. No more offense for you.”

Max was tonguing my nipples again and doing that light biting thing that always drove me wild.

“You don’t think I can get on offense?” I said.

Without moving his head, he shifted his gaze to meet my eyes. “No.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he said, and thrust his cock harder into me. “Really.”

God, he was tempting me.
Testing
me.

I locked a leg around his and tried to flip over once more.

“No dice,” he said, his hips now moving in a rolling motion — side to side and back and forth — as he fucked me harder.

His eyes bore a hole through mine. The intense, possessive, controlling stare only made me want to ride him more.

I tried again.

“You want this,” he said.

“I want to be on offense.”

My breath hitched as his cock penetrated me all the way to the hilt. I was wet and warm, but I could feel how hot his cock was, like steel sheathed in satin against my aching core.

“Fine,” he said, “but I’m still calling the plays.”

And he flipped us over, his erection staying inside me.

He raised his knees slightly.

“Lock your legs with mine,” he breathed.

I did just as he said.

I was bent over slightly and in his gravelly, low voice he told me to sit straight up. “I want to watch as much as I can while you ride it.”

I sat up as he told me to and he placed his hands on my thighs.

Once again I felt impaled on his length.

I started to slide up along his cock by pushing up with my legs.

With his hands on my legs, though, he stopped me.

I looked down at his stone cold expression.

He said, “You’ll get to do it your way in a minute. But now you do it how I want it.”

Fuck. He was teasing me again, and testing me. And I loved every second of it.

“Roll your hips like I was,” he said.

I moved them in a gyrating motion, and felt his cock burying deeper as I did so. Around and around in a circular motion, then switching direction.

I put my hands on his firm stomach to steady myself. I threw my head back.

Then I felt his thumb on my clit, moving in its own circular motion.

I wasn’t going to last long, and as it became obvious — through my breathing and the way my hip movements were starting to jerk — Max’s thumb retreated.

I had been on the verge of coming, and he had stopped it.

“Not cool,” I said.

His eyebrows rose and fell quickly. “This is how I want you to come.”

“This isn’t exactly offense,” I said.

“You need to come.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, Liv. Beg me.”

“I want to come so bad. Please.” I don’t think I’d ever begged for anything this much in my life, and it left me feeling totally at his mercy, which only made me want it more.

“How do you want to come?” he asked. “You want to ride it? Bounce on it?”

“Yes, yes…”

His hands had been on my thighs again, preventing me from moving up and down, allowing only that gyration movement.

But then he lifted his hands, freeing me.

I almost didn’t wait, but it was only a second before he said, “Do it, Olivia. Come all over my cock.”

I slid up his cock, then back down fast, bumping against him…and then I couldn’t stop.

Max was kneading my breasts and rolling my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, pulling on them.

His hips bucked me up and down harder and I felt the head of his penis strike me deeper than ever before as I clenched around his shaft.

I exhaled heavily, not even having realized I had been holding my breath. All of my concentration was on our movements and the way he was fucking me from underneath.

“I can’t get enough of you, Liv.”

“I can’t get enough of your cock. Fuck me, fuck me…” I blurted.

Max’s upward thrusts grew stronger as I moved my hips up and down, riding him as fast as my body could take it.

“Come on my cock,” he repeated, and it was all the urging I needed.

I cried out a yelp, took in a deep breath, and started to come just as I felt his silken release inside me.