Orlando (Blackmail #1) (3 page)

“You can’t. We can’t. You’re still married,” I squeak.

“I can,” he growls and stalks back to me. He grips my butt as he slides me up the wall. Instinct takes over, and I wrap my legs around him. The bulge in his jeans presses against my center, and I sigh as his lips land on mine. I rock my hips back and forth while his tongue fucks my mouth with an urgency I’ve never felt in a kiss before.

“You’re…” I moan into his mouth and pull away. “You’re married.”

“So?” He groans and goes for my mouth again. This time, I push his chest hard and unwrap my legs so I can slide down the wall. With angry movements, I fix my kimono.

“Don’t ever do that again! You’re still married!”

I don’t care if he is getting divorced. If I hadn’t done what I did, he wouldn’t be separated right now. I have to keep reminding myself that, even if he’s not wearing his wedding ring, it doesn’t mean that she will go through with her threats this time. I still have morals. I won’t do it.

“Jesus Christ, Bucket!”

Gah. “Stop calling me that!”

Orlando adjusts himself inside his pants and glares at me. “I’ve called you that for over twenty years. I’ve even whispered it to you in passing during premiers where someone could pick up on it, and now you have a fucking problem with it?”

He’s giving me that tone again. His disappointment makes my skin crawl and my stomach tie up with knots, because my brain and body both know I hate to upset this man.

“I’m sorry. It’s…” I sigh. “You’re still married. It feels too personal. Okay?”

My heart pounds in my chest while I wait for him to say something, anything, to make this situation less awkward. He doesn’t respond, though, so I’m forced to speak.

“You never wanted anything but friendship before. Why, all of a sudden, this?” I motion between us with my hands.

“Friday… you know it was never about that. You know I never wanted to ruin our friendship just so I could fuck you. I’m older, hell,
we’re
older now. I’m getting a divorce, and you’re standing right in front of me, looking fucking sexy as hell. I’m a goddamn man!”

Now he sounds like every other guy out there. I hate how men think because I’m gorgeous and look good naked, it gives them the right to think I don’t have expectations, or that I don’t think highly enough of myself.

“Get out,” I whisper. I can’t even raise my voice at this man, but my anger is evident. That is why it is easy for him to get away with the things he says. I can never get mad enough to yell at a volume he has never heard from me before. “I’ll be on set in the morning at my scheduled time. Go.” I point to the door.

Orlando turns and walks towards the door, but before he turns the knob to open it, he decides to gut me some more. “I’m sorry, Bucket. My actions are inexcusable.”

A lone tear slides down my cheek as he disappears. How easily I would’ve hated myself for going through with that. It makes me hate myself even more than I do right now.

“This is going to be the longest film session I have ever been through,” I mumble to the empty room as I walk to my bed.

***

Chapter Three

Orlando Dupree

And you learned how to fuck, where?

Mateo makes it extremely hard to like him. The bastard has no dignity at all. He didn’t take the advice his acting coach and sex therapist gave him. Instead, he keeps assaulting my best friend’s pussy like it isn’t soft, delicate, and something to cherish. Despite the actors on this film receiving multiple tests for every STD known to man, it doesn’t calm my stomach, knowing all his scenes with Friday are as close to bareback sex as possible. When he has scenes with other women, he has to wear a thick condom. But in the contractual arrangements for Mateo and Friday, as long as both parties are clean, they work with the bare minimum.

I’ll say it doesn’t get more fucking personal than that.

It took a lot of persuasion to get that line drawn, but I did it, and I don’t think Friday ever looked happier. Mateo, on the other hand, was straight up pissed. It is obvious I don’t give a shit. The guy clearly is a slut, and I don’t want his dick anywhere near my best friend without the thickest of thick condoms on his shit. I had their contracts switched up. Now Mateo and Friday have to use a condom.

I make the call to stop filming when the clock hits 7:00 p.m. I can tell that she’s tired of being screwed and delivering dialogue to this actor who sucks so much, everyone can see. I can’t fathom how she worked through two movies with this asshole.

When I tell Mateo’s assistant to gather him, the sex expert, and his acting coach, his assistant knows it’s about to get nasty. I’ve had enough patience with this jackass. We’re only a quarter of the way into the final installment, and I’ll be damned if I tie my name to something that fucking sucks. I don’t care if it’s a porno or not. I won’t produce shit quality.

The crew for the day clears out, most planning to go get drunk, and I wish I could join them, but I have to tell this fucker he sucks… again.

My assistant caps off my cameras and asks for leave, and I allow it. I’ll probably get a better response from Mateo if there isn’t a soul around that can give him grief about my grilling him.

“You wanted to see me?”

Well, speak of the devil.

“Yes. You didn’t pay attention to a word your coaches gave you, did you? Because I can tell you, this past week has been infuriating. How you have made it in so many adult films is beyond me. Please, take it personally. That’s what I want,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

Mateo crosses his arms and glares at me. Does he expect me to be intimidated by him? It’s almost laughable how hot shit he thinks he is. Maybe in his world, but something tied to my name, not so much.

“It’s a fucking porn, dude.”

This motherfucker. “You address me as Mr. Dupree.” My spine stiffens as I fight to keep my voice calm. “You know, you remind me of a pair of shit-stained underwear. No matter how much you wash the motherfuckers, they never come clean.”

Confusion contorts Mateo’s face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Must I spell everything out for him? “It means, no matter how much coaching you get, it never rubs off on you. You never fucking learn!” His coaches stand idly on the side while I lay into him. “If you weren’t in the first two films, I would have canned your ass by now. Get your shit together. My name is on this now, and my name is fucking respected. This may be the first adult film I’ve directed and produced, but I still know a thing or two. Now get your shit together and listen to your goddamn coaches!”

He scowls at me. “Tell me what is so horrible about my acting that I need both coaches to coach me more.”

It isn’t just his acting. Jesus fuck!

“You don’t even check to see if Friday is wet before you slam your cock into her. You’re damaging my actress, and the way you deliver your lines is shit. I mean, seriously, you need work. So here are the main two items you need to focus on. One, fuck my actress better. I don’t know where you learned how to use that cock of yours, but it needs work. And two, your line deliveries suck. Films are fake, we get that, but your delivery doesn’t have to be. I’m pulling the plug for the weekend. While all the other actors and crew members relax in the sun, drinking fucking umbrella drinks, your ass will be with your coaches,” I say with gritted teeth as I stand. “I’m sure they’ll be hard on you now that they have to work this weekend. It comes out of your pocket, too. Don’t try expensing this shit to the project. We’ve paid the required amount and have gone over what the contract states. Now, get back to work and don’t walk back onto my set until your ass is better prepared. You’re excused.” I wave him off with two fingers to further piss him off.

Mateo turns around and flips me the bird as he walks away. What childish behavior, and he questions me?

I turn to face his coaches. “Please, accept my apology for the coaching you’ll be doing this weekend instead of relaxing on the beach.”

They both nod and leave me alone on the set.

I’ve left Friday alone for the past three days. It’s past time I go speak with her. I know I hurt her feelings the other night, and the reason I know this is because I know my girl. I’ve known her almost my entire life. When you spend your childhood with somebody, you learn her moods. I may not be all that versed on her adult side, but I’m still in sync with her emotions. Her body speaks volumes when she moves. It calls to me just like mine calls to her.

I wave goodbye to the security guard while my mind processes the long three days of not speaking to Friday when she is right there in front of my face. I’d tried in the past to rekindle our friendship, but by the time I got married, it was too late. My wife, Neri Reeves, was not comfortable with my history with Friday, with good reason, of course.

Neri’s a good woman, and other than her cheating, she has always been good to me. And to be honest, I don’t fault her for the infidelity. She told me she wasn’t happy, and the cheating didn’t come until after I told her I would not grant her a divorce. In a way, it’s a good thing paparazzi caught her leaving an upscale restaurant with another actor. I would have kept living in denial over her wanting a divorce if her scandals hadn’t made our marital problems public.

But when you’re the beautiful, brilliant actress Neri Reeves, it is hard to live in secret. Neri attended marital counseling with me, but it wasn’t enough, so three weeks ago, I caved in and gave her what she wanted. I granted the divorce, signed the papers, and now, our lawyers are splitting our properties, funds, and cars. We’re not separating under horrible conditions. We are not fighting over the divides, and we’re still going to be great friends. We got along better as friends when we dated than we did after we got married.

My phone rings. She must have had a tickling eardrum. I laugh as I answer her call. “Neri, babe, what’s up?”

She laughs. At least she’s somewhat happy. “The lawyers want to know if you want the Aspen home. I told them I’d give you a call. I haven’t talked to you in a week, so it made sense to say hello and ask you myself.”

If she is calling to ask me, it’s obvious she does not like how they are splitting things up. “They tried to give you the Aspen home and the Cancun home, didn’t they?” I ask.

Neri exhales. “Yes. You know I only want the Aspen home, but your lawyer seems to think
you
want it, too. I told him you wouldn’t be happy with that decision.”

She is right. I bought that home for her. I can’t stand the cold, and the only reason I went to that home at all, was for her. I hate skiing, so why the fuck would I want that property. My lawyer knows this shit. “Babe, you take the Aspen home. I’ll take Cancun.”

She laughs. “Thank you. I didn’t want Cancun.”

I chuckle. “I know, Neri. Are they dividing everything up how we want it, besides the problem with the homes?”

She ruffles what sounds like paper. “From what I can see. I’ll make sure you get the paperwork before they send it off.”

I thumb the empty spot on my finger where my ring used to sit. It is a habit. I have been married for the past eight years. It will be weird when it sinks in my brain.

“Did they change what I asked them to?” I ask.

So help me, if they didn’t change infidelity as the reason for the divorce, I’m going to fire them both. She had asked for a divorce before she cheated. I don’t see it as infidelity in my eyes. I see it as a cry out for attention. She would have never hurt me that way if she hadn’t asked for one several times.

“They changed it to irreconcilable differences.” Her voice sounds so sad and discouraged. She has been beating herself up over the scandal. She was going to let them put infidelity down and I would not have that shit.

“Neri,” I sigh into the phone. I hate when she gets upset. “Stop, alright.”

I may not be able to see her, but I can tell by the breathy tone in her voice that she is exhausted. “Work late?” I ask as I walk towards Friday’s cabin.

“Thirteen hours straight today. We got behind on filming last week, and we’ve been trying to catch up ever since.”

I bend down to take off my shoes so I can walk easier in the sand.

“So how is Friday?” She changes the subject.

This is a topic I don’t like discussing with my wife. It is always odd. I guess I’m still getting used to the idea of a divorce, and how topics like this will become our new normal. “She’s good, a little sad. She isn’t her usual spunky self.”

Neri knows Friday is always happy because of the stories I used to tell her about Friday and me as kids.

“Friday isn’t cheery?” Neri says in disbelief. “What did you do?”

Is my wife asking me what I did to my best friend? A person she never an attempt to get to know? What is up with that shit?

“What makes you think I did something?” I chuckle to cover my nervousness from the question.

She says her next words with exasperation. “Because, I know you, and you must’ve pissed her off.”

I grip my shoes in one hand, and dig my toes into the sand, contemplating what I should say. Should I tell her the truth? Should I tell my wife I tried to seduce another woman? What does a man do in these types of situations?

“Spit it out, Orlando.”