Dangerous Melodies - Chapter 58: Chapter 58
You are reading Dangerous Melodies, Chapter 58: Chapter 58. Read more chapters of Dangerous Melodies.
MARISOL
The words blurred as I half-listened to his endless chatter, my body tensing, not from anticipation but from frustration.
Why did I even agree to this?
These encounters had become predictable. Shallow. Meaningless connections that never truly satisfied me.
My sigh was barely audible, my mind already drifting far from the man beneath me.
His voice faded into the background, overtaken by the steady hum of my own need.
I shifted slightly, feeling his hands slide over my hips as I straddled him, but the touch felt empty and disconnected.
It’s never about them, I reminded myself. Just the release.
It hadn’t always been like this.
There was a time, early on, when my name had just started to mean something, when I still believed real connection was possible.
He came into my life with a disarming smile and a camera-ready face, telling me I was special. Different. Worth more than the industry ever wanted me to be.
I let him in.
Opened my heart. My body. My world.
And he used it.
Used me.
He rode the shimmer of my rising fame like a ladder, modeling contracts falling into his lap while he whispered promises he never meant to keep.
I learned quickly.
Everyone had an angle.
He was no different.
Now, as my body moved with mechanical urgency, I wonder if anyone has ever truly loved me.
Someone I loved back.
Maybe once.
Maybe before the memories went dark.
But that past is a locked room, sealed shut.
I have no key.
Just a blank canvas.
My movements grew more urgent. More demanding.
My body moved on autopilot, hips rolling in time with the rhythm I craved.
His hands wandered clumsily over my skin, but it wasn’t enough.
It never is.
There’s no spark. No connection. Just the growing desperation to reach that edge, a place only I can find.
Travis is the perfect specimen.
Tall. Muscular. Devastatingly handsome.
The kind of man women are supposed to fantasize about.
But that’s all he is.
A fantasy.
There’s no depth. No fire.
He’s not the brightest, and worse, there’s no passion.
Just muscle, symmetry, and a perfect face.
All flesh. No heat.
My PR team had arranged it all, convinced it would benefit both our images.
A match crafted for Hollywood’s gaze.
But it was just a facade, and I was tired of keeping it up.
Tired of pretending.
His grip tightened on my hips in a weak attempt to keep pace, as if he sensed me slipping away.
But it’s not enough.
His eager efforts, though sincere, are pointless.
I ground myself harder against him, chasing the release I needed, barely registering the sounds he made.
I didn’t feel guilty anymore. I couldn’t afford to.
I’ve become jaded.
Men want me for my fame, my image. It’s impossible to tell who’s real.
Everyone had an agenda.
If he’s using me for the spotlight, why shouldn’t I use him for whatever pleasure I can find?
He’s not a bad guy, but there’s no connection. No intimacy.
Just hollow touches and empty promises.
My breaths quickened, my body arching as the tension inside me built to a fever pitch.
My mind narrowed, focused only on the raw pleasure coursing through me.
It wasn’t about him. It never had been.
His faint groans faded as my hand slipped between us, taking over where he had failed.
My fingers moved furiously, the slick heat rising. My nails dug into his skin as I chased the release only I could give myself.
The pressure climbed, winding tighter until I could barely bear it.
Then, finally, it broke.
A wave of fierce, bittersweet satisfaction surged through me. My body shuddered with the force of it.
A strangled cry slipped from my lips, every nerve lit with raw, electric pleasure.
When it came, it was quick. Fleeting.
Relief, I thought. But it tasted bitter.
I collapsed beside him, already detached from the act and the man.
My body still twitched in the aftershocks, but none of it reached my chest.
I lay flat on my back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, waiting for the stillness to do what the sex never could.
But all it did was make more room for the ache to stretch out and settle in.
I pulled the sheets over me, not for warmth, but to feel something against my skin that didn’t want anything in return.
My legs trembled.
Not from pleasure.
Just adrenaline.
My pulse thudded, loud and insistent in my ears.
Will I ever stop needing this?
The question bloomed, uninvited.
Or will I keep chasing the high and falling into the same emptiness, again and again?
I closed my eyes.
Travis mumbled something beside me. Some lazy post-coital nothing. I barely resisted the urge to flinch.
If I turned my head, he would be there.
And I didn’t want to look at him.
Not now.
Not like this.
I just wanted silence.
But it never came.
Not really.
He shifted beside me, rolling lazily toward me, his hand reaching out as if to touch me again.
But I was already miles away.
"Travis," I murmured, my voice low and firm.
"I think it’s time we ended this."
His silence filled the room, confused, hesitant.
"What?" he asked, still dazed, propping himself up on one elbow.
"What do you mean?"
I sat up and pulled on my silk robe, the cool fabric a welcome contrast to the heat still clinging to my skin.
"Our PR teams can handle it. Release a joint statement. We’ve amicably split."
He frowned, rising slowly to sit beside me.
"I think we should stay together a bit longer. We don’t have to end this yet."
His words scraped against my nerves.
He still doesn’t get it.
I turned to face him, my eyes hard, lips forming a faint, detached smile.
"I’m sorry, Travis," I said, my voice as cold as the night air slipping through the window.
"It’s time for you to leave."
For a moment, he just stared at me, struggling to process my words.
Then, with a sigh, he swung his legs off the bed and reached for his clothes.
He dressed in silence.
The tension between us hung thick and suffocating.
I saw the surprise in his eyes, but it didn’t matter.
Handsome as he was, he had been utterly useless in bed.
All I wanted now was for him to leave.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with the quiet and the distant hum of the city beyond the window.
I stepped onto the veranda.
Silk brushed my skin as the night air wrapped around me, carrying the faint scent of jasmine.
Below, the San Fernando Valley stretched wide, glittering like broken glass scattered across black velvet.
The 405 shimmered in the dark, a slow pulse of red and white threading through neighborhoods I’d never stepped foot in.
Downtown flickered faintly on the horizon, its skyline blurred by haze and distance.
All this wealth, all this fame, and not one part of it felt real.
I pressed my palm to the glass railing.
My chest tightened the way it always did when I looked out at this view.
It was a halo that didn’t shine.
It was nights like this when I felt everything I didn’t have.
I used to dream about views like this.
Now I just stood in front of them, hoping the silence might fill the ache.
I exhaled slowly, my mind beginning to clear, though the emptiness Travis left behind still lingered.
I gazed out at the city lights, my thoughts drifting far beyond what he could have ever offered me.
I wanted something real.
Something he could never be.
The words blurred as I half-listened to his endless chatter, my body tensing, not from anticipation but from frustration.
Why did I even agree to this?
These encounters had become predictable. Shallow. Meaningless connections that never truly satisfied me.
My sigh was barely audible, my mind already drifting far from the man beneath me.
His voice faded into the background, overtaken by the steady hum of my own need.
I shifted slightly, feeling his hands slide over my hips as I straddled him, but the touch felt empty and disconnected.
It’s never about them, I reminded myself. Just the release.
It hadn’t always been like this.
There was a time, early on, when my name had just started to mean something, when I still believed real connection was possible.
He came into my life with a disarming smile and a camera-ready face, telling me I was special. Different. Worth more than the industry ever wanted me to be.
I let him in.
Opened my heart. My body. My world.
And he used it.
Used me.
He rode the shimmer of my rising fame like a ladder, modeling contracts falling into his lap while he whispered promises he never meant to keep.
I learned quickly.
Everyone had an angle.
He was no different.
Now, as my body moved with mechanical urgency, I wonder if anyone has ever truly loved me.
Someone I loved back.
Maybe once.
Maybe before the memories went dark.
But that past is a locked room, sealed shut.
I have no key.
Just a blank canvas.
My movements grew more urgent. More demanding.
My body moved on autopilot, hips rolling in time with the rhythm I craved.
His hands wandered clumsily over my skin, but it wasn’t enough.
It never is.
There’s no spark. No connection. Just the growing desperation to reach that edge, a place only I can find.
Travis is the perfect specimen.
Tall. Muscular. Devastatingly handsome.
The kind of man women are supposed to fantasize about.
But that’s all he is.
A fantasy.
There’s no depth. No fire.
He’s not the brightest, and worse, there’s no passion.
Just muscle, symmetry, and a perfect face.
All flesh. No heat.
My PR team had arranged it all, convinced it would benefit both our images.
A match crafted for Hollywood’s gaze.
But it was just a facade, and I was tired of keeping it up.
Tired of pretending.
His grip tightened on my hips in a weak attempt to keep pace, as if he sensed me slipping away.
But it’s not enough.
His eager efforts, though sincere, are pointless.
I ground myself harder against him, chasing the release I needed, barely registering the sounds he made.
I didn’t feel guilty anymore. I couldn’t afford to.
I’ve become jaded.
Men want me for my fame, my image. It’s impossible to tell who’s real.
Everyone had an agenda.
If he’s using me for the spotlight, why shouldn’t I use him for whatever pleasure I can find?
He’s not a bad guy, but there’s no connection. No intimacy.
Just hollow touches and empty promises.
My breaths quickened, my body arching as the tension inside me built to a fever pitch.
My mind narrowed, focused only on the raw pleasure coursing through me.
It wasn’t about him. It never had been.
His faint groans faded as my hand slipped between us, taking over where he had failed.
My fingers moved furiously, the slick heat rising. My nails dug into his skin as I chased the release only I could give myself.
The pressure climbed, winding tighter until I could barely bear it.
Then, finally, it broke.
A wave of fierce, bittersweet satisfaction surged through me. My body shuddered with the force of it.
A strangled cry slipped from my lips, every nerve lit with raw, electric pleasure.
When it came, it was quick. Fleeting.
Relief, I thought. But it tasted bitter.
I collapsed beside him, already detached from the act and the man.
My body still twitched in the aftershocks, but none of it reached my chest.
I lay flat on my back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, waiting for the stillness to do what the sex never could.
But all it did was make more room for the ache to stretch out and settle in.
I pulled the sheets over me, not for warmth, but to feel something against my skin that didn’t want anything in return.
My legs trembled.
Not from pleasure.
Just adrenaline.
My pulse thudded, loud and insistent in my ears.
Will I ever stop needing this?
The question bloomed, uninvited.
Or will I keep chasing the high and falling into the same emptiness, again and again?
I closed my eyes.
Travis mumbled something beside me. Some lazy post-coital nothing. I barely resisted the urge to flinch.
If I turned my head, he would be there.
And I didn’t want to look at him.
Not now.
Not like this.
I just wanted silence.
But it never came.
Not really.
He shifted beside me, rolling lazily toward me, his hand reaching out as if to touch me again.
But I was already miles away.
"Travis," I murmured, my voice low and firm.
"I think it’s time we ended this."
His silence filled the room, confused, hesitant.
"What?" he asked, still dazed, propping himself up on one elbow.
"What do you mean?"
I sat up and pulled on my silk robe, the cool fabric a welcome contrast to the heat still clinging to my skin.
"Our PR teams can handle it. Release a joint statement. We’ve amicably split."
He frowned, rising slowly to sit beside me.
"I think we should stay together a bit longer. We don’t have to end this yet."
His words scraped against my nerves.
He still doesn’t get it.
I turned to face him, my eyes hard, lips forming a faint, detached smile.
"I’m sorry, Travis," I said, my voice as cold as the night air slipping through the window.
"It’s time for you to leave."
For a moment, he just stared at me, struggling to process my words.
Then, with a sigh, he swung his legs off the bed and reached for his clothes.
He dressed in silence.
The tension between us hung thick and suffocating.
I saw the surprise in his eyes, but it didn’t matter.
Handsome as he was, he had been utterly useless in bed.
All I wanted now was for him to leave.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with the quiet and the distant hum of the city beyond the window.
I stepped onto the veranda.
Silk brushed my skin as the night air wrapped around me, carrying the faint scent of jasmine.
Below, the San Fernando Valley stretched wide, glittering like broken glass scattered across black velvet.
The 405 shimmered in the dark, a slow pulse of red and white threading through neighborhoods I’d never stepped foot in.
Downtown flickered faintly on the horizon, its skyline blurred by haze and distance.
All this wealth, all this fame, and not one part of it felt real.
I pressed my palm to the glass railing.
My chest tightened the way it always did when I looked out at this view.
It was a halo that didn’t shine.
It was nights like this when I felt everything I didn’t have.
I used to dream about views like this.
Now I just stood in front of them, hoping the silence might fill the ache.
I exhaled slowly, my mind beginning to clear, though the emptiness Travis left behind still lingered.
I gazed out at the city lights, my thoughts drifting far beyond what he could have ever offered me.
I wanted something real.
Something he could never be.
End of Dangerous Melodies Chapter 58. Continue reading Chapter 59 or return to Dangerous Melodies book page.