Chapter 4

FOUR

E ven ice queens get lonely sometimes, so I fill my houses with parties. I go to awards shows, date, and see friends. I am the it girl in public, but behind it all, I want the world to truly see me and how much I'm begging for something, anything , to melt this ice.

I am beautiful, and I create beautiful music. My house is filled with awards and wealth, and I never feel like I deserve any of it. I surround myself with the most gorgeous things in life, and it's all a lie to cover the truth. On the inside, I am ugly and unlovable, and it often feels like they know that.

I smile as I sip my Champagne—another party, another set of lies. People are desperate to feel anything other than the aching loneliness we are all born with. I'm no different. I pose for pictures, laugh, and drink with them. On the outside, I'm everything they think I am—cold, beautiful, and untouchable.

The truth is, I think I'm destined to be alone forever. There is something unlovable about me and they always see it, which is why they leave and hurt me. Now I usually leave first because I don't want to give them that power. I made myself heartless so they couldn't break it. It's easy to be unlovable without a heart.

Some people change their weight, their looks, their interests, or even their lives in search of love, but I can't change who I am. I can't change this thing deep inside me. No matter how much I change my appearance or my life, I'm the reason no one could ever love me.

"I think we should break up." The voice is soft, low, and angry, coming from my left. I'm in the back of the party, hiding with what's his name.

Todd?

Tim?

Shit, I'm sure it begins with a T. We've been on a few dates, and we've fucked and had some fun. He got pictures from the paparazzi out of it, showing the world he's hot enough to be with me, and it will carry him higher in the acting world he's part of. He'll get the recognition because of my name, and for a few days, I didn't have to be alone. It's also a nice bonus to have a hot guy to show everyone who hurt me.

Lifting my glass, I scan the party for familiar faces as I take a sip. "Okay."

"You are just so cold and?—"

I turn my frosty gaze on him for a moment. "I said okay." When he just stares at me, I sigh in annoyance. "You can go now."

"Fucking bitch," he spits as he rips himself from the seat and storms away. I watch him go.

What do you do when you keep getting hurt? You stop letting people in and shut out the world to protect yourself, but in doing so, you miss so much. I don't experience the bad, but I also don't experience the good. I just exist like a phantom moving through a world that doesn't quite feel real, and when I'm gone, there will be no one to mourn me. I will just be gone, like a passing wisp of wind, here for a moment and then absent.

"Shit, Fallon, did you just dump Tez?" Amanda, the one whose party I'm at, hurries over, throwing herself next to me. She's beautiful—we all are here. She became a supermodel at eighteen, and I know she worries she's getting too old and they will cast her aside, hence the lavish parties to show she's still relevant.

Tez, I knew it began with a T. What a stupid fucking name .

I shrug, and she laughs, tossing her long, toned legs over my lap. "You're a hard bitch to crack," she remarks, but it doesn't sound like an insult. "I get it." Her eyes go back to the party. "I don't let them close either. They always want something—money, fame, a name—it's never just because they want me." She blinks, bringing her bright blue eyes back to mine and smiling wickedly. "So break every heart you can, Fallon. I'm sure they will thank you for it when you're done." She winks as she gets up, answering the cheering of her name.

Unlike me, Amanda is the life of the party. She's loud and so eager to please people, she does everything for them.

She's life, while I'm ice.

Maybe that's why we are friends.

I grow bored after a while, and when I'm bored, dangerous thoughts whirl in my mind. To block them off, I numb them, downing my drink as I search the crowd until I find what I'm looking for.

He's watching me, leaning back against the bar. He's younger than me, but not by much, and he's either an actor or a model. I don't care. His blond hair is swept back from his chiseled face, and his body is muscular and draped in the finest new clothes money can buy. He sips his drink, watching me make my way through the crowd until I stop before him. I see anticipation in his gaze, and also a cocky understanding that I want him.

I can work with that. He seems like the type to fuck and not call, and that's exactly what I need right now—no attachments, just numbing pleasure.

"Hi, do you want a drink?" he starts, undoubtedly beginning his usual routine. I don't have time for that. I can feel the spiral coming, the thoughts wrapping around me like barbed wire, their sharp edges ready to tear me apart until they taste blood.

"Leave your drink," I tell him as I turn away, and when I glance back, he's frowning. "Are you coming or not?"

He hurries after me as I head to my car and slips in the other side. I reel off a hotel address I know is close but also discreet, and he grins over at me. "My name is?—"

"I don't care." For a moment, he looks offended, so I grab his chin and pull him close enough that his eyes drop to my lips, insult forgotten as he realizes he's about to have me. "I don't need your name or your life story, and you don't need mine. I plan to fuck your brains out and then leave before you wake up. You can order room service and lounge around knowing it's paid for and you've been well fucked. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Not at all." He smirks before he grips the back of my head and closes the distance, his lips crashing onto mine.

Good, this is what I need to forget.

We make it to the hotel in record time, and I head in through the back door. I have a standing room here for this. No one comes home with me. That's my place. Here, they get me for a few hours and that's it.

He follows eagerly, like a little puppy, and we barely make it to the room before his hands are on my body. I press mine to his muscular chest and push him through the door. He stumbles back, and I smirk, kicking it shut as I step around him and shed my dress and heels. "On the bed," I order him.

He strips and lies down, stretching out every tan muscle for me. He really is pretty and perfect for what I need—a palate cleanser. Sliding up the bed, I lick the bobbing tip of his cock, and his head falls back with a groan, his fists gripping the white bedding.

I move farther up his body, biting his nipple as he gasps, and then I stop when I'm over him. His eyes blink open, his pretty mouth parted. Unchecked desire burns in his expression. What is it like to feel that much? I lean down to taste it on his lips and feel alive for just a moment.

"Fall—"

I cover his mouth with my hand. "I don't need your voice, so let's put that mouth to better use since you can't seem to follow rules."

Slinging my leg over his shoulders, I press my hands against the headboard and sit on his face. His hands grip my hips as he gets the point and pulls me closer. I don't care if he doesn't like to eat pussy. He's eating mine.

If he wants inside me, then he has to earn it. He doesn't get to come unless I've gotten to at least once. Otherwise, men are too selfish to care about my pleasure, and then what's the point of them? I could have more fun with a dildo.

Luckily, he's not half bad with his tongue. I ignore his slapping hands when it becomes too much and grind into his mouth. I set my own rhythm, using him until I come all over his mouth. I slip down his body, his chin and lips glistening with my release. His cock leaks for me. It's a nice size, so I reach into the nightstand and pull out a condom, rolling it down his length as he watches me.

"Please," he whispers.

Good boy, he learned.

He's realized he isn't here to use me. I'm here to use him, and he wants it.

His bronzed chest heaves as I perch on his hips, my hand working his length, and he groans for me, his back arching. I torture him a little until neither of us can stand it, then I lift my hips, press him to my entrance, and slam down on his length, impaling myself as we both cry out.

There's no other sound apart from the slapping of our hips and heavy breathing as we fuck each other's brains out. His hips lift to meet mine, setting a hard, fast rhythm. My hands grip my breasts, tweaking my nipples to build my pleasure before sliding down my stomach to flick my clit.

He watches me with narrowed eyes, his jaw jumping at the sight, and I feel him jerk inside me.

"Don't you dare." I slap his chest. "You don't get to come until I do."

He lifts his hands to pull my head down for a kiss, so I smack them away, pinning them with my hands as I roll my hips, riding him as he groans loudly. I close my eyes. He's a beautiful sight stretched out below me, but I need more, and for some fucking reason, his blond hair changes to black, and his bright eyes turn dark and obsessive.

I wish I could say it was the cock inside me that gets me off, but it's the whispered "sweetheart" in my ear that has me crying out on the model's cock. He bellows his release, and before he's even finished, I'm climbing off him and heading to the minibar.

"Wait, are you going?" he asks, his voice hoarse and thick with heavy breathing.

I can feel my cream sliding down my thighs, and when I glance back, his eyes are locked on my ass as he sits up in bed, trying to recover. "No, I'm getting a drink to give you time to recover for the next round."

"Fuck, you might actually kill me." He slumps back into the bed as I pour myself straight vodka and shoot it back as I turn to him.

"But what a way to go, right?"

The grin he gives me is dirty and delicious, and after another drink, I walk back over to the bed, ready to lose myself in him again and the pleasure I can find in his body.

At least I don't think of anything else in the meantime.

By the time I make it home, it's early morning. I leave my car in the driveway, knowing it will be put away, but the usual early morning peace is disrupted by a cascade of voices. Frowning, I glance next door to the usually very quiet old couple's house and see moving vans as well as a whole bunch of people carrying boxes inside.

Did they move?

Shit, they were the perfect neighbors, quiet and unobtrusive and too stuck up to want to speak.

I hope the new ones are just as nice. Shaking my head, I walk inside to crash into a dreamless sleep, thanks to alcohol and sex.