Here’s part 7, sorry for the delay! Hope you like it!

(And here are all other parts for those who are looking for them.)

Fassbender had dropped me off at my place. I just went into my house without a word. His comment was still ringing in my ears and I had been lying awake in bed for hours thinking about what he had said.

Jealous? Me? Of course not!

I didn’t even like this guy!

Sure, I liked him fucking me but that was about it. Calling me jealous? That guy was just so full of himself. I didn’t give a rat’s ass if he was flirting with me or not.

The only thing that was bothering me about his flirting was that if he cut down this shit I could be doing a job that actually interested me.

But instead I had to babysit him.

This had absolutely nothing to do with jealousy.

I was angry at him for once more playing his game.

I was even angrier at myself for letting him play me like a fiddle.

Was I really this stupid?

Believing I could actually be an equal counterpart in this game?

He had shamefully put me into my place.

I had nothing on him. He was always a step ahead.

And this wasn’t doing me any good.

Except for multiple orgasm.

What was happening?

I used to be a moderately sane, independent woman. I knew what I wanted and I knew how to get it.

He was like a drug.

While my mind knew this wasn’t healthy my body was already hooked, aching for the next fix.

The only thing that could save me here was going cold turkey.

No more Fassbender.

No more games.

***

Once I had figured that out last night I finally fell asleep and even woke up with a good feeling this morning.

I’m able to do this.

I’m strong.

I don’t need him for anything.

It’s Saturday and I’m going out tonight to prove myself that I can find a guy who will satisfy me as much as Fassbender. Hell, even more!

I spend all day pampering myself, carefully choosing the perfect outfit, getting ready for the night.

I meet with my friend Alice, she’s been a trusty wing-man, well, wing-woman in the past. We knock down a few glasses of champagne before we get a cab down to the bar.

It feels like this is going to be a great night. We are two beautiful, slightly tipsy women who are having the time of their lives. What can possibly go wrong?

The bar is already packed when we get there. It’s a nice little place, quite relaxed, nothing too fancy.

We sit down at the bar, ordering the first round of drinks and it doesn’t take long until the first guys show up. We talk with them casually, laughing and flirting but none of them meets my expectations yet. Guys keep coming along, buying us more drinks, asking for our numbers. It’s nothing serious but it’s fun and exactly what I needed tonight.

And then there he is. This gorgeous guy, tall, dark wavy hair, muscular but not bulky and with a deadly smile. Our eyes meet across the room and I know this is the one.

The one who’s going to fuck my brains out, who will drown out every voice in my head that’s still calling for Fassbender.

We keep eye contact for a while, I smile at him coyly, he grinning back.

And then he’s here, asking me what I’d like to drink, introducing himself as Steven.

I invite him to sit down, we chat for a while, he’s flirtatious and charming. It’s easy to hold up a conversation and we laugh a lot. He actually makes me forget everything around me, his dark-brown eyes sucking me in.

Time flies by and when I make my move on him he’s more than ok with it.

“How about we move this somewhere more quiet?” he suggests.

“Great idea. I don’t live far from here.”

He grins and gets off his bar stool. I quickly let Alice know that I’m leaving.

She laughs and gives me the thumbs up.

Steven takes my hand and directs us through the crowd, towards the exit. At the end of the bar is a little group of guys and when we pass them, one of them stumbles backwards.

“Sorry,” Steven apologizes and tries to pull me past.

“Oy, watch where you’re going, mate!”

The guy who had stumbled turns around and sparkles at Steven furiously.

He’s really drunk.

And he’s Fassbender.

Oh, please, no.

“I said I’m sorry, alright?” Steven says and lifts his hands defensively.

Fassbender steps closer, his chest almost touching Steven’s.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Walking around like this is your place?”

“Forget it,” Steven just mumbles and tries to walk away.

But Fassbender grabs his arm.

“Take your hand off me,” Steven demands with a polite but stern voice.

“What? You got a problem with me?” Fassbender snarls drunkenly.

Then they are suddenly shoving each other, pushing each other around.

Is this really happening?

“Stop it!” I shout at them, trying to separate the fighting men, getting between them.

Steven tries to let go but Fassbender isn’t giving up.

And then I feel something slamming into my face, I get down on my knees and for a second there is darkness.

When I open my eyes I’m still at the floor, my lip is hurting and throbbing, I taste metal in my mouth. Everyone around me is silent.

I look up and see Fassbender and Steven staring at me, then they are, too, on their knees, their voices mixed into a blur.

“Are you ok?”

“I’m so sorry!”

“Do you need help?”

I can’t make out who is saying what. I touch my lip and see a few drops of blood on my fingers. Some security guy helps me up back on my feet.

“Do you need an ambulance, miss?”

“No, I’m ok, thanks,” I mutter silently, then look at the guys.

“What the fuck just happened?”

“I’m so, so sorry!”

Fassbender is staring at me, his eyes filled with guilt and sorrow.

“He just punched you into your face,” Steven explains and puts his arm around my shoulder.

“That was supposed to hit you, asshole,” Fassbender grumbles angrily, “it’s all your fault!”

“You seriously need to shut the fuck up!”

“You were the one who shoved me out of the blue!”

“You fuckin’ fell into me, dude!”

“Oh really, you wanna take this outside?”

“God, not again,” I just say and put my hands on Fassbender’s chest. “Listen, I don’t give a shit about who shoved or fell into whom. You need to calm down and back the fuck off!”

“But…”
“No! You’ve been annoying me enough as it is, so just leave me the fuck alone!”

“I just…”

“You heard her, dude,” Steven interrupts him, “let it go.”

“Oh, really? Who the fuck are you anyway?” He is again much too close. “You don’t even know her!”

“Alright, gentlemen,” the security guy is trying to put a stop on it, “you are now all leaving this bar silently and get a cab home. If I see you fighting again, or if you are thinking about continuing this outside, I am going to call the cops.”

He escorts us outside.

“What the fuck do you want from him anyway?” Fassbender ask behind me.

“This is none of your fucking business!”

While we make our way through the crowd outside, Fassbender shoves people out of his way and snarls drunken comments at everyone. He’s a complete mess.

Waiting at the curbside for a cab, Steven hands me a little piece of paper.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I’m not coming home with you. But here’s my number in case you and this guy have sorted things out between the two of you.”

“What?”

“I don’t know your story here. But there’s obviously some unfinished business. I mean, I’ve seen him watching you through out the night but I thought he was just some guy checking you out. But you two know each other. And clearly there’s something going on. I don’t know if he’s your ex or…”
“Are you kidding me?”

“Really, I’d love to go out with you another time. But I think it’s for the best if you clear things up with him first. Call me.”

And with that he kisses my cheek, smiles at me and gets into a cab, leaving me there completely baffled.

I cannot believe this! Did Fassbender just ruin my night out?

I turn around, ready to shout at him, to rip his head off.

But there he is, drunk like a sailor, stumbling around, cursing at random people. The security guard is already walking towards him.

That idiot is going to get himself arrested again, if he goes on like this. And if Richard finds out that I’ve been here as well he’s definitely not going to be happy.

“Fassbender!” I shout at him and open the cab’s door that has just parked next to me. “Get in the car!”

He looks at me confused.

“Now!”

He rolls his eyes at me but gets on the back seat without further comments.

I sit down next to him, slam the door shut and tell the driver the hotel’s address.

“God, that guy was a jerk. Why were you hanging out with him in the first place?” Fassbender mumbles, leans his head against the seat and closes his eyes.

“Really? Do you really wanna go there?”

He opens his eyes again and looks at me confused.

“What did I say now?”

In that moment it feels like something is bursting inside me. I start yelling at him and can’t stop it any more.

“How dare you say something like this? All you do is using me for your stupid games! You don’t even care about me! Do you know that after all I’ve done for you, you never even thanked me? Maybe once or twice when I got your coffee but most of the time not even then! You’re taking me for granted, at work and even for sex! You never ever appreciate anything I do for you! You play with me, you even threaten me! You always find your ways to make me do what you want. I’m a human being, for fuck’s sake! I’m not just some bitch you can manipulate for whatever you need in that moment! And when I finally get myself to stop fucking around with you, you find a way to ruin my night out, my chance to hook up with some other, some normal guy! What the fuck did you think you were doing back there? Why the hell did you have to pick up a fight with him? God, I really hate you right now!”

He looks at me, blinks a few times, resembles a dog that has just been hit by a bucket of water.

“I’m really sorry I hit you in the face,” he mumbles, somehow ashamed.

I sigh.

“I should have known better and not get between to guys fighting. It was an accident.”

He grins at me and lays his hand on my knee.

“Are we good then? Are coming to my hotel with me?”

I slap his hand off my knee.

“Have you not heard a word I just said? Are you really asking me this? Here, let me say it once more, slowly. I really hate you right now. And I am not going to fuck you ever again.”

“But…” he looks at me, he almost seems a bit disappointed, “… I mean, didn’t we have fun together?”

“Yes. We did. But I hate how you can make me do things. How you play with me. I almost hate myself more for playing along. And I don’t like hating myself. So this is going to stop right here.”

“What a pity.”

He sighs and closes his eyes again. He starts mumbling but he’s so drunk out of his mind that it’s hardly understandable. I close my eyes, too. I’m drunk and my head is throbbing from the punch I have taken earlier. I try to drown out his drunken babbling.

“Sometimes you are… maybe we… I saw you and…so sorry… you tell me what you think… but then you… so difficult… really, crazy… you’re cool… never before… sometimes I think… I might even… you.”

I open my eyes.

What was he saying right there?

I didn’t get that last part.

‘I might even what you?’

“What?” I ask loudly.

But he’s passed out. And not even me pushing him wakes him up.

What the hell was he talking about?

***

I spend all Sunday on my couch, nursing my hangover and my swollen lip.

I had to have the hotel’s valet guy help me carry Fassbender up to his room, dropped him on his bed and left.

So considering the state he’s been in I quickly give up trying to figure out what he had said last night.

I mean, ‘I might even… you’? What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Hate you’? ‘Like you’? Most likely it meant ‘want to fuck you’.

I’m not even sure what I’ve heard any more.

So why wasting my time on it?

Tomorrow the last week of shooting begins and after that I will never see him again.

For some reason this thought leaves an odd feeling in my stomach.

Maybe that’s the first sign of withdrawal?

Probably just my hangover though.

***

Monday morning is its usual bitchy self. The fact that my lip is still bruised and that I’m unable to cover it with make-up is not helping. Chugging down my first huge coffee while driving to the studio is helping a bit.

I get myself a second one at the craft table and prepare one for Fassbender.

I find him sitting in his chair, arms crossed, wearing his sunglasses.

“Morning. Here’s your coffee,” I greet him but he doesn’t move.

What the fuck is he up to now? He pretty much ignored me last week but pretending he can’t hear me? Now, that is ridiculous!

“Hey,” I say louder and tap his shoulder.

He suddenly jumps upright in his chair and takes off his shades.

“I’m totally not sleeping. I was just resting my eyes a bit,” he mumbles apologetically, taking the coffee out of my hands. “Thanks, I could really need one right now.”

“Rough night?” I ask him grinning.

“Rough Saturday night,” he explains and drinks from his cup. “Can’t believe I’m still this tired. But man, must I have been drunk. Can’t remember much. Not even how I got home.”

He looks at me.

“What happened to your lip?”

I stare at him.

Sure, he was drunk but really? He can’t remember anything?

I try to read his face, try to find out if this is just another of his stupid games. But I can’t tell.

“Nothing.”

Now he’s the one trying to read me, looking at me, his head slightly crooked.

“So, I’ve seen you with this guy on Saturday night,” he starts slowly, “it’s not… he didn’t do… anything, did he?”

“What?”

“Your lip.”

“No!”

“Good. You know, I saw you sitting with him and thought about coming over but then I didn’t want to interrupt. You looked like you were having fun.”

So he remembers me and Steven at the bar but not the rest of his night?

I still don’t know if I can believe him.

I want to shout at him, telling him that he’s the one responsible for my injured lip and a ruined night with Steven.

But for some reason I can’t.

“We were. And in fact, I’m seeing him again this week for a real date.”

Of course that’s a lie but actually, why not?

“Good,” Fassbender replies again. “He seemed… ok.”

He smiles at me and it almost seems genuine.

What the hell is going on?

Are we having something here that resembles an actual conversation?

It’s a nice change but it definitely feels weird.

While he gets in front of the camera I decide to text Steven. Asking him out. It doesn’t take him long to reply and I’m glad I asked. The prospect of having dinner and maybe more with him on Wednesday night excites me more than I had expected. I’m actually really looking forward to it.

See?

I don’t need Fassbender.

***

Everyone on set is getting into the ‘It’s the final week of shooting’-mood. The same has happened during all productions I’ve worked at so far. Well, at least those who went smoothly and on schedule.

You are in a great mood, maybe a bit silly even, trying to have as much fun as possible with the people you have become so close with during the last weeks, months. And even though you promise to stay in touch, you all know that is not going to happen, so you try to make the best out of it while you can. It’s almost a bit like your last week at school.

Maybe that’s the reason Fassbender is suddenly acting differently.

He uses words like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. He talks to me like I’m a normal person, no teasing or flirting but actually talking. Even asks my opinion on things.

Sometimes, when he’s cracking a joke that genuinely makes me laugh, I start to see a glimpse of the person everyone else apparently sees when they look at him. The funny, likeable Fassbender.

Which is confusing me, I can’t deny that.

All those weeks you’ve been an idiot to me, making my life hell, and now during the final week you decide to be friendly? Well, thanks a lot.

But hey, I’m finally having a good time at work again, so I’m not complaining.

***

Tomorrow they are starting to shoot Fassbender’s big, final scene. It’s an intense scene, a lot of dialogue and it’s the first time I’ve actually seen him being some kind of nervous. He’s been spending every spare minute with his script, reading his lines over and over again.

“You’re not going to have a sleepless night over this, are you?” I ask him when we wrap things up and head towards the parking lot.

“I probably will. It’s kind of hard to get a dialogue right if you’re practising without someone reading the lines back to you.”

“You should have said something! I know, I’m not a professional or something but I could have read them with you.”

“Well, if you could spare an hour or so, would you be so kind and go through them with me?”

It’s been a long day but the way he looks at me, his eyes full of hope and maybe a little bit of despair, it’s impossible to say no.

“We can order room service and have something to eat.”

“Alright then. One hour.”

I get into my car and follow him to his hotel.

We get into his room, sit down on his bed and start working through the script.

I’m reading his counterpart and even though I’m hardly a professional, it seems to help him. We even discuss the scene and he picks up a few improvements I’ve suggested. It’s a serious scene but we still laugh a lot.

I could never be an actress. I’m unable to keep a straight face longer than for a few minutes. But it doesn’t seem to bother him.

A hotel employee wheels in a cart loaded with food and we put the script aside.

“Who the hell is going to eat all this?” I laugh at the amount of food.

“I didn’t know what to order so I just got a bit of everything,” he apologizes, loads stuff on a plate and starts shovelling it into his mouth.

“God, how can you eat this much and be that skinny?” I sigh.

“Dunno, I can dig in and don’t put on any weight.”

“I wish I’d be this lucky!”

“Oh, come on, as if you’re body wasn’t gorgeous!”

I grin at him.

“That’s all I wanted to hear.”

He laughs. “Sneaky!”

“God, you eat like a pig! Do you even taste all the different foods if you just pile it up like this?”

“No, not really. But I don’t care. I’ve never been good in separating different tastes.”

“Really? I’m pretty good at this. I’ve got a great sense of taste.”

“Do you? So, if I gave you something and your eyes were closed would you be able to tell what it is?”

“Of course!”

“Then let’s try it. Close your eyes.”

I close them and I hear him picking up something from his plate.

“You’re not gonna prank me and spit on it or something, are you?” I ask insecurely and feel my eyelids flutter.

“Hey, keep them closed! No cheating!”

He shoves something into my mouths and I carefully chew it.

“Steamed carrot,” I proclaim.

“That was easy, and you know, I kinda saw your eyelids move. Are you cheating?”

I open my eyes.

“Of course I’m not!”

“How about we use this then, just to be sure? I bet you can’t guess ten out of ten right!”

He’s holding a scarf in his hands.

“Are you challenging me, dude? Seriously? I’m the queen of tasting!” I was never good at not accepting a challenge. “Bring it on!”

He laughs and carefully ties the scarf around my head, covering my eyes.

I hear him moving in front of me.

“Are you making stupid faces to check if I can see anything?”

“Of course I’m not,” he replies but I know he’s trying not to chuckle.

“Alright then, here we go.”

I feel something at my lips and open them.

“Pfft, easy. It’s a blueberry.”

He continues his test, chicken, potato, a spoon full of ketchup - which was quite disgusting - strawberry, it’s all easy.

The blindfold is actually helping. Not being able to see intensifies all other senses. I can mostly already smell the food right before he brings it to my lips.

“Ok, here’s the last one,” he says and I feel a spoon against my lips. Hoping it’s something good I open them and he lets it slide into my mouth.

A little moan of pleasure escapes me.

“Mousse au chocolat,” I reply happily at the heavenly taste on my tongue.

He laughs and then I feel his finger wiping along my lip.

“Here’s some more,” he says I don’t know if he actually wants me to do it or if like so often my body reacts automatically, I part my lips and gently suck the mousse off his finger.

From what it feels like he is surprised but he also doesn’t pull it away. Maybe even lets me suck a bit longer than necessary.

And then it’s the same it always has been. If there have been any resolutions, any second thoughts, they are gone.

“Let’s see if you can guess this,” he says silently and before I can reply anything I feel his lips on mine, kissing me softly.

For a second a thought enters my mind, wondering if he again has planned this all along but for the first time it vanishes before I can dwell on it.

This feels different.

Not like a game, not like a presentation of who is in charge. It feels… like a natural thing to do?

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss him back. He gently pushes me down on the bed, kissing his way down my neck, his fingers unbuttoning my plaid shirt, clearing the way for his lips to explore my body.

The inability to see multiplies my senses. The slightest touch makes my whole body tingle from the sensation.

It doesn’t take him long until he has pulled my jeans off, diving between my legs, letting his tongue do what never fails to drive me crazy.

I grab his hair, holding his head in place to show him that he is exactly doing the right thing, moaning loudly.

It only takes another flick of his tongue against my clit to make me come.

Hi kisses his way back up, I hear him removing his shirt, unzipping his pants.

I feel his weight on top of me and run my hands down his back, squeezing his ass. His hard cock is prodding against my opening and when he finally enters me I yelp. Even though I’m used to his size by now, the first thrust always still takes me by surprise, taking me a moment to adjust.

He fills me up completely and only starts moving slowly, his lips attached to mine. His hands brush over my face and pull the blindfold off.

He keeps moving with slow, deep thrusts, his forehead resting against mine, looking me into the eyes.

“So I guess that Steven guy is out of the picture?” he gasps horsely.

I startle. Today is Wednesday. I have totally forgotten about my date with Steven. But I can’t help myself. Fassbender’s dick inside me pretty much erases that other guy from my memory at the moment.

He picks up the pace and fucks me until I can barely hold myself together. I’m coming while he isn’t there yet, throwing my head back, moaning, until his mouth finds mine, sucking, biting my lips.

“God, you’re beautiful when you come,” he pants into my ear, then props himself on his hands, throwing his head back, thrusting forcefully into me one last time before he comes and crashes down on me.

***

I wake up.

Something is different.

This isn’t my place.

I try to move, try to find my phone to check the time.

But I can’t move.

It takes me a moment until I realize where I am.

I’m still at Fassbender’s.

And he’s fast asleep, spooning me.

No.

No, no, no, no.

This can’t be happening.

It’s one thing to fuck someone.

It’s a completely different thing to sleep with someone.

This isn’t good.

Not at all.

This is much to intimate.

I struggle a bit to free myself and finally get out of the bed, looking for my phone and my clothes.

Shit, it’s already seven o’clock. We have to be on set at eight.

He’s waking up. Rubbing his eyes. Smiling at me when he sees me.

“Good morning.”

“Yeah,” I just mutter, “come on, get up, it’s already seven!”

“Fuck, really?”

He jumps out of the bed, searching his closet for clothes.

“Why the fuck did you let me fall asleep?” I complain.

“I thought it was quite nice having you stay over night,” I hear him say from the bathroom where he is now.

“Damn, I don’t have time to get home and change. Everyone’s gonna ask stupid questions when I come to work in the same clothes.”

“I can borrow you a shirt.”

He comes back, searches his closet again and throws a shirt at me.

It’s his Iron Maiden t-shirt.

“Are you kidding me? I could as well just wear a shirt that says ‘I fucked Fassbender last night’!”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he laughs but quickly stops when he sees that I don’t find this funny. “Here, this is just black. No one will know.”

He looks at me, somehow surprised, somehow confused, it’s hard to tell.

“What’s the matter? You’re not really a morning person, are you?”

I put the black shirt on and pull my hair back into a ponytail.

“No, not a morning person at all but that’s not it. It’s just that this,” I gesticulate between him and me, “this is a fun arrangement. But it’s not a sleep-over-and-spooning thing. It… it just isn’t.”

I grab my bag and my phone and slide into my shoes.

“Ok, gotta go. See you at the studio.”

“Sure,” he answers and looks at me.

When the elevator door closes I lean against the wall.

The way he just looked at me, for a split second he seemed almost disappointed.

Could it be possible, for some odd reason, that he actually likes me?

Oh please, I hope not.

Sure, he has been quite a nice guy lately, and he’s always been a great fuck.

But anything else?

No.

Definitely not.

I’m not a relationship kind of person.

And come on, from what we know, he isn’t either.

This is just bullshit.

I’m best of alone.

I need my freedom.

I’m not the cuddling and spooning type.

Although I have to admit, those few seconds after I woke up, before I knew what was going on, I felt pretty comfortable in his arms.