Survival of the Fittest
- Chapter 5
“Show you the goods?” Marshall exclaimed. “Are you crackbrained? Show me the goods.”
Savannah Rae played with the front of her dress for a second. “Nah,” she finally said. “You can put up or shut up.”
So that was it. She didn’t think he’d go through with it. Marshall took his time studying her, trying to figure out what the best approach would be. He somehow doubted that if he whipped his shit out and started waving it around that he was going to see any action. “You got no intention of getting horizontal with me tonight, do you?”
“I don’t know yet. You might not be worth messing up my hair.”
He squeezed his forehead in an attempt to ward off the headache he felt brewing. “That ain’t it, and you know it. Don’t lie.”
“I’m hungry. I can’t possibly have sex on an empty stomach.”
“I’ll feed you! For fuck’s sake, call room service!”
She lifted one bare shoulder as if it didn’t matter. Her dress would rip with one good yank, and Marshall was sorely tempted. If he thought she’d do anything short of clawing his eyes out, the damn thing would already be reduced to a torn scrap of nothing. He narrowed his eyes at her, “And that ain’t it, either. Quit bullshitting me, Rae Rae.”
“I don’t know you. You haven’t even asked me out. This is like screwing before the first date.” She paused. “Get it?”
Oh, that was rich. He gave an impromptu concert for her, had no less than six bodyguards surrounding the pit to see that she didn’t get hurt, and she was pissed he hadn’t asked her out? “I wrote you a song. You think I do that for just anybody?” He demanded.
“Be still my beating heart, the God of Rap wrote me a song! Please. My friend Jenn could’ve written that piece of shit.”
“You’re saying our song is a piece of shit?”
She flipped her hair and gave him about the snottiest look he’d ever seen. “I don’t call ‘gotta see for myself if them babies is implants’ lyrical genius, no.”
“Whatchu expect, a love song or somethin’? Get real, woman.”
Savannah Rae was off the bed like a shot. “I’ll just show myself out.” She huffed. Marshall moved to block the door, fighting down a grin.
“Not so fast. Are you forgetting why I wrote that? Does the song ‘Clown’ by Mariah-the-bitch ring any bells? And let’s not forget that he kissed me.”
“Mmmm. Yeah. About that – he said your breath could knock a buzzard off a shit truck at a hundred yards. I had to tip him another twenty bucks.”
“I care?”
“I think we should just call it a night, Rap Boy. You won’t show me the goods, and I’m not gonna buy a pig in a poke. Plus you have bad breath.”
“See for yourself.” Marshall snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her flush up against him. He covered her mouth with his, kissing her hard, deep, to the point of oxygen deprivation. They were both gasping when at last he broke contact. “You taste good,” he muttered. Savannah Rae was already stretching up on her toes for more. She licked his bottom lip and he gently captured her tongue, wetly sucking it into his mouth.
Marshall took his time backing her across the room. Along the way his hands skimmed over every inch of her he could reach. Her tits were real. God help him, they were real. She had a great ass, tight thighs, smooth skin. And a perfect little pussy. By the time they landed on the mattress, his hand was in her panties and all he had to do to make her whimper was lightly stroke her clit with his thumb. “You like that?” He asked.
“Oh, yeah…”
“You want more, baby?”
She bucked her hips in answer, and of course he complied. Marshall closed his lips over one tightly beaded nipple and sucked through the thin material of her bra and dress. His thumb kept up a steady rhythm between her legs, and before long he had to ease off the pressure to keep her from finishing without him.
Or from finishing, period.
“Double Rae,” he said, smirking into her neck. She was still trying to ride his fingers, but Marshall was slowing her down to the barest, lightest of touches.
“What?” she cried.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon around three.”
~*~
Marshall Bruce Mathers III doubted he’d ever seen a more pissed off female. Savannah Rae had looked like she wanted to kill him, and for all intents and purposes – he couldn’t really blame her. No amount of jerking off was going to give him much relief tonight.
Round two, however, was his. He’d finally bested the bitch.
God only knew what she’d do to get him back, but it was worth it just to see the look on her face. Laughing under his breath in remembrance, he picked up the phone and dialed Paul.
“Rosenberg.”
“It’s me. Do you know where I can book a private place on the beach?” He heard Paul sigh.
“When do you want it?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I don’t know, Marsh. It’s short notice, but I’ll see what I can do. You just want something private?”
“That’s the main thing. If it’s kinda swanky, that would help too.”
“Ahhh. It’s for Savannah Rae,” Paul snickered.
“Yeah. And before you ask, I got her good. So at least one room with a deadbolt might not be a bad idea.”
“You can’t lock her in, you idiot! You’re trying to give me an ulcer, aren’t you? That woman could turn around and sue your fucking pants off, Mathers…”
“For me, asshole. Not her,” Marshall interrupted. There was a brief moment of silence on the line before his manager cracked up. “Just find me a place, aiight?” He yelled. Christ. “And if you tell anyone about this-.”
“Sorry, Marsh. I already filled DeShaun in. Him and Swift started a betting pool; it’s up to about five hundred.”
Marshall hung up on him without another word and stomped off to take a cold shower. He was undoubtedly going to be hearing about this for months.
~*~
The phone rang at three in the morning, and Marshall, who wasn’t exactly sleeping peacefully, snatched it up. “Yeah?” He grunted.
“Iz deez Marshaaaall?” Someone drawled.
“Jesssss,” he replied in the same accent. Was someone seriously trying to prank call him?
“We need eeen-for-mation, Marshaaaall. Iz Savannah Rae weeeth you?”
“Fuck off, Proof. And I’ma tell your girl ‘bout your subscription to ‘Amateurs in Panties’.”
“She got it for me. Tough break, homie.” Proof paused. “How’d you know it was me?”
“You slipped up when you said her name. Didn’t over-enunciate the ‘a’ that time. And you got a distinct speech pattern, stupid.”
“Shit.” His friend hung up without further comment. Marshall had just replaced the receiver when the phone rang again. He picked it back up. “Grand Central fucking Station. Does she know about the one to ‘mydatesboobs.com’?”
“Um, it’s Savvy.” He sat up and fumbled for the lamp. Something was wrong; he could hear it in her voice. And she’d never referred to herself as anything other than Savannah Rae before.
“What’s the matter?”
“There’s, umm… there’s a whole bunch of people outside my room. Fans, I think. I called the concierge, but that was fifteen minutes ago and they’re beating on the door really hard now…”
“Go in the bathroom and lock the door, okay? I’ma have someone there in just a minute.” He heard her shriek and jumped up. “What? What was that?”
“The doorframe’s splintered! They’re gonna-.”
“Get in the bathroom now! I gotta hang up to send someone down there.” The phone on her end hit something with a thud, and Marshall disconnected. He dialed the main security number and shouted for them to get their dead fucking asses to room four-sixty. Then he called Paul. “She’s in trouble, Paul. The fans got her room number!”
“Fuck, did you call for security?”
“They should be there in just a minute. Can you go down with Mac and get her?”
“On my way.”
Marshall ran to the front door of his suite and jerked it open. “Mac,” he said to the posted guard, “I need you to go with Paul, it’s an emergency.” Paul was already barreling down the hall towards them and the service elevator.
“But I’m not supposed to leave your door…” The man faltered.
“IT. IS. AN. EMERGENCY. Go!” He shouted.
Mac and Paul were on the elevator thirty seconds later, leaving Marshall to pace back and forth in front of it. He should’ve seen this coming. Christ, why had he called her real name out on stage? Did he have shit for fucking brains?
It was twenty minutes before the elevator doors slid open. Savannah Rae was standing between his manager and security guard, both of whom towered over her by an even foot. She looked shaken and intimidated. Marshall swore under his breath and reached in to pull her out. “C’mere, baby.”
“You goddamn idiot! You said my name on stage! You’ve just ruined my entire vacation! Do you think I get to go to Hawaii all the time? Do you think this is acceptable to me?” She roared.
Shit. He backed up, but Double Rae was on fire. She came off the elevator and advanced on him with all the fury of a hosed down housecat. “What am I supposed to do now? Can you tell me that?”
“I…”
“You arrogant fucking can’t-take-a-joke dickless wonder!”
“I know it’s my fault, but …”
“Shut-up!” She stormed into his suite and slammed the door behind her. Paul’s face was turning red.
“You’re welcome to the couch in my room,” he choked.
“Go ahead and laugh, prick! And you might as well call Proof and fill him in, and the rest of the guys. Hell, take out a full page spread in the Detroit News!” Marshall shouted. He turned on his heel and stormed into his suite with the sound of Paul and Mac’s laughter following him.
~*~
“Don’t you ever eat?” Savannah Rae demanded. She was staring into the refrigerator. His suite came with a fully appointed kitchen, but he hadn’t had it stocked with much. It was easier to call room service most of the time.
“Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.”
“Don’t be nice to me, you vacation-ruining bug-fucker. I’m mad at you!”
Was she saying his dick was small? More importantly, did he dare open his mouth? “I think I liked it better when you called me an ingrate,” he remarked. “Look Rae Rae, I’m really sorry… you have every right to be pissed. I don’t know if it matters to you, but I called Paul tonight and asked him to find me a private place on the beach. I was gonna take you and… never mind. Consider it yours, okay? You can take your friends with you and finish out your vacation there.”
“I said not to be nice to me!” she screamed, but her eyes were suspiciously bright. And Marshall finally caught the clue wagon.
“If you don’t stay mad, you’re gonna start crying. Right?” She whipped back around and stared into the refrigerator. Marshall moved in behind her and tentatively slipped his hands around her waist.
“Do you like Eggs Benedict?” Savannah Rae wanted to know.
“I guess.” He swiveled her around to face him. “Do you get hungry when you’re upset, too?” Marshall affectionately tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear and bent to kiss her forehead.
“No asshole, I cook,” she growled.
He pulled her more securely into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. “In that case, I love Eggs Benedict.”
-----//
Author’s Notes: credit to Sky for “Double Rae.” She called one of our forum members, Rae Rae, that once and it stuck with me forever. I just thought it was too cute. So Sky, I hope you don’t mind that I filed it away in my convoluted little brain and pulled it out for one of my chapters.
Special thanks to Kai for beta reading.
Dedicated, of course, to our own Savannah Rae. I hope I did you justice, babe. And if I mangled your personality too badly, I apologize.
Back to fan fiction indexAuthor: jenn@shadyfiction.com
These stories are for entertainment purposes only. They are completely fictitious, and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character. No money was made on the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't take it seriously.