Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 2: Mason (4 page)

I
t’s been
a week since I sank my cock into Mona Simmons and there’s still no word from Claire Jarrett, which I find weird. Worse than that, in fact — it’s distressing, especially considering I’ve verified that word about the hookup was passed on to her. I know that woman well enough to know she wouldn’t just ignore my fucking her client’s manager. She’s got something up her sleeve and I can smell it.

Fortunately, we have a common friend who owes me a favor. Emma Hendry is an independent producer who asked for my help last year when the lead in her movie checked into rehab the day before before filming was to commence. It can be difficult to find a quality actor on such short notice, but the guy I gave her turned out to be perfect for the role and the film was a big festival hit. I know Emma and Claire are friends because I’ve seen them hanging out together at various industry events.

Without even asking why I’m interested in getting together with Claire, Emma agrees to set up a secret rendezvous. Secret because Claire won’t know about my presence until it’s too late.

The following day at happy hour, I walk into upscale West Hollywood watering hole Pastiche and see Emma and Claire sitting at the bar. I’m in gray jeans and a black button-down shirt with black Prada slip-on sneakers. Casual, but cool. I’ve already waited an hour after Emma texted me to say they were there, so Claire should have a couple of drinks in her by now.

As I make my way across the room, I make a mental note that Emma is a true ally. The two women don’t see me until I’m practically on top of them.

“Well look who’s here,” I say, feigning surprise. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.” Unlike Emma, Claire doesn’t have to fake anything, as she’s legitimately surprised to see me.

I make small talk with the two of them for a moment, then Emma asks, “I really should get going. Mason, will you be a gentleman and keep Claire company for me?” Claire gives her a look, but doesn’t say anything as I take Emma’s seat.

“Sorry for ducking out on you at Trident last week,” I say. “I had a busy schedule that day, and made last-minute plans for later that evening.”

“Such a busy boy,” Claire says with a smile, not biting on my hint about hooking up with Mona. “I don’t blame you for running before Jackie could come back and strangle you.”

I signal the bartender over. “I’ll have a Macallan 21, and bring the lady another of whatever she’s drinking.”

“So I’m a lady now?” Claire asks with more than a little snark.

“Actually, I haven’t heard a peep from Jackie since the meeting. I did bump into Mona that night at the Melrose Star, though.” I refrain from saying I bumped into her quite hard, over and over.

“Did you even bother to ask Drake if he’d give up some salary in the name of women’s rights?” she asks.

Claire totally ignored my mention of Mona. I’m sure she got the news about what happened, but she’s certainly not acting like it. As I laugh at her silly question, I notice how great she looks tonight. Jeans with a cream-colored low-cut silk top and a black blazer over it. Her breasts aren’t very big, but her bra is helping her cheat, and I like the effect.

“Drake earns his money,” I say. “Cheyenne may get there one day, but not just yet.”

“Jackie and I both think that day has come.”

“It hasn’t, I assure you.” I look her in the eye and see those giant hypnotic blue orbs looking back at me. Damn, I never realized before how utterly beautiful this woman is. Pushing the thought from my mind, I add, “Mona admitted she knew Cheyenne had no chance at equal pay.”

Claire rolls her big eyes and turns back to her drink.

“What did I say?” I ask innocently.

“Was it worth it, Mason? Was she good?”

“Was who worth what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She turns back to me and says sweetly, “I’m talking about you sticking your dick in my client’s manager.”

I pretend to be surprised that she knows, but Claire sees right through me.

“Of course I knew about you and Mona. You practically had the news hand-delivered to me.”

“You had no business taking Mona’s request to Jackie,” I say. “You should have advised her to drop the demand. That meeting was a waste of everyone’s time and I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

“And you chose to do so like an amateur,” she says. “It was a nice parlor trick, but what did it have to do with business? We both know it will have no effect on the equal pay issue.”

Claire doesn’t seem upset at all. It’s weird how emotionless she is about.

“Besides, word is you’re not very discerning when it comes to sex partners anyway. A handsome guy like you should be more selective.”

I ignore everything except the last sentence. “So you think I’m handsome?”

She places a hand on my cheek and says, “Every woman thinks you’re handsome. But you know that.”

Her hand lingers on my face a second too long, then she removes it and says, “Anyway, it wasn’t fair to Mona, using her like that to send me a message. Next time you want to fuck me, don’t use a middleman.”

There’s an awkward pause as I try to parse the true meaning of her sentence.

Claire sees my expression and hurriedly corrects herself. “I’m talking strictly about business.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Fuck Claire in person next time.”

She’s undeterred. “See, that’s the difference between us, Mason,” she says. “You play these little games, whereas if I decide to fuck you, you will definitely know you’ve been fucked.”

“Will I?” All this talk about us fucking each other is starting to fuel my imagination and my smirk reflects my thoughts.

“Business-wise! Because that’s the only way in which there will ever be any fucking between you and me.”

Finally, I seem to have gotten a rise out of her.

“Never say never,” I say.

“Oh, I can definitely say never in this case. You’re far too slimy for my tastes.”

We stare at each other in silence for a moment. I’m no mind-reader but I know women pretty well, and the look on Claire’s face says she’s trying hard not to imagine fucking me in a non-business sense. As she breaks away to take a sip from her martini, I glance at her modest cleavage and see her chest rise and fall. This conversation and the alcohol she’s consumed are getting to her. Perfect.

“You’re just mad because I got my way in that meeting,” I say, changing the subject.

She laughs. “Actually, all you did was piss off one of the most powerful women in Hollywood. I was surprised because I thought you were smarter than that.”

“I know what I’m doing. We both know who’s the better negotiator here.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” she says. “If it weren’t for Drake Manning, you’d be fighting for B-list scraps.”

Ouch. That was below the belt. Not entirely true, but close enough to sting. The scotch in my belly insists that I counter-punch.

“Let’s bet on it,” I say. “A friendly wager to see who’s the better agent.”

Our eyes meet. Goddamn, I could lose myself in eyes like that. I actually have to look away first, losing the stare test.

“I’ve got a bet for you,” she says. “I’ll bet I can get Cheyenne a salary equal to Manning’s for
Texas Flood
.“

I actually laugh out loud. “I wouldn’t bet on that if I were you, Claire.”

“I knew it,” she says, then turns to her drink again.

“Knew what?”

“That you’d chicken out.”

“No, I’m in if you are,” I say. “What happens if the film doesn’t get made at all?”

“Then it’s a tie and nobody wins.”

“Okay, let’s do this. What will we wager?” I’m aware that this conversation is making me horny.

Turning toward me again, Claire says, “I already know what I want: When I win, you literally have to grovel at my feet. Massage them, wash them, kiss them.” She pauses. “Right after you give me a million dollars.”

Wow. That’s a huge chunk of change. I know two things she doesn’t seem to know, though: Mason Stark doesn’t grovel for anyone, and there’s absolutely no fucking way she can win this bet because I hold all the cards.

“I accept,” I say. “And when I win…”

I lean in and lock eyes with her.

“… you will take a week of vacation and spend it as my live-in sex slave.”

To my astonishment, Claire doesn’t flinch. I said it as a joke, knowing there’s no way she would take such an outrageous bet. I had expected my wager to bring the idea of a bet to a screeching halt. Instead, Claire continues to look me in the eyes and I realize she’s actually thinking it over. Her poker face is exceptional and my pulse quickens with every passing second.

“And no Clintonesque definitions,” I say, clarifying my terms. “I’m talking actual sex. Anything I request of you, within reason. Willingly, with one-hundred per cent effort put into it.”

Claire’s chest is still rising and falling. Those beautiful lips are slightly parted as she considers the wager, then she extends a hand to me.

“It’s a bet,” she says. As we shake on it, the feeling of our flesh touching and the thought of this hot woman naked and at my beck and call for a week sends blood rushing to my cock. It’s all that I can do to keep from getting a full-on boner right then and there.

Half an hour later I screech to a stop in my driveway. Entering my home, I go immediately to the bedroom, strip, and grab the lube from the drawer of my nightstand. Then I lie on the bed and stroke my hard-on as I fantasize about the prize that awaits me. It doesn’t take long before I’ve made a total mess of my chest and belly.

I
fidget
while waiting for the valet to bring my car around. Mason has just sped away and I’m feeling very confused.

Despite knowing this confrontation was going to happen at some point, I’m a little surprised because it was not at all what I expected. Especially those last few moments.

I practically despise Mason Stark, yet I’m attracted to him sexually? What the fuck is wrong with me?

I try to reassure myself. Maybe it was the excitement of the bet. Maybe it was the two drinks.

Or maybe it’s just been too long since I got laid. Yeah, that’s got to be it.

I pull out my phone and fire off a text.

Okay, you win. Meet me at my place in 30 mins.

The reply comes quickly.

You serious?

I send him a simple “yes” and in return I get:

Told you! LOL

Jesus, really?

Don’t gloat. Just get over here and fuck me.

As the driver pulls up with my car, I get a final text.

I’ll be right there.

I rush home to quickly freshen up and change clothes. But what does one wear for something like this?

Bobby Landau and I have gone out several times, and I had high hopes at first. He’s an entertainment attorney and pretty easy on the eyes. He’s not tall at five-foot-eight, but I’m only five-four myself. I prefer my men taller, but Bobby is smart and successful and when he asked me out a few months back, I happily agreed.

The first date was above average, but not earth-shattering. Dinner, then drinks at a jazz club. He kissed me in the club’s parking lot, and that kiss was promising, but then he made the mistake of trying to impress me with his sense of humor on the drive home. He’s far too goofy for my taste, and when he kissed me a second time in my driveway, I just wasn’t feeling it. I didn’t invite him up, but we agreed to go out again.

On the next two dates, I also declined to get more physical, then actually had to flat out state that I liked him but didn’t want to sleep with him. Bobby’s fun to be around, but I didn’t see him as a lover. He got the “let’s just be friends” hint and since then, we’ve gone to the movies together occasionally. Every time, though, he kept teasing me, saying, “You know you’ll come around eventually. I’m going to continue to charm you until you finally give in.” It’s an ongoing joke between us, but I also sense that he’s serious about it.

His strategy seems to have finally paid off, because now here I am, actually giving in. Standing naked in my bedroom, I’m stumped about what to wear. I’m not trying to seduce this man, so lingerie seems silly. I’m not interested in stilted conversation and drinks beforehand, so getting back into a full outfit makes no sense. I could wear shorts and a tank top, but that strikes me as a little too sex-kitten-y.

Ideally, I want about an hour of good sex and an orgasm or two. And since I want it to begin as soon as possible after Bobby arrives, I decide to just throw on a silk robe, leaving nothing underneath.

The doorbell rings. There’s no turning back now — I’m actually going to do this. I realize I’m using Bobby for sex and probably won’t sleep with him again. If he’s really good, I suppose we could be friends with benefits, but I know myself well enough to know there’s a greater chance of this ruining our friendship, such as it is. I’m fine with that. I have enough friends, and right now I just want to feel a man inside of me.

Bobby looks good in a hoodie, T-shirt and scruffy jeans. I’m glad he didn’t dress up for this. He smells good, too, as he hugs me.

“So just out of curiosity, what made you change your mind?” he asks.

Dammit, he’s going to kill the mood. I just know it.

I stifle a sigh, then say, “Bobby, we’re going to do this on one condition: Do not talk. At all. Don’t say a single word. I will do all the talking.”

“Ooh, kinky!”

I immediately press a finger to his lips while glaring at him and shaking my head.

He grins and nods, then I put a hand on his chest and push him back a couple of feet. Foreplay begins
now
. I want this man ready as soon as possible. Smiling, I undo my robe, letting it fall off my shoulders to the floor. When he gets over his shock, his eyes quickly assess my naked body, pausing at my breasts, which I’m self-conscious about because they’re on the small side of medium. As his gaze drifts downward, it dawns on me that I don’t even care that I haven’t waxed recently and there’s a short coat of blonde hair there.

When he takes a step toward me, I slide my fingers under his T-shirt then down the front of his jeans, with the back of my hand against his lower abdomen. I don’t feel any trace of cock at all and hope that’s not a bad sign. Turning, I pull him by the pants across the living room, then down the hall to my bedroom. Once there, I release him and stand back.

“Take your clothes off,” I command. I make a mental note that forcing a man to remain mute while you order him around is actually kind of hot.

Bobby complies, then makes the mistake of taking off his pants before his socks, leaving him momentarily wearing navy blue briefs and black socks.
Lovely
, I think sarcastically. Thankfully he’s quick about removing them.

His cock is small and not hard at all, so I can only hope he’s a grower. It’s disappointing that my exhibitionistic display didn’t get a rise out of him, though, nor my watching him strip. Determined not to delay this any longer, I take matters into my own hands.

Then into my mouth.

I’m relieved that Bobby responds to my lips and tongue, and I feel him growing larger in my mouth. Eventually he reaches a respectable average length. More importantly, though, he’s quite hard.

“You did bring condoms, didn’t you?” I ask, stroking him to keep him hard.

Bobby nods and rummages through his pants, fishing a three-pack out of the pocket.

I climb on the bed and recline, gesturing for Bobby to bring that erection over. When he lies next to me and tries to kiss me, I stop him. He gets the point and instead kisses his way from my neck down to my breasts, gently taking a nipple into his mouth. A little too gently, to be honest, but it’ll have to do.

He moves toward my belly, kissing along the way, until I realize he’s planning on going down on me. I stop him again by grabbing a fistful of hair and turning his head toward me, then shaking my head.

“No need,” I say. “I’m ready.”

His hand slides between my legs and he softly strokes a finger up and down, along the seam. Good thing he can’t see me rolling my eyes.

“Bobby, put your cock in me. NOW.”

He looks perplexed, but moves to the end of the bed as I open my legs wide for him. He grabs a condom and rips open the package, then stares right at my open pussy while he slides it over his hard shaft. I have to admit it’s kind of hot, and I’m suddenly looking forward to this again.

That burst of optimism fades quickly. It feels great when he pushes his way inside me, but as he continues to gently slide in and out, I squirm a little, trying to goad him into being rougher.

I didn’t bring this man here to make love to me. I want him to take charge, to have his way with me. I want him to ignore my no-talking ban and say horribly dirty things to me and call me filthy names. I want him to feel compelled to take advantage of my hospitality by exploring every orifice I have. Most of all, I want him to pound me with that hard cock until I scream in ecstasy, then to pull out when he’s ready and come on whatever part of my body appeals to him.

I don’t just want sex. I want to be
ravaged
.

Unfortunately, no matter how I try to coax Bobby in that direction, it doesn’t happen. Maybe it’s just not in his nature. It’s been quite a while since I was with a man who did that for me. I sigh to myself, understanding it’s not in the cards tonight, and try to make the best of what I’m working with.

Bobby picks up the pace, but he’s still far too gentle and I’m nowhere in the vicinity of an orgasm. He seems to be getting close, though, and I try to make it as good as possible for him, stroking his hair and looking into his eyes as his thrusts quicken. It actually feels pretty good. He’s pounding me — kind of — and I begin to feel the nascent stirrings of an orgasm. Then he suddenly grunts, thrusts a few more times, and comes to a stop.

So much for that. Since I’m not a total bitch, I continue to stroke his back as he catches his breath. He cautiously pulls out, removes the condom, and heads to the bathroom to dispose of it. I remain prostrate on the bed, hoping there might be a round two now that he’s had an orgasm to settle him down. When he returns a moment later with a smile and an already limp cock, I know I need to change my plans.

Bobby eases beside me on the bed. In no mood to cuddle, I grab him gently by that thick hair and guide him downward.

“It’s my turn,” I say. “I need your tongue now.”

Bless his heart, Bobby gives it all he’s got, but he’s simply not a very skilled lover and spends more than half his time nowhere near my clit. It’s frustrating because he lands on it occasionally and I start to get into it, then his tongue drifts away before much can happen.

For a second, I mentally berate myself for bringing him into my bed in the first place. Couldn’t I have just given myself an orgasm? Why did I need a man at all?

That’s when I think of Mason Stark again. When Bobby arrived at my house, I’d pushed him out of my mind, but as Bobby’s tongue miraculously locates my clit and stays there, I imagine losing my bet to Stark and being forced to have sex with him. Unlike what I’m currently experiencing, Stark is aggressive and determined, fucking me hard with his surprisingly large cock. Hey, it’s my imagination — I can have whatever I want. He’s on top of me, looking me straight in the eye as he pummels me mercilessly.

I submit to the little fantasy and am surprised to feel my orgasm rapidly approaching, seemingly out of nowhere. Bobby gently licks away while Stark practically assaults me. My body begins to quiver. In my mind, Stark flips me over, then pulls me up by my waist until I’m on my hands and knees. He grabs my hips and rams his cock into me, then pounds away, and for a split second it actually seems real. Then my brain seems to explode as I momentarily lose all sense of which man I’m actually with. I cry out loudly and grab Bobby’s head with both hands, pressing his mouth tightly against me as wave after massive wave crashes over me.

The orgasm seems to last forever and my body is left tingling all over in ecstasy. I eventually release Bobby and he slides up the sheets till he’s next to me. We lie there for maybe thirty seconds before I climb out of bed and hand him his underwear and pants.

“Have I earned the right to talk?” he asks with a grin.

“Yes,” I say, forcing a smile. “But it’s time to go home. Get dressed.”

I slip my robe on and wait while he dresses.

“That was pretty intense,” he says as he fumbles with his socks.

“Maybe you shouldn’t talk after all, Bobby. Let’s both keep quiet for now.”

When he’s finished dressing, I walk him to the door. He takes me in his arms and hugs me, then presses his lips to mine. His face smells like my juices, and I make sure the kiss is quick and doesn’t involve tongues. Still abiding by my no-talk rule, he holds his hand to his ear, indicating he’ll give me a call. I smile and nod, trying not to look overly enthusiastic about it.

Returning to my bedroom, I’m still wondering how on earth I reached the point where I felt such an urgent desire to enlist Bobby’s carnal assistance. What came over me? Could it really have been my interaction with Stark? That’s just plain weird.

I climb under the covers and turn off my lamp. My body feels blissfully relaxed from that huge orgasm. I think about Bobby’s mediocre oral sex skills and am absolutely shocked that he was able to get me off like that. He somehow managed to guide me to an exceptional orgasm.

Then I remember the thoughts that were playing in my head while Bobby tried to locate my clit. Out of nowhere, I again feel Stark’s hands on my hips, his cock hammering inside of me from behind. When I feel that familiar warmth between my legs, I realize Bobby had very little to do with it.

Mason Stark gave me that orgasm.

Sex with Stark might not be the worst thing in the world. After all, he’s a very sexy man. But the idea of being his sex slave – whatever that entails — for a week is more than a little disturbing.

Luckily, I won’t have to, because there’s no way I lose that bet.