by J. O Mantel
“Turn around,” I order.
Brodie obliges and immediately spins around so that he’s now positioned doggy style, his palms resting on the seat and his knees on the floor, with his ass directly in front of my face. I haul myself up so that I’m resting only on my knees and reach into the pocket of my jacket. I pull out a condom and place the silver wrapping between my teeth, tearing open the packaging. I roll the latex over my erect cock and lean forward, pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks before raising my head and bucking my hips forward. Spitting on my palm, I massage it over my dick before I position the tip of my cock against his opening and slowly begin my intrusion.
“Fucking hell,” Brodie curses. As I pull out, I let a dribble of spit fall from my lips to land on my shaft before coating along the length with my thumb and forefinger. I push in again, feeling the gentle slide of his rim, and I tilt my head back as it hugs me tight. A quiver travels through his body, and even though I want to savour the moment, I know we don’t have all night.
With my hands gripping his hips, I ram my cock in and out of his tight ass, forcing a moan of pleasure to escape his lips with each thrust. I lean over and kiss his shoulder, slowly making my way up his neck as I grab a fistful of hair and tug his head backward, so I can crush our mouths together. I continue to pound his ass and I watch as Brodie grasps his cock and begins stroking. My body vibrates with each push and pull, and as I feel Brodie’s entire body clench beneath me, I slowly pull out of him, dig my nails deep into his skin, and then give him one last hard thrust.
“Hell … Deacon, I’m close.”
I carefully withdraw and then turn his body around. When I lean forward to kiss his mouth, I wrap my fist around his cock and give it a few strokes. With my other hand, I squeeze his balls, then slide it around to his ass cheeks as I sink to my knees and fasten my mouth around his throbbing length, shoving it relentlessly down my throat once more. He pushes deeper into my mouth as his cock swells and then he lets out a loud curse from above as he releases a hot, sticky eruption down my throat.
“Jesussss,” he hisses, tugging on my hair.
I swallow, then raise my head and look into his eyes from my place between his legs. My mouth is sore and swollen, but right now, I really don’t give a shit.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” I hear Brodie say.
“It was definitely worth making people wait for,” I confess.
“Mr. Brady, we’ll be at our destination in ten minutes.” I hear the driver’s voice come through the intercom.
I wipe the corner of my lips with my thumb, giving Brodie a wink as I sweep up his seed with my tongue. I ignore his groan as I remove my condom, gather our clothes, and quickly get dressed.
Ten minutes later and the two of us find ourselves inside one of Los Angeles’ most luxurious venues. Brodie and I head inside the building and immediately make our way over to the bar. After giving the woman behind the counter our order, she slides a scotch my way, and a vodka toward Brodie and then wipes down the counter. With my drink in hand and Brodie standing beside me, I lean against the bar and look around the room. There are people everywhere—men and woman talking with one another, drinking, laughing, and just being friendly. I’ve never really been expected to do much at these events—just show up, be myself, mingle, sign autographs, and pose for photos.
“Here he is, the man of the hour.” I turn to see Lloyd, the executive producer of Mind Crimes walking toward me and Brodie.
“Enjoying yourself, Lloyd?”
“You know me, give me free food and drink, and I’m the light of the party.”
“Lloyd, you remember my boyfriend. Brodie?”
“Yes, of course. Wonderful to see you again, Brodie.”
“You too, Lloyd.”
They shake hands, then Lloyd places one hand in his pocket and rests his back against the bar to look out at the rest of the crowd.
“Great turnout,” he says.
“Yeah. And where is your significant other?” I ask, referring to his wife, Christina.
“She went home after the event; wasn’t feeling too well.”
“Oh. I hope it’s nothing serious?’
“Probably just a bug or something.”
I glance to my right at Brodie who’s sipping his vodka while looking out at the guests. Then I focus my attention on Lloyd as he takes a mouthful of whatever liquid is in his glass. He stops drinking suddenly and lowers his glass, and I follow his eyes as they stop on someone in the crowd. A tall man, standing a fair distance away from us, is talking with a couple of other men and women around him. I narrow my eyes at the man in question, and although I can’t see his face properly, I note his alluring stance.
“That guy over there looks oddly familiar,” I say to no one in particular, taking a sip of my drink.
“He should, that’s Dante Blaze.”
I hear Brodie cough and splutter next to me and I turn to pat him on the back. “Are you okay?” He completely dismisses me as his eyes widen at the mention of the guy’s name.
“Did you just say Dante Blaze?” Brodie croaks.
“The one and only.”
“Holy shit!” I hear Brodie curse. “That guy is—”
“Totally hot!” we respond in unison.
I won’t deny the guy is delicious, in every way, shape, and form. I’ve seen him at several award ceremonies before, but I’ve always been too far away. Forgetting who I’m with momentarily, the crowd quickly parts, just in time for me to quickly assess the dark hair, broad shoulders, trim waist, and …
Mmhmm, check out that ass.
I bring the rim of my glass to my lips as Mr. Dante Blaze places a hand in his pocket. My eyes are glued to his throat as it moves with the motion of swallowing his own drink.
“Damn, to be as talented as that man,” Lloyd says.
“What are you talking about? You’re just as talented as he is.”
“I’m a producer of a soap opera. Dante Blaze is creator and producer of the highest rated crime show in America, P.I.”
“You’ve had many successful years, Lloyd. Not to mention awards.”
“Yes, I guess I have.”
He swallows the remaining liquid.
“Well, I guess I better go and be sociable.”
He blends into the crowd and I turn my focus back to the man in front of me who has captured my attention. The man in question then turns, clinks his glass with someone else, and is engulfed by the crowd around him.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” Brodie says.
I give him a nod then turn around to order another drink from the woman behind the bar, and when she slides it my way, I feel a set of eyes on me. I turn and see Tessa, my co-star and on-screen wife, sitting beside me.
“Well, hello there,” I say, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“Hi. Enjoying yourself?”
“You know me, always the belle of the ball,” I say with sarcasm.
“You’re bored shitless, aren’t you?”
“Yep! You know me, Tessa, I don’t do people.”
She barks out a laugh. “Oh, really? I’d say on the contrary, actually.”
Okay, so I left the door wide open for that one.
“You know what I mean. I’m not a people person, I don’t do all this fancy shit. I’d much rather be at home, naked in my bed with Brodie doing other extra-curricular activities that involve my mouth.”
“Speaking of, where is that gorgeous man of yours?”
“In the bathroom.”
“There are a lot of tongues wagging tonight; every man and woman here envy the two of you together.”
“Well, I was voted People’s Sexiest Man Alive.”
She rolls her eyes at my reply and brings the drink to her lips.
“Seems like you’re enjoying yourself. I’m surprised there isn’t a man on your arm who’s swept you off your feet.”
I down the contents of my glass and turn to the bartender again and signal the woman for another round. If I have to adult tonight, then I’m going to need some booze to get me in the mood. The bartender places another glass in front of me, but this time she rests a bottle of Pepsi beside it.
“Just making sure you slow down a little,” she tells me and wanders over to another customer.
“How many of those have you had?” Tessa asks.
“Two, possibly three, but who’s counting?”
“Clearly she is,” Tessa replies, narrowing her eyes on the woman behind the counter.
“She’s just doing her job. Besides, I really should slow down a little, after all, I don’t want to make an ass of myself. Not with this much media attention floating about. I don’t want to make news headlines for all the wrong reasons.”
Brodie appears beside me and leans in to give Tessa a kiss on the cheek. They talk for a few minutes while I scan the room. In front of me, Kirsten Dunst and Tom Hardy are having a laugh about something, as are Margot Robbie, Nicole Kidman, and Keith Urban who are standing right beside them.
“I think I better get back to the party and leave you two lovebirds alone,” Tessa says, as she takes a sip of her drink and walks through the crowd.
“Hey, what you say you and I head to a party when we’re done here?”
“A party? What kind of party?”
“Ryan Seacrest invited us back to his place for some poker. I know you’ve always had a secret crush on the guy.”
“Yeah, like twenty years ago. Poker, seriously, Brodie? All I want to do when tonight’s over is go home and perhaps play some strip poker with you. I’m not really in the mood for any more partying.”
“Well, I kind of promised him that we’d be there.”
“You did what?” I gasp.
“I thought you’d be up for it.”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, and when I open them again, I notice Ryan brush past us with a wave and a smile. I turn to Brodie who gives me his best puppy dog face.
“Look, why don’t you go by yourself. I’ll organize a car to pick you up when you’re ready.”
“You’re seriously not interested?”
“Babe, I’m exhausted, all I want to do is go home and crash, but if you want to go and spend time with Ryan, then I won’t get in your way.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“I love you,” he says, pressing his mouth to mine.
I pull away and say, “I love you too. I think I’ve made more than enough of an appearance here tonight. I’m going to head home. Text me later and I’ll organize a car.”
“You bet. Get some sleep.”
“I will.”
He presses another kiss to my lips then wanders off in the same direction as Ryan. Brodie’s right, I did indeed have a major crush on the guy, and if it were any other night, I would have gladly taken him up on his invitation. I pull out my cell phone and dial the number for my limo driver. Then I fix up my tab with the bartender and leave her a tip before making my way through the crowd and wave to those I know as I pass through to the exit.
“You realize Mr. Hottie, aka Deacon Brady, was totally checking you out at the party last night.”
I turn to look at Nicolette, my script writer and P.A for P.I., and I raise my eyebrows, “And how would you know that?” I ask.
“Please, the guy was totally undressing you with his eyes the entire time he was standing at the bar. Lord have mercy, that man is mighty fine. It’s just a shame he bats for the other team.”
I’ve heard rumors about the man voted sexiest and most eligible soap opera actor who captured the world playing the loveable Levi Beckett on Mind Crimes. But I also know of his bad boy ways when he was fresh on the show, and what he really got up to when the cameras stopped rolling. The guy is a wonderful actor and no doubt has the reputation for breaking people’s hearts, but that’s pretty much where my knowledge of the man stops.
“Total heartbreaker,” I say with sarcasm.
So the guy is a soap actor, I on the other hand, am a producer, and after eight successful seasons of a show I created, have decided to make this its final and best season. It’s been an overwhelming and liberating experience, not just for myself, but the entire cast and crew, and we’ve all agreed that it’s best to go out with a bang while the show is still on a high. Long before I made the decision to end the show, I started another project, something different that will really draw in the viewership and boost our ratings.
“So, since the show is almost over, have you given any thought as to what you might do next?”
“Funny you should say that, actually. There is something I’ve been thinking about.”
“Oh?”
“I’m talking reality television.”
“You hate reality TV,” Nicolette scoffs.
“I hate watching reality TV, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t consider creating a reality show of my own, however.”
“But doesn’t that kind of make you a hypocrite?”
“No, not really. I mean, I also hate shopping at Walmart, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t work there if I needed a job.”
“I see your point. What are you thinking, exactly?”
“The Bachelor meets The Bachelorette, with a hint of something different, something totally … gay. Twelve guys—twelve complete strangers—in twelve different locations, each one searching for love. At the end of the contest however, instead of the bachelor finding love and someone to spend the rest of his life with, he will receive twelve million dollars, and the most important rule of all …” I lean in and whisper in her ear.
Her eyes widen as I tell her my idea, then she places a finger on her lips and taps them thoughtfully before turning her attention back to me.
“Twelve countries … twelve men?”
“Exactly. We put out a casting call for any single men to try their luck and audition for our show, then we travel to each country and shortlist our top twelve finalists. Once the finalists have been selected, we cast our bachelor. What makes this different from any other match-making reality show is that it’s a gay version, a man looking for a man.”
“So he gets to travel to all these countries, and meet these men who you’ve chosen to swoon all over him?”
“You got it.”
It’s not something that’s ever been done before, and indeed a concept that’s sure to bring in millions of viewers every single week. The only problem though is finding a guy … a gay guy who’s crazy enough to go through with it.
“So who’s your guy?”
“I haven’t found him yet.”
I’ve managed to make something of myself over the years—I spent the first year of my career planning the concept of a prime-time crime drama, and the show has since won several accolades and lasted eight seasons. I’ve invested my money wisely, both here and in the overseas stock markets, mainly in real estate. I’ve also been extremely fortunate to be involved in a long running Australian soap opera for over twenty years as an executive producer, which has helped me sustain a healthy bank account. The idea of a gay-type reality show seems like the perfect idea; now all I need to do is find the perfect guy.
“You must have some idea who you want to cast.”
“Oh, I have several ideas, although, each one seems just as crazy as the other.”
“Such as?” Nicolette fishes.
“Channing Tatum.”
“Straight!” she states.
“Zac Efron.”
“Too young, and also straight.”
“Neil Patrick Harris.”
“Already married, but oh so hot!”
>
“Ricky Martin.”
“Lord, he can shake his bon bon at me any day of the week,” she replies.
“You realize you’re no help whatsoever, right?”
She lets out a sigh of frustration and throws her arms in the air, admitting defeat. She reaches for her coffee on the counter and slowly starts pacing my office. She brings the mug to her lips and takes a sip as I make my way around the desk and sit down in my chair. I lift the lid of my laptop and open the email containing the script for the episode we’re shooting tonight that Nicolette sent me earlier. I curl my fingers around my own mug and take a sip of my now stone-cold coffee.
Nicolette makes herself comfortable in the seat on the opposite side of my desk, crosses one leg over the other, and takes another long sip of coffee. I scan through some more emails and then focus back on Nicolette and I notice her attention on something on my desk.
“What about him?” she asks, picking up the current edition of People magazine sitting on my desk, with the newly crowned sexiest man alive on the cover.
“Deacon Brady?”
“He’s perfect. Gay, hot as hell, famous and—”
“In a long-term relationship.”
“But things change, so you can’t discount him for that. Any other arguments?”
“Employed … on another network.”
“Yes. But this is the deal of a lifetime, and no doubt more money than he’d be making right now.”
I consider her statement for a moment, then reach out and grab the magazine from her hands. I stare at Deacon’s picture for several moments and then back up at Nicolette.
“Even if that were an option, Deacon is no doubt locked into a contract, forbidding him to sign a deal with anyone else.”
“Yes, but contracts are made to be broken. Think about it, Dante. Deacon’s at the height of his career right now. Countless Emmy and Golden Globes winner, number one daytime soap hunk, philanthropist. The list goes on. Can you imagine what that would do for your show?”
The woman makes a valid and very convincing point. Deacon Brady would, without a doubt, be the ideal man to get me the ratings I need to make my show a complete success. The question is though, just how do I convince the man that this is the opportunity of a lifetime?
