by Max Monroe
She doesn’t have to tell me twice.
Condom on scant seconds later, I lift Birdie up into my arms, wrap her slender thighs around my waist, and slide inside her.
So tight, so perfect, fuck, how does she always feel so good?
I push her up against the wall, bury my face between her breasts, and fuck her until she’s coming around my cock.
Damn, what a glorious start to the day.
Birdie
I think I might be addicted to Andrew Watson’s big, glorious penis. It’s like I’m a military groupie or something.
I’ll take “Words I Never Thought I’d Think” for one thousand, Alex.
At a little after five in the morning, with a fresh cup of coffee in my hand, I head into the hair and makeup trailer and find Maureen sleepily getting everything organized.
“Morning, Maur.”
“Morning, honey.” She returns the sentiment and flashes a tired smile my way. “Take a seat, and I’ll get started here shortly.”
I follow her instructions, knowing full well it’ll be a good fifteen minutes before she finds the strength to dive into my hair and makeup.
Maureen is the exact opposite of a morning person. I admire that part of her personality.
While she sets out a vast array of lotions and powders and brushes, I take a drink of my coffee and pull my phone out of my pocket and type out a message.
Me: Rise and shine, Andy. You need to start getting your ass out of bed.
His response comes in a minute later.
Andrew: What the hell, firecracker? Why didn’t you wake me up before you left?
Since he didn’t need to be on set until eight today, I didn’t bother waking him up before I left his room this morning.
Me: I figured you needed your beauty sleep.
Andrew: No, sweetheart, you have that all wrong. I need my cock inside you to make sure my day starts off on the right foot.
A shiver rolls through me when I read his message. Hot damn.
Honestly, I’m not sure what we’re trying to do or why I can’t seem to stop doing all the dirty and delicious things that we’re doing, but for the past week, my schedule has revolved around filming, occasional studio time, and having secret sex rendezvous with Andrew.
Besides being his teasing self and a true wizard at giving awesome orgasms, he hasn’t been anything but mind-blowingly sweet.
That asshole I met during my audition has been surprisingly MIA. Truthfully, when I think back on it, that asshole persona left the building when he saved my trippy ass from doing something reckless the night I accidentally got high.
And, it should be noted, ever since we opened Pandora’s box of wild sex, we’ve banged like bunnies in my hotel room or his hotel room or my trailer or his trailer every single day. Even hours after we do all sorts of bad and sexy things to each other, his smell still lingers on my body and spurs insane fantasies inside my mind where I imagine him entering me again and again and again.
I think it’s becoming a problem.
One I’m not too keen on fixing just yet, but a problem, nonetheless.
Girls just wanna have some secret fun and all that…right?
But are you sure that’s all this is about? Just fun?
I roll my eyes at myself and type out a response while I note that Maureen is getting closer to being ready for me, already plugging in the blow-dryer and styling iron in my periphery.
Me: I think you have a problem, sir.
Andrew: Like an I need to go to rehab kind of problem?
Me: Yeah, something like that.
Andrew: My name is Andrew Watson, and I’m a Birdie Harris pussy-holic.
I have to bite my lip to fight my giggle.
Me: There is something seriously wrong with you.
Andrew: Tell that to your glorious pussy, sweetheart. It’s all her fault. Speaking of which, let her know I’m going to slip my tongue inside her when we’re on break today.
Me: Have you even looked at the schedule? Because when you do, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.
Andrew: Our breaks don’t line up today?
Me: Nope. I’ll be shooting Arizona flashback scenes all day.
Andrew: What the fuck.
Me: Sorry, Andy. ;)
Andrew: I guess I’ll just have to make up for it tonight.
Me: I don’t know… I think I’m probably going to be too tired. I mean, I did have to wake up at four this morning.
Andrew: That’s not a problem, sweetheart. This is between me and your perfect pussy, anyway. You can sleep while I feast on her.
Lord Almighty. A rush of heat takes over my body, and I have the sudden urge to fan myself. Did Maureen forget to turn on the A/C in this trailer?
Me: You’re evil.
Andrew: I’m pretty sure you mean I’m the nicest, most thoughtful, most giving gentleman you’ve ever met.
I can’t deny that he’s incredibly unselfish when it comes to sex.
Always putting my pleasure first, he’s like the Mother Teresa of orgasms.
Andrew: Fuck, Birdie, my cock is already hard just thinking about the things I’m going to do to you tonight.
Me: That sounds like quite the dilemma…
Andrew: Tell me about it. You better start talking about something else, or I’m going to end up doing something crazy like show up in that goddamn hair and makeup trailer and fuck you senseless while Maureen tries to get you ready.
Me: Don’t be such a horny drama queen. And I’m pretty sure you can make it until tonight.
Andrew: I don’t know, sweetheart. I know you’re wanting to keep all the hot sex we’re having on the down low, but my hard cock is about ready to let the cat out of the bag.
God, he’s ridiculous.
But also, he’s generally a man of his word.
So, in the name of keeping our hot sex rendezvous top secret, I do a little damage control and try to reroute the conversation. Hell, I haven’t even told my sister about Andrew’s and my newfound…friendliness. The last thing I need is for her and Rocky to find out because some gossip magazine splashes it across their front page.
Those two still won’t let me live down the whole “wearing his underwear to lunch” thing, for fuck’s sake. If this sex cat really got out of the bag, I’d never hear the end of it. And it goes without saying that the media would have a flipping field day. One I’m certainly not ready to handle. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for a highly publicized relationship like that. It’s hard enough handling the media when it’s just about simple things like my music or fashion or what coffee I like to drink.
Me: What do you want for dinner tonight?
Andrew: Birdie’s pussy.
I roll my eyes. Pervert.
Me: Food, Andy. Since I’m figuring you won’t leave me alone once we’re done for the day, we’re going to have to eat something. So, what FOOD do you want to eat tonight?
Andrew: You are 100% correct. And I already told you. ;)
Me: Focus, you horny bastard.
Andrew: How about tacos? I know they’re you’re favorite.
My stomach is already grumbling in agreement.
Me: Yes, please.
Andrew: Would tacos also be your choice for a birthday dinner?
Me: Tacos are always the choice, Andy.
Andrew: And what about cake? What’s Birdie’s favorite kind of birthday cake?
While comparing horrible driver’s license pictures last night, he happened to find out that my twenty-eighth birthday is at the end of May. Less than two weeks away, in fact. His, on the other hand, isn’t until the beginning of July, and he’ll turn thirty-six.
Now, while I don’t think thirty-six is old at all, I still teased him about being a grandpa.
Me: I already told you, I don’t want to make a big deal of my birthday, old man.
Andrew: Funny ha-ha with the old man shit. And don’t worry, I’m going to completely ignore your birthday. But I still need to kn
ow what kind of cake you like.
“All right, Birdie.” Maureen’s voice grabs my attention, and I look up from the screen of my phone to find her almost locked and ready to start applying my makeup. “I think I’m almost set to go.”
Me: Gotta go, Andy. It’s hair and makeup time.
Andrew: Birdie, if you don’t tell me what kind of cake you like, I’ll show up in that trailer in about twenty minutes with a naked birthday celebration of my own.
Me: You are a psycho.
Andrew: I’m waiting…
Knowing full well he won’t let this go, I give in to his ridiculous demands.
Me: I don’t actually like birthday cake. I’m more of a pie kind of gal. Strawberry pie is my favorite.
Andrew: You’re so weird.
Me: If by weird, you mean I have excellent taste in desserts, then I agree.
Andrew: Have a good day, sweetheart. I’ll see you and your perfect, sweet-as-honey pussy tonight. ;)
I smile. I can’t help it. Sometimes—okay, as of recently, a lot of times—playing around with Andrew is the most fun I’ve had in a very long time. And both Samantha and Billie were recently on my ass about letting loose and having fun…
So, basically, I’m just doing what they suggested…right?
My long day of filming led me to Andrew’s hotel room, where I spent the first hour eating takeout tacos and the last three hours doing…very awesome, dirty things.
We lie in bed on our sides, still naked and more sated than I thought was humanly possible, facing each other.
He reaches out to run a gentle index finger up my hip, and the tickling sensation makes me wiggle away from his touch.
“Gah. Stop that.”
“You’re so ticklish.”
“I know,” I say through a giggle when he repeats the same laugh-inducing movement with his finger. “I’ve always been like that. When I was a kid, my dad used to get a kick out of it and tickle me until I would almost pee my pants.”
A warm smile tilts up the corners of his lips. “You and Billie lost your parents when you were young, right?”
I nod. “I was eleven and she was nine.”
“Damn, that’s a tragic thing for kids to go through, losing their parents at such a young age.”
“I would certainly agree,” I answer. “Though, we were incredibly lucky. Our granny didn’t hesitate to step up and take care of us.”
“Is she still alive?”
I shake my head. “She died several years ago. Billie is pretty much my only family now.”
His mouth moves down at the corners. “You don’t have any other family?”
“No. Not really,” I answer honestly. “No one that we were close with, at least.”
“Is that hard?” he asks, his voice devoid of anything but warmth and kindness.
All I can do is shrug. “I wouldn’t say it’s easy, especially when it comes to birthdays or holidays, but I guess it’s just something both Billie and I have gotten used to. Just making the best of a sometimes hard situation.”
He stays quiet for a short moment but, eventually, surprises me when he says, “Tell me a good memory about them.”
“About my family?”
He nods and the softness in his tone makes my chest expand, and the first memory that pops into my head makes me smile.
“Blueberry waffles.”
Andrew quirks a brow.
“Every year on our birthdays, Daddy would make waffles, and Momma would add her secret blueberry preserves on top,” I explain. “And when they died, that tradition had become so special for us that Granny kept it going.”
“Your granny sounds like she was pretty damn amazing.”
“She was.” I smile as her pretty face becomes front and center in my mind. “She was also a bit of a ballbuster. Incredibly stubborn and set in her ways.”
He chuckles and taps my nose with his index finger. “That sounds familiar.”
“Billie and I used to drive her crazy at times,” I tell him. “One time, when I was thirteen and Billie was eleven, we tried to make my teenage wish come true of having a surprise party for my birthday. Granny nearly lost her shit when she came home from church on a Sunday afternoon and about half the damn people from our small town were at her house.”
He grins at that. “You threw yourself a surprise party?”
“Well, I tried,” I answer through a giggle. “But Billie and I had been so focused on inviting everyone, we forgot about the food and cake and, you know, all the other things that go with a party.”
An amused chuckle escapes his lungs. “What did your granny do?”
“After she reamed our asses, she found a way to feed everyone at the party. Even managed to get someone to run to the bakery last minute and get me a cake.” I share one of my fondest, funniest memories of her.
“So, you ended up with your party anyway?”
“Well, sort of.” I shrug. “I mean, I never got to experience the actual surprise part since I was involved in planning the damn thing, but yeah, it was still a good party.”
“Did you ever end up getting a real surprise party?”
“Nope.” I force a pout on lips. “Pretty sure Billie and I were too afraid to push that issue again after our granny had to feed over fifty people on the fly.”
“Poor, teenage Birdie.”
“I know, right?” I push out a dramatic sigh. “My biggest teenage dream never actually came to fruition.”
“Maybe one day,” he says and reaches out to slide his fingers into my hair. “Though now probably isn’t the right time to tell you this, but teenage Andrew did get to experience a real surprise party.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Seriously?”
He nods. “For my sixteenth birthday. My mom and dad threw one for me with all my friends. Although, my uncle Tim made quite the showing. That bastard ended up sneaking in beer, and my parents caught him and me and my brother Lance and a bunch of my buddies playing beer pong in the garage.”
I quirk an amused brow. “Your uncle Tim sounds like a character.”
“You have no idea,” he responds on a laugh. “He’s a fucking wild card. You never know what you’re going to get with him. He’s my dad’s brother and the biggest thorn in my mom’s side. No doubt, I have stories for days about that man.”
“I’m all ears.”
“You really want to hear more about my crazy uncle Tim?”
“Uh…yeah,” I drawl, and Andrew smiles over at me.
“All right, but only if you’re willing to exchange a few more stories about your ballbusting granny.”
I don’t hesitate to agree to his demands.
And for the next hour or so, before sleep consumes us, we stay just like that, lying in bed, sharing stories about our families. It’s a sweet, quiet kind of fun that I didn’t know was possible with a man like him.
Somehow, he just keeps surprising me with new facets of his personality, none of which revolve around my initial impression of him being a huge asshole.
In fact, they’re the complete opposite.
Andrew
There’s only one woman I want in my bed right now.
After a long as fuck day on set, I headed back to the hotel, fit in a sixty-minute workout in the downstairs gym that consisted of weights and the treadmill, and tossed on a pair of freshly laundered—thanks to the hotel concierge—boxer briefs and sweats once I dried off from my shower.
The television is on some nightly news channel with a meteorologist rambling on about the weekly weather forecast in Memphis, and I glance at the time to see it’s already nearing ten.
I’m surprised Birdie hasn’t texted me by now, letting me know she’s done shooting concert scenes with fucking Johnny and the rest of the actors playing her band for the night. And when my phone chimes with a message, I snag it off the nightstand and check my inbox.
Marissa: Hey there, hot stuff. Long time no see. I hear you’re in Memphis right now. And funny thing, I’m
in Memphis too, doing a photo shoot. ;) Want to meet up tonight?
When I note that the text isn’t from Birdie, I sigh in annoyance.
Marissa Spitz. Swimsuit model. Ex-lover. Once someone the gossip magazines had deemed I was in a relationship with. Not to mention, a woman I haven’t spoken with in about six months.
She’s great. Nice. And all the supermodel things most men would drool over.
But she’s no fucking Birdie Harris.
Me: Actually, I already have plans.
Marissa: Well, change them and come see me.
Me: While I appreciate the offer, I’m going to have to decline. I already have plans with someone important.
Marissa: Someone important? Don’t tell me Andrew Watson is trying his hand at a relationship…
Me: C’mon, M. Don’t be petty.
Marissa: Get real, Andrew. You know I was just joking, but your response leads me to believe you actually ARE in a relationship with someone. Color me shocked.
I wouldn’t say I’m in a relationship with Birdie, but I also wouldn’t say I’m looking to screw around with anyone else.
Strangely enough, that’s the last thing I want to do right now.
I’m simply relishing the fun we’ve been having together over the past few weeks. I’m enjoying spending time with her, and, it goes without saying, I’m really enjoying sliding my cock inside her and eating at the buffet that is her perfect pussy.
