“Very much so, but I thank you for a lovely dinner and a tremendous orgasm.” I slip the dress on and smooth it out over my body. The poor man is almost speechless.
“What about mine?” he asks with a scowl.
“You can take care of that yourself later if you want. But I’m done and need to get some sleep.”
Looking at his cock, still engorged and begging for release, I add, “Nice cock you’ve got there. I’ll bet Mona loved it.”
Now I’m sure I’ve pissed him off. He climbs down behind the desk and pushes my chair aside. I watch him from the opposite side as I zip my dress. Stark takes his cock in his hand and silently begins to stroke it. Still covered in my juices, his tight grip slides easily over it. It’s such a fascinating, provocative sight that it takes me a few seconds to realize what his intentions are.
“Really, Mason?” I ask.
His hand gradually picks up speed. “Oh yes, Claire.”
“Knock yourself out,” I say. Because this entire night has been such a strange test of wills, I feel compelled to counter him. “Mind if I watch?”
He doesn’t answer, but his hand is a blur and I know he’s close. I stand a few feet from the desk across from him and stare at the inflamed head of his cock. A few stifled moans follow, then he suddenly erupts, a stream of cum flying over the desk and landing on the hardwood floor next to my foot. The rest finds its target, though, as Stark unloads his frustration across the surface of my desk.
Then he wordlessly gets dressed. When he catches me watching as he tucks his cock into his boxer briefs, he responds with a dismissive smirk. Tie draped around his neck, he approaches me and plants a kiss on my cheek. He smells like cologne and sex as he looks me in the eye.
“This was an interesting first date, Claire.”
He walks away, stopping momentarily at the door.
“I am so looking forward to your stay at my house,” he says with a grin before making his departure.
I crack the door and watch as Stark exits through the office’s glass outer doors, then return to my desk to look at his handiwork. I don’t know what’s more impressive, the sheer volume he expelled or the gall it took to do that. I walk to the break room and grab some paper towels and a dishrag, then return to clean off my desk and floor. As I do so, I break into a big grin thinking about what occurred here tonight.
I seduced a man I find irresistibly sexy, then impaled myself on him and rode him to a delicious orgasm. It was fun to be the aggressor and I could tell he’s unaccustomed to being on the opposite side of that equation. Doing so helped me make my point, though. By controlling the action, then stopping when I did, I’d let Stark know in no uncertain terms that I was his equal, every bit as cunning and willing to do anything to get my way.
When I’ve removed all traces of Stark’s cum, I look at my wrecked office and can’t find the energy to do anything about it. I stuff the dishrag and paper towels into a trash bag so I can put them in the dumpster, then I literally wash my hands of Mason Stark. It’s almost a pity, knowing from this point forward things will likely get ugly. He’s such a handsome, charming man, and I’d love to experience that alpha side in the bedroom – just not enough to lose our bet over.
On the way out, I leave a note on my assistant’s desk.
Brian, I got a little angry and trashed my desk. Be a dear and make it pretty again, please.
15
Mason
“You did what?”
I look across the dining room table at the horrified expression on Allie’s face. Drake and his girl had invited me to his place for Sunday dinner to break the big news that they’ve decided to move in together. Hardly a surprise, since I saw this coming months ago. It’ll be strange not including Drake in some of the Hollywood Bad Boys Club’s more depraved shenanigans, but I’m truly happy for both of them, and all of us adore Allie.
Not wanting to ruin their announcement, I remained quiet about what happened between me and Claire until we’d finished eating and Drake opened a different topic for discussion.
“How was your dinner with the sex slave?”
He must have already told Allie about it, because she leaned forward and asked, “Yes, Mason, how was the big date?”
I gave them a recap of the entire evening, leaving out the more graphic details. For the most part, that is, because there’s no way I could describe how the “date” ended without getting at least a little descriptive. Now I’m looking at Allie, her mouth wide open in shock.
“You heard me. I jerked off on her desk.”
“You mean… you… like…”
“Yes. After she had her orgasm, I gave myself one. All over her desk.”
“Oh my god. What did she do?” Allie asks.
“There was nothing she could do. It was her fault for trying to play me like that. So I calmly jizzed on her desk, then got dressed and left.”
Throughout all of this, Drake has remained absolutely expressionless. Now he leans across the table and extends a balled fist toward me. I meet him half way and we bump fists, then he sits back and nods his approval of my behavior.
Allie is aghast. “You guys are deranged,” she laughs, not quite believing what she’s just heard. “Seriously, there’s something wrong with the two of you.”
We both glare at her, silently imploring her to rethink her position on the matter.
“Okay, I admit she may have deserved it,” she says. “Leaving you stranded like that was definitely evil. You’ve got to give her credit, though; that took balls.”
It’s hard to argue with her. Claire literally fucked me just to get under my skin. I’m sure it was her revenge for my using Mona as a proxy-fuck, but kudos to her for actually following through on such a twisted plan.
“So you and Claire finally had sex?” Drake asks, laughing.
“What’s so funny about that?”
“Because you’re really into this chick,” he replies. “It’s written all over your face.”
“You’re seeing things, buddy. Just because I desecrate a woman’s office furniture with my bodily fluids doesn’t mean I have a thing for her.”
“Do you have a picture of her?” Allie asks.
“Show her the pic you showed me,” Drake says.
I do a quick Google search on my phone and find that image, holding it up for Allie to view.
“Oh my god, she’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, she’s gorgeous,” I say.
Drake gives me that look, the one I always get when he knows he’s right about something. He doesn’t do it often, but when he does he almost always is right. Allie also looks at me in silence, but she’s stifling a smirk.
“There’s nothing going on between us,” I say. “You guys are full of shit.”
We all have a laugh, but when we say our goodbyes after dinner, I catch Drake giving me that same look again.
* * *
The next morning I’m in my office, still laughing, as I’ve been doing much of the weekend. It is kind of funny: Claire thought she would teach me some sort of lesson, but all she really succeeded in doing was to give my dick a little taste of what was to come.
As far as my own actions, I have zero regrets. In fact, I’m actually kind of proud of myself.
Okay, I’ll admit it that spooging all over the desk was a bit dramatic, but she had it coming, so to speak. The little tease had baited me into having sex with her, then used me like some kind of male sex doll. I was beyond furious when I realized I’d been played, so I did what I had to do to demonstrate that she hadn’t earned any respect from me.
Fuck Claire Jarrett and fuck her goddamn desk.
She’s going to regret all that teasing when she loses the bet. I’m already thinking about handcuffing her to my bed right when she arrives, and just popping in every once in a while to fuck her for a few minutes before walking away. Her devious plot has landed her in serious trouble.
As for the bet itself, I haven’t heard a peep from Jackie Hight
ower since the meeting, so I have to assume she’s given up on the idea of Cheyenne Parris getting any of Drake’s money. Mona Simmons admitted she knew she’d never get it and was merely using the demand to better position Cheyenne for future contract negotiations. With those two no longer causing problems, Claire’s insistence that she’ll win the bet is looking more and more like wishful thinking. Sometime in the next week or so, the studio has financial deadlines regarding the production of Texas Flood, and after that everything will be locked down and changes become next to impossible.
Good luck, you little twat. You’re going to need it.
16
Claire
I’m a bundle of nerves by Monday afternoon. I still haven’t heard from T.J. Holland, despite the Monday deadline I gave him. Though he’d be a fool to pass up a starring role in a major superhero film from a well-respected studio and producer, stranger things have happened in Hollywood. Who knows if his loyalty to MAU is holding him back, or if he said something to Stark and was subsequently talked into staying there. I know I can make Holland a major star, because he’s got the looks, the talent, and the dedication. But first, he has to trust me enough to leave MAU.
The boost of confidence I got from my tweaking of Stark the other night in my office is beginning to wane. If T.J. doesn’t come through for me, that reduces my leverage and my chances of winning that damn bet.
When I remember how I’d toyed with Stark’s libido the other night, I begin to feel desperation creeping in. Had I not done that, losing the bet would mean a week at his house, submitting to his every sexual desire. Although the thought of him besting me, business-wise, is distressing, the actual paying off of the wager might have been pretty hot, knowing what I now know about this man.
At this point, though, Stark is going to want more than just sex. He’s going to want to humiliate me, to make me crawl.
Just when I’m beginning to feel nauseated about the whole thing, Brian buzzes me.
“T.J. Holland is on line two.”
I pick up the phone and say, “Please tell me this call means what I hope it does, because I am personally dying to see you as the Phantom.”
There’s a small laugh, then he says the words I wanted to hear.
“I’m yours, Claire. Let’s do this.”
And just like that, my confidence is back. I grin from ear to ear.
“Of course, this is contingent upon my getting the lead in Phantom Peril,” he says, “at the fifteen million you promised. I’ve already spoken to Daryl and he says I should get something in writing from Jackie first. Once that’s done, we’re good to go.”
Daryl Maillot is T.J.’s long-time manager, and it’s easy to imagine his gruff voice saying, “Are you fucking kidding me? If Claire can get you the lead in Phantom Peril with Jackie Hightower exec producing, you jump!”
“I spoke to Jackie earlier and I’m certain I can have her get a written agreement to Daryl tonight or tomorrow morning,” I say. “The actual contract will take a bit longer because Trident is still hammering out the budget and casting has just gotten underway. Jackie guaranteed me it would happen, though.”
“Awesome. I appreciate your faith in me, Claire.”
“Speaking of which, there’s going to be some gossip regarding Texas Flood getting held up over Cheyenne’s pay demands. You’ll just have to trust me that none of it is true. Ignore it, it’s all just posturing.”
“I have your word?” he asks.
“My solemn vow. T.J., you’re going to rock that Texas Flood role so hard it will whet the public’s appetite and make them excited to see what you can do with Phantom. And if Phantom does well, I’ll be sure the sequels make you a very wealthy man.”
The call doesn’t last long, but it doesn’t have to. T.J. has made his decision and the rest is a formality.
The timing is as perfect as can be; I can break the news to Samuel English at Variety tomorrow night after the agreement between T.J., Creative Talents and Trident is signed. The announcement of T.J. Holland getting the lead in the reboot of The Phantom Peril will appear on Variety’s website Wednesday morning.
Also appearing in Variety that same day will be the article about Cheyenne Parris’s demand for equal pay.
Mason Stark thought ejaculating on my desk was funny. Let’s see if he’s still laughing on Wednesday.
17
Mason
The day starts out absolutely normal for me, with one crucial exception: I’ve lost my cell phone. I had it yesterday, and now it’s gone. Luckily there’s nothing incriminating on it, and I’ve got everything backed up to the cloud. Still, it’s a strange morning when I haven’t read a text or answered a call within minutes of tumbling out of bed.
Consequently, I’m quite content on a typical winter Hollywood day as I drive to my office. It’s just under sixty degrees and the sun is right where it always is, with not a cloud in sight to break up the azure sky.
Life is good, and for a moment I wish I had a job that didn’t require me to be plugged in at all times.
On the way to work I again find myself daydreaming about the debauched tasks I can have Claire perform when she’s at my house. I imagine her in a French maid outfit, without panties, cleaning my bedroom with a feather duster. “Come put your mouth on me again.” I command her from the bed, parting my silk robe for the third or fourth time. I grin sadistically, knowing all this and much more will be happening soon.
Let me take that back; life isn’t good, it’s exceptional. Damn near perfect.
That’s when the shit hits the fan, of course.
The second I step into the MAU offices I’m greeted by my assistant, Bella, and three of my agents.
“Did you get my texts?” asks an agent, concern wrinkling his forehead.
“You didn’t answer my call,” says another.
“I got this, guys,” Bella says before I can respond. Grabbing me by the arm, she leads me to my office and closes the door behind us. Through the glass I can see at least a dozen heads looking directly at me.
“What going on?”
“Mason, I’ve been calling you for the last hour.”
I did take my time this morning; it’s almost nine. “I lost my phone,” I say. Right on cue, there’s a muffled ringing noise from my desk that gets louder when I move two movie scripts aside to reveal the phone underneath.
When I pick it up, Bella screams, “Don’t answer that!”
I look at it, not recognizing the number. But my notification screen shows thirty-one missed calls and more than fifty unread texts. Something big has gone down.
“Bella, tell me exactly what the fuck is going on.”
She calmly says, “Check Variety. There’s something there you need to see. I’ll hold all your calls for now.”
I sit at my desk and quickly pull up the site as the door shuts behind her. Scanning the page, one headline practically jumps at me from my monitor.
“Texas Flood” in Jeopardy as Parris Demands Equal Pay
I hastily read the article, written by someone I’ve never heard of but obviously okayed by Variety’s editors. It’s a typical inflammatory piece, obviously slanted in an effort to rally support for Cheyenne’s cause, but they’ve got Jackie Hightower on record as saying she’s prepared to shelve the entire project in order to make her point.
“It’s the 21st Century and this matter should have been settled long ago,” said the Trident boss.
If that weren’t disconcerting enough, the next paragraph chills me to the bone.
Caught in the crossfire is box office king Drake Manning, whose $30 million “Texas Flood” salary is at stake. Manning is repped by Mason Stark at Media Arts Unlimited, and both men are said to be stubbornly refusing to even consider a compromise. “That sexist mindset is an old Hollywood relic and will soon become a part of history, like silent pictures,” said Hightower.
That’s it, just three sentences. The rest of the article doesn’t mention me, but that brief paragraph is ai
med squarely at painting both me and Drake in the worst light possible. And I have to say, it hits its target.
I scroll through my missed calls and see one from Drake. It’s buried in the middle of the voicemails I’ve received, so I have to work my way through them. Reporters, friends, and worst of all, clients, are wondering if I’ve seen the article and how I’m going to proceed. Then I find Drake’s message, and I can tell he’s pissed.
“Mason, I’m guessing you’re not picking up because you’re inundated after that Variety article. I hate to pile on, but I will anyway: What the fuck is going on? I have wanted to do Texas Flood for years, and now this game you’re playing with Claire Jarrett is going to bring the whole fucking thing down. You need to figure out a way to make this right, and do it fast. If you can’t get the budget increased to fix this problem, then give your fucking commission to Cheyenne to make up the difference.”
It’s a silly idea, since the commission I make on Drake’s salary would be only a smidgeon of the amount needed. Letting the entire production get shut down isn’t an option either, since Drake wants to make the damn movie. Then he throws in a parting line that catches me totally off-guard.
“And what’s this shit with T.J. Holland? You really dropped your guard on that one. Anyway, call me as soon as you get this.”
What about T.J. Holland? What shit is he referring to?
I buzz Bella. “Is something going on with T.J. Holland that I don’t know about?”
Her voice is surprisingly timid. “It’s also on the Variety front page. Scroll down a little further.”
I return to the main page of Variety’s site and scroll the headlines again and that’s when I see it.
Trident Rebooting “Phantom Peril” With T.J. Holland in Lead
My brain fires into overdrive as I click the link and read the article. If all that equal pay shit weren’t bad enough, one of my rising clients has apparently jumped ship and is now aboard the U.S.S. Jarrett. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Claire somehow got Jackie to agree to cast T.J. in Phantom, then dangled the role in front of him to entice him to switch agencies. Surely Jackie would have come to me directly had I not tweaked her with my snarky comment at that meeting, and instead it looks like she insisted T.J. change agents if he wanted this big opportunity. It’s quite possible this is her revenge.
Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 2: Mason Page 9
