Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 1: Drake

by Alexis Adaire

  She relents and I move back so she can stand up, then I quickly close the door behind her and pin her against the car. I press my body against hers as I explore her tongue. Lifting a hand to caress her face, I let it brush against her tit on the way up.

  “Come home with me, Allie,” I say, adding a croaky desperation to my voice. I subtly grind my hard-on against her belly. She sighs and I slide my hands under her shirt, lifting it up to her chin. I take a quick look around and see no one in the area, then I lift up her bra, exposing her as I drop my mouth to one tit and gently suck on a perfect nipple. Her fingers curl in my hair for a second and her breathing deepens, then she suddenly pushes me backward and lowers her shirt.

  “Goddamit, Drake,” she says. “Quit pushing so fucking hard.”

  “I can’t. Do you have any idea how much I want you?” I ask her, staring as deeply into her eyes as I can.

  “I’m worth waiting for,” she says, determined to keep me at bay. Then she kisses me, this time taking my tongue into her mouth and sucking on it, as if it were my cock. At least that’s how my brain interprets it.

  She pushes me away and climbs into her car, firing up the engine and driving off. I watch as she gets less than half a block away before she slams on the brakes, then does a U-turn and comes back.

  “Get in,” she says. “I have to take you back to your car.” I’d forgotten that little detail.

  She drops me off at the shopping center, and I have mixed feelings as I watch her ugly little car fade into the distance. I did get to see those tits, but I couldn’t seal the deal and convince her to come to my house and fuck me right now. Normally I’d be pretty pissed off and would immediately forget that chick and move on the next.

  In this case, though, I want to see Allie again. Not because of the tits, although they are literally perfect. But more importantly, so is she.

  Holy shit, maybe she really is worth waiting for.

  10

  Allie

  I run a red light as I speed away and am lucky there’s nobody there to slam into my little car.

  Did I really just do that? Did I flash America’s Bachelor?

  My mind is racing with so many strange thoughts that I’m almost dizzy. I’m also acutely aware that my pussy is quite wet and I have a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. Jesus, what is it about this man – other than his looks, obviously – that melts me like wax?

  And did I imagine it, or did Drake Manning actually open up to me like that? Did he really give me more usable quotes and background information than he’s given any interviewer in… well, ever?

  When I reach home, I make some tea and sit on my patio to try to calm my nerves. As I think about what has taken place so far between me and Drake, one thing is glaringly obvious:

  This man really wants to fuck me. His actions, and his erections, leave no doubt. I tell myself not to get too worked up by the idea. It’s possible, even likely, that he’s like this with any woman who is moderately attractive. Maybe he’s taken this same aggressive approach with hundreds of others.

  Then I remember his invitation to fly me to Rome in his private jet when I’m done writing the piece. Surely he could find female companionship in Italy, so why would he go to that length?

  Manning has told me repeatedly that I’m not like the women he sleeps with. My body, my brain and my personality are all different from his norm. So why does he keep pushing me to have sex with him?

  Why me, of all the women he could have?

  And more importantly, why do I want this so badly? Why am I suddenly aching to make it happen? On some level, I still think Drake Manning is an arrogant prick. He’s exactly the kind of guy to whom I won’t normally give the time of day. But talking to him these last few days has given me a different picture. He’s shown me a side most people don’t see.

  Do I want him just because he’s so handsome and so famous? Is it because of that trademark body of his, that I want to know what it would feel like to have him on top of me with my arms and legs wrapped around those muscles?

  Or is it something more?

  No, that can’t be right. I push the thought out of my head and go back to imagining Drake Manning fucking me.

  11

  Drake

  I don’t like this feeling and am literally pacing in my house. After leaving Allie Winters and coming back home, I finished packing for Italy. My plane leaves whenever the fuck I’m ready, one of the perks of owning your own jet. I have to be in Italy in four days to begin shooting Entangled States, a big romantic thriller. Since I need two full days to get over any jet lag, I have to leave tomorrow morning at the latest. Which means I’ll have no time to see Allie again.

  Why does that matter, though? Why am I making a big deal out of this? She’ll surely come to Rome to see me. Until then, I can hook up with some hot Italian chicks if I want. It’s not like I’m going to suddenly become monogamous, right?

  I pace some more. Something is really bothering me. I strip down and go for a swim, but can’t stop thinking of her. I’m confused about the whole thing. Sure, I like her; Allie is fun, and she’s definitely sexy. But there are so many other women out there. And I can have almost any of them.

  Marcus texts me, asking where the hell I am. I’ve been so caught up in my own shit that I forgot the Bad Boys Club was getting together tonight at Miguel’s, a Tex-Mex restaurant and bar on Beverly Boulevard. It’s kind of a low-key place where we can hang out without being pestered much, no small thing considering Marcus and I are both A-list famous. Mason, too, is pretty well-known by the people in the industry. The guys wanted to have a final drink before I leave for Italy, and I’d forgotten all about it.

  I get dressed and head into Hollywood. Traffic is surprisingly light and I breeze down, parking the Ferrari behind Miguel’s BMW in the back. The owner of the place is a friend and I know he won’t mind. This way I can enter through the back door and not have to deal with being spotted by anyone in front.

  The other three guys are at our regular table in a dark corner of the room. There’s a small crowd around the bar and they’re already aware of Marcus’s presence. He’s six-foot ten and impossible to overlook – especially in this town, where nearly everyone is a Lakers fan and he’s their marquee player. I do my best to slink over to the table so I can join them.

  As we drink, the conversation is about women – nothing unusual, until they start hammering me about Allie Winters. The main question seems to be: Did I fuck her today? And if not, when am I going to? There’s another underlying thread, though, about how cool a chick she is.

  “Finish the interview?” Link asks.

  “Yeah, I think,” I say. Mason gives me a look. “What?”

  “Please tell me you gave her everything she needed,” he says.

  Marcus chimes in. “Yeah, Drake, did you give Allie what she needs? Hard and bareback?”

  Everyone laughs except Mason. “Seriously, man, this is important. Sure, you’re on top now, but we can’t let you stagnate. We’re trying to give your fans a glimpse at something new, to broaden your appeal even more.”

  Link says, “Yeah, you need to appeal to more broads, Drake.”

  It’s hopeless. “Did you get a look at those tits yet?” Marcus asks.

  I start to divulge that I did indeed see them earlier in the afternoon, then just… don’t. I’m not even sure why.

  “Not yet,” I say. “Still working on it.”

  “They’re fucking outstanding,” Link says, and I instantly feel irritated. Why the hell I don’t want to talk to my friends about this woman, I can’t understand, because if it had been any other chick, as soon as I walked through the door I’d have been discussing those tits. Hell, if it had been any other woman, I’d have already fucked those tits. My reluctance to tell the guys anything about Allie starts to bug me, and every time they mention her name I get pissier. Jesus Christ, this is weird.

  I get up and head for the restroom, where I stare at my reflection in the
mirror until someone exits the nearby stall and says, “Holy fuck, you’re Drake Manning,” which irritates me even more. Rejoining my buddies at the table, I find two young chicks there flirting with Marcus. I can tell they’re not really his type, and sure enough he politely dismisses them, then looks at me and subtly shakes his head. I know he’s telling me they weren’t hot enough for him; Marcus and I can be picky, because there’s always plenty of hot pussy to choose from.

  Then my brain starts fucking with me again.

  For the first time, it dawns on me that we treat women like sushi at one of those conveyor-belt restaurants. If a plate doesn’t look perfect, just ignore it and wait for more to come down the line. Now I’m really in a bizarre frame of mind, and of course Allie pops into my head again. I see her looking up at me from her car seat, lifting her blouse.

  I look away from the table and happen to spot two women standing at the bar. One is a stunning blonde, wearing a tight little black dress that flaunts her amazing body. It’s her friend who catches my eye, though: She’s not nearly as attractive, but she resembles Allie a little. Same basic body type and same medium-length hair with loose curls, though she’s not nearly as cute. I watch her for a few minutes then grab a napkin and scribble a note, asking our waiter to pass it to my bartender friend. Frankie reads it, looks over and sees me, then smiles and nods. I watch as he approaches the women and says something to them, pointing toward the corner where we’re sitting. The two are both suspicious, but like the lottery, the tiny chance of winning is hard to resist. They make their way over and when they’re close enough to see us in the dim light, the looks of concern are instantly replaced by rapturous surprise.

  “Oh my god,” the blonde says. “It’s really you.”

  “Have a seat,” I say. When she starts to sit next to me, I whisper, “Sit over there. Let your friend sit here.” She sees my eyes guiding her to the other side of the table, where Marcus and Mason are sitting. Confused, she nonetheless follows my instructions and her friend is shocked to find herself sitting next to Drake Manning. She’s got a slightly crooked smile and dark red lips, with a mildly curvy body and large breasts, her shirt revealing some generous cleavage. Though she’s dressed to get attention, she probably didn’t expect to catch the eye of a major celebrity.

  Introductions are made all around and more tequila shots are slammed. Vanessa is the one next to me, and I don’t listen for the blonde’s name because I honestly don’t give a shit.

  “So why did a nice girl like you agree to come to my table?” I ask rhetorically.

  “I can’t believe it’s really you,” Vanessa says, giddy and unable to stop grinning.

  “It is indeed.” I’m not really in the mood to talk much. The blonde stares at me from across the table, apparently unable to comprehend why her less-attractive friend got the big prize. I turn my attention back to Vanessa and not-too-subtly look her up and down.

  I lean into her ear to whisper, saying, “Vanessa, you are a lovely, lovely creature. I am so gonna enjoy fucking you tonight.” Then I pull back and give her my trademark smile.

  The poor girl’s head is obviously spinning. “You’re joking, right?” she says.

  “No joke,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.” I stand and address my friends. “Guys, Vanessa and I are going to go for a little spin. Come visit me in Rome, dudes. Three months is a long fucking time.” I’m actually going to miss these guys. I fist-bump all three of them, then notice the stunned look on the blonde’s face. I pretend to kiss her on the cheek but instead whisper, “Mason is one of the most powerful agents in Hollywood.” When I pull back, she’s smiling slyly at me. I know the type – I see women like her every time I go out. Mason is going to get his brains fucked out tonight, and in a few months I’ll see the blonde in some rock band’s video or maybe even a small guest role in a bad sitcom on cable.

  Vanessa, however, is still seated, momentarily wrestling with her virtue. I tilt my head slightly and offer her my hand while giving her another smile to seal the deal. She places her hand in mind and we head for the back door.

  I pull the Ferrari out on Melrose and crank up the radio. “We’re not really going to have sex, are we?” she asks, trying to feign a hint of innocence.

  “Do you want to have sex with me?” I ask.

  She’s been put on the spot now. If she says no, she may miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime. If she says yes, it means she’s remarkably easy, at least tonight. Vanessa decides to go with the latter.

  “Yes.”

  “Then we absolutely are,” I say. “In about half an hour, I’m going to have you up against a wall in my bedroom.”

  She doesn’t question me at all. I throw the car into third and look over at her cleavage.

  “Show me your tits.”

  Vanessa complies immediately. They’re not bad, but by far the second best pair I’ve seen today.

  Vanessa is tipsy now, after two more shots of tequila. I’m sitting on my patio in jeans, with no shirt or shoes. Her response to my taking off my shirt was an awed, “Oh my god, this isn’t really happening.” I assured her it was indeed happening and told her to strip for me. Now I’m watching as she walks around in the cool night air, inspecting the swimming pool as the refracted light makes patterns on her naked form.

  Her body is not what I’d hoped, although I’ve had a few tequila shots myself and am no longer exactly sure what I was hoping for when I brought her home from Miguel’s. I’m still not sure why I didn’t just take her to the Marmont like I do most of the others. It’s almost like I’m proving some kind of point – but what point? And who am I proving it to?

  I feel almost no sexual thrill as I eye her. Her lower body is thinner than I thought it would be, and while there’s definitely no ab definition at all, her stomach is still a bit too flat. Her large breasts are fake, which has never been a deal-killer to me before but for some reason bugs me now. She’s also got a cute triangle of nicely trimmed brown hair between her legs, a rarity in Hollywood these days, and something that normally might turn me on. Not tonight, though. I don’t understand why I’m not more attracted to Vanessa, because most guys would find her extremely desirable.

  She approaches me, her nipples hard and goosebumps on her arms. Standing before me, she says, “I’m cold, Drake. Take me inside and fuck me.”

  I lead her into my living room, hesitating about the bedroom, reluctant to take her there for some strange reason. I instruct her to sit in a chair and she does. Looking up at me, she asks, “Is everything okay?” I realize I’m not smiling, so I fake one and she relaxes. Then I undo my jeans and pull out my cock. Seated, she’s at eye-level with it and apparently likes what she sees. Despite her nudity, I’m not hard at all.

  Vanessa leans forward and strokes me, running her hand across my smooth balls. I have everything waxed regularly – my chest, my back, my cock and my balls. She likes the feeling and wraps her fingers around my shaft, stroking me. I respond to her touch, but just slightly. Eventually she opens her mouth and takes me in, sucking and licking for all she’s worth. I look down to watch, pulling her medium-length brown hair to the side for a better view. She really is cute, and even more so with my cock in her mouth.

  I watch as she takes me all the way in, then slides back off until she’s sucking on just the head. This chick is actually very good and in my buzzed state, I’m mesmerized by the sight. She has me semi-hard and is doing her best to get me the rest of the way. Looking on, I see her red lips on my slick shaft and am soon rock-hard as she continues to suck me. I tell myself to make her stop soon or I’ll come before I get a chance to fuck her.

  Then she looks up, locking her eyes to mine. I’m jolted out of my alcohol-fueled fantasy. I realize I’ve been imagining Allie giving me this blowjob and am suddenly confronted with the reality that it’s not her, it’s the chick from Miguel’s. Vanessa refuses to look away, insisting on doing that “I’m going to suck your cock while staring at you” thing that chicks feel c
ompelled to do for some inane reason. Consequently, I watch my nice hard-on rapidly deflate.

  What the fuck is going on?

  Vanessa slides her mouth of me. “Maybe we should move to your bed,” she offers, acutely aware that the cock she’s been sucking has suddenly lost its rigidity.

  “No,” I say. “Keep going.”

  She obeys and continues to try to resuscitate my flagging desire. The poor girl tries everything, deep-throating my entire length. Even the sensation of my head touching the back of her throat isn’t enough and eventually I’m as limp as a noodle. Vanessa keeps trying until I gently pull her head off of me and help her to her feet.

  “It’s not gonna happen,” I say. “You suck cock like a champ, but I’m just not feeling it tonight.”

  Disappointment is written across her face.

  “Maybe if we—“

  “You should get dressed. I’ll have someone take you home.”

  I put my soft cock away and zip up, then gather her clothes and hand them to her. I can tell she’s confused and I try to make her feel better.

  “I’ve got a lot going on right now. I leave for Rome tomorrow to shoot a movie and should have known better than to drag you here tonight. Maybe we can get together when I return.”

  I call Cecil to bring the Mercedes, and tell Vanessa to leave her number with him. After a quick hug she climbs in and waves a sad-eyed goodbye.

  Watching her go, I absolutely do not give a shit about her. I slam the door, then pick up a $12,000 crystal vase and throw it at the wall, screaming like a heavy metal singer as it shatters to pieces. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I pour myself another shot of tequila, then quickly down a second one as I try to stop thinking about Allie Winters. Seriously, I’ve known this woman for three days now and she flat-out refused to come home with me for sex. ME! Drake Manning, big-deal fucking movie star! I haven’t been rejected by a woman since my first movie came out. I could go out right now and easily find dozens, even hundreds of Vanessas who would love to fuck me. Why am I hung up on the one chick who won’t?