DirtyInterludes

by Jodie Becker

  She straightened and sashayed around his chair, touching his thigh, his shoulder. He knew the drill. Settling back to enjoy the show, he watched the stripper gyrate. She fell to her knees and fucked the floor in the way only a man would appreciate. Desire stirred and he shifted, trying to ease it. The stripper crawled toward him and spread his legs, mouthing the words to the pop song as she raked his chest.

  She licked her top lip and mounted his thighs. She grasped his hair to push his face into her breasts. Max obliged and even licked the swell. Turnabout was fair play after all. She pushed him back, tapped his nose with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. She stood and sauntered away, her hips moving in a seductive sway. She threw a saucy look over her shoulder before she pivoted around and pushed the dress off one shoulder. Now they were getting into the good stuff.

  He bobbed his knee to the beats, watching her strip off her dress to her waist. She wore a lacy piece that cupped her pert tits. She swayed her body in ways that were purely sexual. Legs spread, she pretended to finger herself and Max groaned. She unsnapped her bra and sashayed up to him, wrapped the flimsy fabric over his neck as she undulated over him. His hands settled on her waist. She kicked a leg up over the chair. The dress concealed her but his focus remained on her bouncing tits. She flung her head around, black hair hitting him in the eye, but he blinked it away. She pushed from him and dropped the rest of the dress and Max’s skin flushed cold. He jerked out of his chair and away from the stripper.

  Was that a fucking bulge? “Whoa. I think there has been a misunderstanding.”

  He-she stood calmly in the center of the room, music fading as the Britney song drew to a conclusion. And then it hit him. It was a gig. Shock gave way to the realization he’d been had by Bridget. He didn’t think she had it in her. “Who hired you?”

  The bodyguard shifted, reminding him they weren’t alone. Now he understood why the dude was there. Some people probably didn’t act nicely about being fooled.

  The dancer pulled her clothes back on. “The woman didn’t give her name. Thought maybe it was a disgruntled ex or something.”

  “You do this often?”

  She shrugged. “Usually for bachelor parties. Some friends like to pull pranks on the groom-to-be.”

  Max got that. He did. But to have a guy gyrate on him made him distinctly uncomfortable. Given his career, he knew himself to be a contradiction. He just didn’t like dick and wouldn’t cross that line for any amount of money. No crossing of swords, thank you. He walked to the kitchen and snatched up his wallet by the phone. “How much do I owe you?”

  Fully clothed, the cross-dresser shook her head. “I’ve already been paid.”

  “Let me at least pay you for being understanding.”

  He pulled out a couple hundred and she eyed it with interest. Max waved it at her and she snatched it from him, shoving it into her bra. “Thanks.”

  “Thank you for the dance.”

  She nodded and sashayed out the door. As it clicked shut, he leaned against the counter and sighed, his heart still racing. Now the overtly feminine gestures made sense. Unable to wait, Max exited his house and marched across the lawn to Bridget’s. He didn’t know what he’d do when he saw her, but he was going to show her not to mess with him.

  He knocked on the door and a moment later it opened. Her lips pursed as though she wanted to hold back laughter.

  “Not cool.”

  She blinked at him. “What? I thought you’d like that.”

  He didn’t buy her innocent act for one minute. He was a better actor than she and he was a porn actor, if that said anything. “A dude, Bridget?”

  “With someone as sexually overt as yourself I thought you’d enjoy a bit of spice.”

  “A bit too spicy for my tastes. Pretty proud of yourself aren’t you?”

  She smirked. “What can I say? You play with fire…”

  He slapped his hand on the door when she moved to shut it. “Oh I like to play with fire.”

  He caught her around the nape and drew her into a kiss. Her lips tensed, a muffled protest caught by his mouth. He fisted her hair as he pulled her into the curve of his body. He ran a line over the seam of her lips, flicking it gently. Cajoling. She whimpered and her lips parted. He took immediate advantage and delved inside. She tasted of wine. Tart and fruity.

  He angled his head until their lips joined in perfect symmetry. His hand settled over the dip in her back as he plundered her mouth. He feathered his tongue along the cusp of her lip, retreating and advancing. Teasing her. Showing her what he wanted. Who turned him on. His cock ached for her. For that sweet nectar he knew gathered between her thighs. If her panting wasn’t indication enough, then her hard nipples pressing against his chest convinced him. Frigid Bridget wanted him.

  He danced them back until he had her pressed against the wall. The hall stand tottered beside them and something like keys hit the floor. He didn’t care. He wanted to touch her. Abandoning her back, he dipped his hand under her track pants and into the moist heat of her panties. He circled her clit, her juices easing his way. Breaking the kiss, he scissored the nubbin with expert ease, glorying in the way her eyelids drooped in passion. A flush ran up her neck and he nibbled at the column before flicking her earlobe.

  “You’re hot for me.”

  Lashes fluttered and anger flared. Damn if his dick didn’t jerk at the sight. He shoved a finger into her sopping cunt and her ragged whimper made him smile. Indignation fought with the overwhelming pleasure with which he plied her flesh. He brushed his thumb over her clit in slow sweeps. Her hips rocked into his hand, her hands planted firmly on the wall. Deny it all she cared to, she wanted his hand on her. He could do this all day, torturing them both with desire. He flicked her earlobe. “Say you want me and I just might give you that O.”

  “Never.”

  He pumped his fingers into her, deep enough to touch the G-spot. Her head tipped back on a moan. When her hips started to rock into him he stilled. Gloved by her sweet pussy, he watched a delicate frown chase over her forehead before her eyes fluttered open. Her moan of protest was followed by a roll of her hips, which he prevented by the pressure of his hand. “Say it.”

  The passion drained from her face, leaving behind fury as she glared at him. “No.”

  He chuckled, pulling his hand from her. His fingers glistened with her juices and he sucked them clean. Sweet summer rain. Damn. The fingers came free with a wet pop and he walked to the front. He stopped, hand on the door. Bridget still remained against the wall, as if her legs couldn’t take her weight.

  “You tell me when you’re ready to admit you want a good fuck. And I might show you.” He winked, closing the door on her insults.

  Words like “pig” and “peacock” really didn’t upset him. Hands shoved in his pocket, he wandered back to his house and thought of more ways to torture her, relishing the idea that he just might have another battle of wills very soon.

  * * * * *

  Bridget woke in a sour mood. She ached with need and her dreams taunted her with Max’s delicious hands and the erotic sensations he evoked in her. Not only did he ruin her cello practice, he now invaded her dreams. She shoved a pillow over her face and let out a muffled scream of frustration. On some level she knew it was juvenile but she didn’t care. She threw the pillow aside and exhaled sharply. The smugness she felt yesterday died in the revelation of his touch. The enjoyment of having him finger her. She was near admitting she wanted him, but pride kept her silent. She’d yet to decide if that was a good or bad thing.

  After rolling out of bed, she got ready to meet Cathy at a café for a breakfast chat. Reluctance weighed on her. What was supposed to be a gleeful recounting of Max’s humiliation was about to turn into her own. Keys in hand, she left her house and paused at her car at the sight of a man with a dragon tattoo running down the street. Muscular arms pumped, his abs rippling. Her pussy pulsed with need and she hated him for it. Why did he have to be up and all perky?

&nbs
p; It was wrong when she spent most of her night tossing and turning in sexual frustration. Some part of her took perverted enjoyment in not fulfilling that ache, thinking it’d show Max up. Well, who was laughing now? Not her, that’s for certain.

  He slowed as he approached, a grin pulling at his sinful mouth. A mouth that’d devastated her last night.

  “I hope you had sweet dreams,” he said.

  Bridget smiled sweetly. “I hope you had nightmares.”

  “If you were in them, I might’ve.”

  “You didn’t find kissing me last night so bad.”

  His mouth popped open, then snapped shut. He pointed at her as though to utter a rebuke but he finally blew out a breath, hands on his hips. “I kissed you to prove a point.”

  “And what was that? That you don’t like cross-dressers? By the way you worked so hard, I’d think you might’ve liked Tiffany a bit too much for your comfort.”

  “Hey, I have to admit, she was a good imitation. But I like the real thing better.”

  “Aw, she didn’t stroke your ego?”

  Eyes crinkled. “Nice play on words, babe. But if I recall, it was you getting your ego stroked.”

  “I could do a better job all by myself.”

  Nostrils flared as an intensity vibrated off his frame. “And did you?”

  She pressed her hand on the roof of her car. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you? To know if I can get off all by my lonesome.”

  “I love it when you speak dirty, baby.”

  “It’s the last thing I’d do with you.”

  “It really bugs you to know you loved my finger shoved deep in your pussy.”

  Heat coiled in her womb. “Whatever makes you feel more like a man.”

  She shoved the door open and slipped into her car. Giving Max a toodle-loo wave, she reversed out the drive and sped away.

  Inwardly she gave herself a high five for not losing her cool. She’d flustered Max and that was worth a sleepless night. Before long, she pulled into a parking space near her favorite café. A little bistro that boasted of coffee made strong and full-bodied. Despite the early Saturday morning, people filled tables and the welcoming smell of coffee and syrup filled the air. An espresso machine hissed and utensils clinked.

  She found Cathy seated by the window, her body turned toward Bridget to wave her over. The woven chair creaked as she settled in the spare seat. Cathy propped her elbow on the table, fingers cupped around a white mug. “How’s your week been?”

  Bridget grimaced. “Not so well as I’d hoped. Gillian isn’t hiding her determination to get my seat. I’m supposed to have a little to-do to try and draw us together as a group, but…”

  “She’s toxic?”

  “Yes. Her snippy comments can really ruin it.”

  Cathy sipped her drink thoughtfully. “You know, if you just show her that she is nothing but a blip then she’ll stop. She probably wants to upset you so you mess up.”

  “Thing is, I don’t need her help to mess up. Max is ruining my life.”

  “Max? What’d he do?”

  “The things he says to me. I’m not used to it and I always feel like I’m on the back foot with him. I tried to get back at him.”

  “How’d it go?”

  Bridget’s lips pinched. “Not as well as I expected. He kinda turned the tables on me.”

  “How’d he manage that? Sent the cross-dresser to your place?”

  “He came over and, well, let’s just say he’s more into me than he lets on.”

  Confusion jerked Cathy’s chin down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Bridget leaned forward and Cathy did likewise. “He kissed me.”

  Cathy recoiled and thumped the mug down on the wooden table. “He did what?”

  “He kissed me.”

  Lips thinned. “Did you…like it?”

  Heat seared her face.

  Cathy’s features stiffened and she slapped her palm down on the table. “You know what type of guy he is. The type to take and take to satisfy his ego. Don’t think for one minute he likes you.”

  Her friend’s ardent words gave her pause. The ferocity in her voice spoke of experience. “What’s wrong?”

  Cathy whipped a lock of blonde hair from her fair face. “It’s nothing. I just know his type. I got burned a few years back. Badly. He was just like Max.”

  Bridget patted her friend’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. He came to his senses and we’re trying to work it out. It’s still a work in progress but I don’t want you to fall into the same trap I did.”

  Bridget rubbed her friend’s hand. “That’s so nice of you.”

  Cathy pulled away. “Don’t thank me. Us women need to stick together when men think they’re God’s gift.”

  Bridget understood her friend’s frustration with the male species. Max was an ultimate bad boy and women flocked to him. Sadly, Bridget feared falling into that trap. Being infatuated with a man who used women like a revolving door led to nothing but misery. Moisture gathered in her panties and she shifted in her seat. He manipulated her like a magician. A conductor to her discordant body. The stark truth remained that Max’s touch had upended her world and brought forth the sexually aware woman inside.

  A waitress wandered over and Bridget welcomed the distraction. Making an order of pancakes and coffee, she settled back to chat with Cathy of mundane things. Her thoughts kept drifting to Max and the burgeoning desire to have him touch her again. To shove his fingers inside her and tease her flesh. Max posed a danger to her the more time she spent with him. And she wasn’t sure if she minded.

  Chapter Four

  Max trudged down the hall, mentally exhausted from the activities of the day. Bridget kept invading his thoughts and it made him uncomfortable. He shouldn’t have kissed her, let alone touched her. All of it niggled as if she were a missing piece to a problem. Disgruntled, he shook off the thought. Lethargy was making him loopy. At least Viagra helped him maintain an erection. Tired as he felt, he doubted he’d have managed it alone. The boner he’d been carrying for the last couple of hours had thankfully started to wane. Adjusting it behind his jeans, he wandered into the break room for some coffee. Picking up his mug, he tossed it hand to hand as he waited behind another guy. Dane was an African-American man with the physique of a bodybuilder and relatively new to the industry. It’d been around a year ago Dane was introduced to the team and Max watched as the rose-colored glasses slowly came off.

  As though sensing his thoughts, Dane slanted his head toward him. “Hey.”

  “Hi. How’s it going?”

  “Good. You finished for the day?”

  “Yeah. Glad it’s over. I’m exhausted.”

  Dane’s shoulders slumped and one side of his mouth quirked. “I wish mine was done. I got a double penetration, but the girl wouldn’t stop crying. So messed up.”

  A shiver ran down his spine. He’d thought he’d outgrown this feeling. “New girl?”

  “Yeah. Think she’s Latino or something. Got nice tits.”

  Oh shit. “Her name wouldn’t happen to be Venus?”

  Dane faced him. “You know her?”

  “I had her a couple of days ago. I didn’t know they’d throw that at her.”

  Dane shrugged. “I don’t make the rules here.”

  A sickening feeling marched up his spine. He turned away from Dane, coffee forgotten. He had to get to the bottom of this. The sound of weeping, so familiar, slowed his steps as he neared an open studio. Curled up against the arm of a lounge, Venus sobbed, a sheet thrown haphazardly over her nakedness. Beside her one of the more experienced women crouched down, rubbing Venus’ shoulder. He couldn’t hear what was being said but he knew it was meant to help. Make her feel less worthless than she did now.

  Cursing, Max hurried down the hall and up a private set of stairs that led to Vane’s office. He pushed the door open and marched across the hardwood floors. Forget that he didn’t have any shoes or a shi
rt. His entry demanded attention. “You need to let Venus out of her contract.”

  Vane leaned back in his seat, tossing his pen onto the black mirrored table.

  “You want me to what?”

  “You heard me,” Max said.

  Vane angled forward, forearms propped on the table. Blond brows narrowed over sharp blue eyes. “What do you think I run here? Dungeon is a business, not some weekend project.”

  Max kept his features impassive even as frustration burned in his gut. “What do you hope to achieve when that girl cries every time some guy touches her?”

  Vane shrugged. “She’ll get used to it. It’s the nature of the beast. She knew very well we didn’t knit quilts. She knew she had to fuck other people to get paid.”

  Lips tightened, Max formed a fist. He very well knew how Venus could’ve been drawn into the industry. Vane had a face many women found appealing. Blond curls and expressive eyes that managed to hide the dark, pragmatic views from being in the adult film industry. He portrayed professionalism and charisma, which duped women into believing everything was in their power. But most of the time it wasn’t.

  “She’s barely even legal. Surely you can’t justify using her like that?”

  “Why not? She signed a contract and if she wants to leave then I’m within my rights to sue her for loss of income.”

  Max had known Vane as a performer and by industry standards he was a veteran. Fresh on the scene, Max quickly became disillusioned by the industry. He listened to Vane complain about the standards in filming and the treatment of other actors. Within a couple of years Vane had started his own company and it flourished with veterans such as himself moving over.

  People celebrated a new wave in the industry. A kind of utopian workplace where people had a say in what they wanted to do. Had a say in scripting and were able to voice concerns. But the last year saw a change in Vane. His outlook became bitter and standards in the care for actors’ physical and mental health dropped.