DirtyInterludes

by Jodie Becker

  Anger burned a hole in her stomach, wrenching the neediness from her heart. She sneered at him. “You assume a friendship with a woman means she wants to go to bed with you? Wow, your ego knows no bounds.”

  He clicked his tongue. “Yep. But it’s kind of hard to deny when you fuck me with your eyes.”

  “I didn’t…with my eyes.”

  “Can’t say it, can you? Fuck. Try it. You just might like it.”

  “I don’t have to swear to get my point across.”

  “Who said anything about swearing? I’m talking about you opening those lily-whites and letting yourself get pounded. A good fucking.”

  Crudely painted words should’ve disgusted her, rather than titillated. She hated him again. Hated him for awakening parts of herself she’d preferred stayed dormant. “You’re a pig.”

  He only laughed as he shut the door in her face. Bridget felt something tear inside. The sharp pain of disappointment. Earlier in the week she thought that perhaps they’d started to develop some type of understanding. She found the deeper layers of Max interesting and she wanted to get to know him. She wandered back to her house, ignoring the hurt pressing into her solar plexus.

  Max leaned his hand against the door and exhaled. For the thousandth time he cursed himself for giving her a lift. That ride allowed him a view into her life that he’d rather not have had. Behind the façade of conservative perfection lay a bad girl yearning for a chance to unleash. That knowledge taunted him.

  He loved the flushed look she often sported in his presence. The blush that marked her chest when she was agitated begged for his mouth on her. He almost satisfied that need. She tasted of spring. Bridget was a caged bird who wanted to fly close to the sun. His cock ached with the need to possess her. Pushing off the door, he trudged up to his room, determined to forget her. He threw himself onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. The noise next door had stopped and he grinned. He could only assume his little gift was sent on its way. Having made the call the very night she’d pulled the cross-dresser, he’d forgotten about what he’d booked for her next wine social. It was a move he both regretted and enjoyed in equal parts. He didn’t mean to embarrass her in front of her friends, but the result forced her to his door. A moment where he could at least drink up the sight of her. The fire in her amber eyes. Skin pink with anger. Chest heaving…

  He groaned as his cock throbbed with need. He imagined her in his room, standing at the base of his bed, her eyes flashing with censure as he released his cock from the confines of his pants. The tip of its head glistened with pre-cum and he wrapped his hand around the shaft. Pumping in slow, steady thrusts, he hissed as pleasure skated down his shaft and contracted around his balls.

  Bridget licked her lips in kitty-cat seduction. Her hands skimmed over her conservative blouse, cupping her breasts through the white fabric. She pinched her nipples and whimpered. The sound blasted a hot shot of need through his dick and he groaned. Mounting the bed, knees on either side of his thighs, she unhooked the buttons and threw the top aside. Luscious breasts jiggled and the dark-pink tips begged for his mouth on them. Casting him a fuck-me look, she licked a finger and swirled it around her nipples. Fuck. A thrill blasted along his shaft and he traced his thumb over the tip of his cock before jerking off more. Delicious ecstasy surged upward and he clenched the base of his dick to hold it at bay. He wanted to feel her, to taste her breasts.

  Bridget rolled her breasts in her hands and pinched each nipple. Her smooth thighs touched his legs and Max groaned.

  “I like watching you fuck yourself.” Her voice was a breathy whisper.

  Max gasped. He loved it when she spoke dirty. So forbidden. So fucking hot. He pumped his cock with ferocious need, watching her as she lifted her pencil skirt to reveal a dark bush, neatly trimmed. Conservative. Hiding her beautiful pussy from him. He wanted to reach for her, but she cast him a look filled with censure. “Uh uh uh, you can look. No touching.”

  God damn. Max gritted his teeth, an exquisite fire circling his dick. She skated her fingers over her glistening bush and circled her clit. Her breath hitched and she spread her legs wider until her wet pussy touched his thigh. Pistoning hard, Max grunted as bliss surged. He wanted to tease himself but he needed release. He wanted her to fuck him. He wanted her to finger herself to orgasm. God, how would she sound? He groaned as she pushed two fingers into her cunt. He timed his thrusts with hers, glorying in every sound she made. She quivered above him and tensed as she cried out. Hands cupped to her breasts, head thrown back. What a glorious sight. She pulled her sopping fingers from her body. With a devilish smile, she sucked her juices from her fingers and Max exploded. White heat seared his flesh. His cock jerked and he ejaculated over his hand.

  Panting, Max opened his eyes and found himself alone with two garden gnomes smirking at him. Grimacing at the cum on his stomach and fingers, he snatched tissues off the side table, cleaned himself, then rolled over to stare at the wall. His heart still raced in his ears and he tried to shove aside the stark knowledge that he was screwed.

  Chapter Six

  Max sat in the restaurant, across from a woman willing to have him for just sex, but he didn’t feel an inkling of desire. Not one bit. She chatted about pop culture and which reality shows she liked, occasionally twirling a dark lock with her finger. He picked up his pinot and took a sip. Bonnie snatched up her wineglass and took several generous gulps. The wine connoisseur in him cringed, but the man who just wanted to fuck could forgive her for it. He needed to get laid by someone who didn’t get paid to do it. Needed to exorcise this obsession he’d developed for Bridget. Shit, he promised himself he wouldn’t think of her. After telling her he had a date, he had to scramble to find one, just so she’d get the idea. He was unavailable. He didn’t like the interest he saw in her eyes, nor the answering want in the depths of his heart. It was a train wreck waiting to happen and he wanted to get off before he cut her to shreds.

  Bonnie topped up her glass. A generous amount for a two-hundred-dollar bottle. She gulped it down like cheap liquor and inwardly he groaned. Fingers clenched over the spine of his glass, he swirled the wine around. A habit and a response to the disregard she had for something that should be savored rather than plundered. He imagined who he wanted to savor and plunder. Damn it.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  Bonnie blinked, her cheeks pink and brown eyes glazed. She was tipsy. “I am.”

  “Good.” He sorted out the bill and threw his napkin down.

  Standing over the woman, he held out his hand and helped her up. She teetered a bit and he briefly wondered if he should call it a night. Bonnie leaned into him, her generous breasts pressing into his side. Screw it. He needed to fuck Bridget out of his system. He took her to his car and helped her inside. On the drive home he’d changed his mind several times over, but her hand over his swelling cock settled it for him. Pulling into the garage, he glanced at her, ignoring her giggle that bordered on painful. Hell, she was willing. He exited the car, hurried around to her side and helped her out. She leaned into him in a manner that bordered on drunken unsteadiness.

  Just his luck if she was smashed rather than tipsy. He walked her to his front door and slipped inside. In the light, her glazed eyes gave him pause. When he let her go, he waited for her to teeter. Bonnie didn’t, instead cast a curious stare about his living space. “Hmm, very modern chic.”

  He scanned his black-and-white living area. He liked his stuff in its precise spots, none of the frou-frou things. It was modern, perhaps, but not chic. Bonnie wandered toward his white leather compartmental lounge, her fingers trailing over the hard edges. She faced him, her butt perched on the headrest. One foot hooked over the other, she curled a finger, inviting him forward. Max loosened his tie and approached, brushing aside that strange niggle at the back of his head. His hands settled on her waist and he stared at her large breasts pushing at her body-hugging dress. Fake, but he didn’t give a damn. Slim arms wrapped around his neck and
he shifted closer, ignoring the reluctance to kiss her. His nostrils pinched at the cloying scent of some perfume. It smelled like a mixture of talc powder and jasmine. He hated jasmine.

  He eyed her crimson lips, willing himself to cover the distance between them and kiss her. Her lips parted and a waft of slightly bitter wine hit him in the face. He gripped her arms and eased them from him. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

  Brows rose. “I think it’s rude of you to say so.”

  Was she kidding him? “I just don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  She patted his flaccid cock and he jerked away from her. A leer pulled at her lips. “Are you sure that’s the reason? All worn out?”

  “Yeah.”

  She pushed off the lounge and sauntered up to him. “I can help you with that.” She licked her lips. “I’m very good with my mouth.”

  Before he could respond, she dropped to her knees and pulled at his zipper. He grasped her wrist. “Wait—”

  A knock at the door froze them both. Bonnie glanced at the front, suspicion narrowing her eyes. “You expecting someone?”

  Max swallowed hard. Bridget. A cold sweat broke over his forehead, but before he could think of a plausible reply, Bonnie stood and stomped to the door. Zipping his pants, he hurried after her, thinking of ways to explain Bonnie to Bridget. He knew on some level he didn’t have to explain anything, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to…to what? Bonnie opened the door and his heart stopped. Right until he heard a pitch pipe.

  He sidled up to Bonnie to find a trio of men all wearing white dress shirts and vests. What the hell?

  Then they started to sing, clicking their fingers to a swinging tune. “You think you’re so suave, you think you’re so debonair, you think you walk on water but you’re really full of hot air. You want to get in her pants and make her come, but you overestimate your prowess, old chum. She doesn’t want your small dick or your kiss, you lack substance and you’ve been dismissed. The fact remains you might think you have class, but really, you’re an aaaassss!”

  Horror made him cold, but it was obliterated by anger as Bonnie giggled. “They’re right.”

  “Like hell they are.”

  The singing telegram departed with a bow and Bonnie leaned against the door, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “I think whoever sent this might have the right idea.”

  Consternation dropped his brows. “You don’t want to sleep with me?”

  She slanted a look out the front door. “I think it’s best. I’m a bit tipsy.”

  It didn’t matter that only a moment before he was ready to send her on her way. His ego stung. Bonnie snatched up her purse and dug out her phone. She stepped onto the porch and threw him a commiserating stare. “It was fun.”

  As she walked away, Max shut the door. He raked hands through his hair. She fucking did it again. Cock-blocked him. He needed to get her out of his head and now he knew there was only one way to do it. He had to fuck Bridget. Just get in, get off and get out. Damn her. The door banged against the wall of his house as he stomped over to Bridget’s, ignoring the questioning stare from Bonnie. She’d made her damn decision to leave him hanging.

  He pounded on the door. Waited and did it again. The moment it opened, he slapped his hand on the door so it swung out of her grip, then banged it shut behind him. “You think that’s funny, don’t you?”

  Dressed in a bathrobe, Bridget crossed her arms. “You sent strippers to my place.”

  “I was on a fucking date.”

  “Well, I guess I saved her from making a terrible mistake.”

  He stalked toward her, following as she backtracked. “No, the mistake was to cock-block me.”

  She hit the wall, her body startling but her eyes flashing fire. “I didn’t do anything of the sort.”

  He slapped his hands beside her shoulders, caging her in. He inhaled the fresh scent of soap and floral shampoo. “You know damn well that’s what you did. It’s your fault I’m aching like this.”

  Eyes widened, luscious lips parted. “How is that my fault?”

  He clasped her nape, wet locks wrapped around his fingers. “Because I want to fuck you and I can’t.”

  He slammed his lips down on hers. She tasted minty and wet. Ruthlessly he ravaged her mouth, wanting to show her his desperation for her. Nipping at her lower lip, he licked it better before he captured her mouth again. Her whimper cut through the air, and he slipped his hand into the bathrobe and shuddered as he palmed her breast. The hardened tip of her nipple pressed into his hand and he rolled it between two fingers. Inserting his thigh between hers, he forced her to settle on his leg. To feel her pussy through his dress pants. Bridget wasn’t cold at all. She was damn hot.

  Fisting his hand in her hair, he savagely ripped his lips from her to stare down at her glazed expression. Satisfaction filled him and his cock ached to slip inside her. Panting, he jerked at the bow around her waist and it came apart, revealing her to his gaze. The air in his lungs left him in a gush. Rose-pink nipples stood at diamond points, begging for his touch. His hungry gaze trailed downward and Max just about swallowed his tongue. Landing strip. How the hell did he miss it the last time he touched her? Something about knowing she presented one thing but was something else beneath her clothes intrigued him. His dick thrummed with aching need, and his balls tightened.

  He bent over her to suck on a nipple while he fondled her lush breast. Bridget moaned, her hips rocking on his thigh, wetting the fabric. Holy shit. He wrapped an arm around her back and grasped her ass, loving the soft flesh in his hand.

  “M-max,” she panted.

  Damn he loved the way her voice sounded. He kissed his way up her neck and captured her mouth in a voracious kiss. Teeth scraped, tongues danced and he learned every hidden valley in her mouth. Arms wrapped around his shoulder and her breathing hitched. His body thrummed with caged need, every brush of her hand over his nape making everything stretch to breaking point. He broke off to lick her lobe. “Touch me. Fucking touch me, babe.”

  She glided a hand down his chest and settled over his dick. Pleasure arced down his shaft, so intense it hurt. From one damn touch. She stroked him through the fabric and he hissed at the bliss that coiled around his dick.

  He groaned, tingles racing over his flesh. He skimmed his hand up her thigh and slipped his finger along her wet folds. Bridget whimpered, her arm tightening around his shoulders. Their breaths intermingled, lips touching. Gently circling her clit, he relished the contours of her delicious pussy. She arched into his touch and he licked her lip. She suckled on his tongue and his eyes rolled back. She was a siren. His siren, luring him to his own death.

  “You’re so hot for me.”

  The hand froze on his dick and he knew instantly he’d said the wrong thing.

  “Let me go.”

  He dipped his head and cursed. Gathering what little control he possessed, he methodically released her, then stepped back. Gold flashed in her eyes, her bee-stung lips pinched. “You think I’m here to satisfy your ego?”

  Sexual frustration coalesced with anger. “If you were, then I wouldn’t be carrying around this boner from hell.”

  She glared at him. “Well you can keep on carrying it. I’m not about to act as your geyser release. Now leave.”

  Max glared at her. Both hating and liking her for her fire. After a brief battle with his dick, he stormed out of her house. Tromping over to his place, he tried to ignore the burning ache in his balls and chest. In his bedroom, he threw off his clothes and dealt with the matter himself, Bridget’s name a curse and benediction on his lips.

  * * * * *

  Max stared glumly at the brick wall in set room one. The Entice set room spoke in volumes of luxuriousness with its sophisticated lounges, rug and massive four-poster bed. Having just finished the monthly meeting, they had their schedule for the next month. He didn’t notice how many films he was set to do. What he did notice was the contract, the one adjusting his status quo
to involve anal penetration. His fingers crumbled the paper in his hand, wanting to burn it to ash. All he could be thankful for was the absence of Venus. He hoped she made better, informed decisions from now on.

  “What the hell is your problem?” Bryce snapped.

  Wrenched from his thoughts about Venus, Max stared at his friend. He’d lost a bit of weight and itched his arm in a nervous tic. Bryce was edging for a hit.

  “Nothing.”

  Brows dropped in disapproval. “Nothing, bullshit. You’ve been like a wet towel.”

  Yesterday’s monthly invite-only orgy for a live stream was a free-for-all. The money was a pull and the fact that he had more control over whom he fucked and how often he did it had him participating previously, but he pulled out. Before he would’ve been happy enough to perform but lately he felt…empty.

  “I must be coming down with something,” he mumbled.

  “Well, whatever it is, you need to snap out of it. Turning down a live stream? That’s lame.”

  Max scratched his chest. “What does it matter anyway? There were enough people who wanted to fuck. Whether I participated shouldn’t matter.”

  “It’s what the fans want.”

  Max suppressed the urge to grimace. It was the fans who ran the business. Everyone knew his persona, but the “Player” wasn’t in the mood to play. It wasn’t what he wanted. For the last week he’d avoided Bridget and it irked him to realize he missed their pranks. He missed watching her get worked up. His spare time was spent working out to the point of exhaustion so he wouldn’t dream of her.

  Fat lot of good that’d done him so far. He jacked off to the thought of her almost daily.

  Bryce sniffled and settled deeper in the lounge, his foot kicked up onto the coffee table. “You’re as much fun as a vasectomy. What the hell is up with you?”

  He shifted in his seat and carefully weighed the next words. “What do you think about relationships?”

  Bryce scratched his chin, his reddened eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”