DirtyInterludes (7 page)

Things were starting to look up. Laughing at a story relayed
by another cellist, she paused at a knock on the door. She opened it and all
laughter ceased at the sight of two police officers on her porch.

“Can I help you?”

“Is your name Bridget?”

“Yes.”

“May we come inside?”

Bridget waved them in, wondering what they could want. She
glanced at her friends and shrugged.

“Having a party are we?” The blond officer raised his brow in
query.

“Uh, I guess. Is it the noise?”

The partition wall was thin, but she didn’t think she had
the music too loud as to disturb Max.

“Yes,” said the female officer. “There isn’t enough.”

Music blared from a little boom box the woman had placed on
the table. Confusion clouded her mind right up until the man ripped his shirt
open. Women squealed and mortification made her stomach drop. The man gyrated
as the woman sashayed about to focus on the other men. Jaw slack, she stood
immobile as both strippers played to the room. Men cheered as the female
stripper stepped on the coffee table, knocking a plate of fruit onto the floor,
her dance moves overtly sexual.

Bridget’s attention shifted to the women. Some had already
dived for their purses and were waving dollar bills as if they were in some
seedy stripper joint.

“Stop!”

The combination of music and cheers drowned out her voice.
Hands over her cheeks, she shook her head in disbelief. What was supposed to be
a calm, sophisticated night of socializing and bonding had turned into an orgy
of screaming women and bug-eyed men.

Max. His name exploded in her head like an erupting volcano.

She squeezed through the tightly knit people and slapped her
hand over the stereo. Both “officers” stopped dancing.
Thank God.
“Stop.”

Her colleagues groaned.

Hands in a placating gesture, she faced the two dancers.
“Look, this is some kind of joke. I’m sorry, but you have to go.”

“Don’t be such a party-pooper,” Harry said and slapped his
hand over the boom box.

It cranked out music and the crowd overpowered her protest.
This was a disaster. They were supposed to be bonding. Not ogling half-naked
people.

Twisting away, she hurried from her house, closing the door
behind her. The lights to Max’s house were on and she knocked on his door. It
opened moments later, a question in his eyes.

“You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?”

Dark brows lowered. “What?”

“You know every month I have a social get-together, and you
send
that
to my door?”

“That being?”

“The
strippers
?”

His hand covered his mouth, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
“I forgot about that.”

Bridget mimicked a laugh. Knowing on some level how stupid
she probably looked. “I bet you think it’s funny. Well, it’s not.”

“If I seem to recall, you did the same thing to me.” He
opened the door wider. “Care to return the favor?”

She rolled her eyes. “As if.”

He angled his head as though listening for something in the
distance. “Sounds like they’re having fun.”

“It’s my colleagues. I’m trying to make an impression.”

“Well, your impression obviously wasn’t working. Up until a
few minutes ago, I wouldn’t have pegged you for having fun at all.”

“Life isn’t always about sex and parties.”

He leaned on the doorframe and folded his arms. “But it’s
more fun that way.”

She threw him a look of disgust and pointed to her house.
“You can go over there and tell those strippers to leave.”

“I don’t think I will. Think of it as a gift.”

“A gift I don’t want. This isn’t funny. I thought we’d
become friends.”

He pushed off the door, eyes narrowed, a muscle leapt in his
jaw. “Friends?” he bit off harshly.

He stepped forward, his presence sucking the air from her
lungs. Feet rooted to the ground, she could barely breathe as he surrounded her
with his alpha aura. A finger traced her jaw to tip her chin up. His head
dropped, warm air touching her cheek. He swayed infinitesimally, a dance so
sexy in its subtlety. She followed him, wanting him to curve her body into his.
To touch that ache inside her.

“Is that what you think we are?” he whispered.

She swallowed hard and managed a small nod.

Moist lips brushed over hers, and the wet flick of his
tongue touched the cusp of her mouth. Desire bloomed in the depths of her
stomach and pinged between her thighs. Her thoughts of the strippers became
wisps on the wind. Max’s fingers trailed over the arch of her ear and down her
neck. Tingles followed after his touch. Hot breath skated over the flesh
between her neck and collarbone. Instinctually, she turned her head, exposing
herself to his kiss. She wanted to feel his tongue on her. Wanted him to touch
her breasts. A hot flush built in her chest and her nipples ached with need. He
ran his knuckle along the décolletage up to one shoulder and down again. Oxygen
stalled in her lungs.

A brief chuckle weighed with disbelief left him and he
straightened. “People like you and me can never be friends,” he rasped, his
voice derisive and beautiful.

Reeling from the change of mood, she frowned. “What do you
mean?”

“We can’t be friends. Ever.”

Bridget blinked, her breasts heavy and wanting his touch and
yet he was denying her. Confusion fell under the pounding force of
embarrassment.

“Why?” Inwardly she cringed at the desperate note in her
voice.

He rubbed the back of his head, then exhaled through stiff
lips. “Look, I got a hot date tomorrow and I don’t want to send you mixed
messages.”

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?”

Max cleared his throat and waved a nonchalant hand. “You
know, having a girlfriend.”

Silence stretched between them, so oppressive he wished he
had a beer. Beer helped deep-and-meaningfuls to pass a hell of a lot easier.

“You thinking of trying one on?”

“No.”

“You know how that worked out for Dylan and Rube.”

Dylan and Ruby had tried to make their relationship work. In
hindsight, Max knew it wasn’t love, but rather desperation that drew the two
together. Their poorly constructed relationship died swiftly after six months
with Dylan unable to separate work from his personal life and Ruby taking the
break personally and slowly spiraling.