Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 2: Mason (12 page)

Stark roughly grabs my wrist, then leans down toward me until our faces inches apart. “And this time, I’ll spray my cum inside of you.”

“Be a man,” I say loudly, my voice starting to tremble. Part of me recognizes the sexual excitement I’m suddenly feeling, but I’m too furious to acknowledge it.

He stares at me intensely as his hand holds my wrist prisoner. The silence in the house is deafening. I hear my own breathing and feel the blood rushing in my veins.

“You’ve never had a man like me,” he says in a low voice, his nose now an inch away from mine.

“You’re not a man, you’re a fucking coward.”

He tilts his head slightly and I feel his lips touch mine. My breath catches in my throat as he lets go of my wrist and wraps me up in his arms, kissing me like he’s been holding back the urge forever. Our tongues play aggressively, as if they’re attempting to settle the issue of the bet. My body feels small in his strong arms and my heart pounds at the sensation of being overpowered as he presses his body to mine, a hard bulge nudging my belly.

This is not happening
, I tell myself.
Not until he owns up to losing the bet.

I put my hands on his chest and push him back. “Be a man, Mason,” I demand, trying to sound strong in my conviction. “Honor our bet.”

He reaches up and slides his fingers into the front of my tank top, brushing against my cleavage.

I look into his eyes and see the fire there. “Be a man,” I whimper.

I feel a sudden force and hear my tank top shredding as Stark rips it completely off my body. For a split second I’m acutely aware that I’m topless, then he grabs my hips and spins me around.

“Here’s your man,” he snarls as his hands make quick work of my zipper. Before I know what’s happening, my jeans are yanked all the way down to my ankles, my panties along with them. I feel Stark’s leg between my calves, then he lifts me and tosses me forward onto the couch, my clothes staying on the floor under his foot. Suddenly naked just seconds after being fully clothed, I try to spin and face him, but he grabs my opposite bicep in a tight grip and spins me back around, then puts his other hand on my head, pushing my face into the cushioned couch.

“Do not fucking move,” he says, his voice now steady and authoritative.

My knees are on the front edge of the couch, my ass facing him. My pussy responds to his command with a flood of wetness. It doesn’t matter that this position leaves me exposed and vulnerable. I’m not concerned that it’s difficult to draw a breath with my face buried in the cushion. I don’t even give a shit about the bet now. I no longer care about anything other than being forcefully taken by the man I want so badly to hate. I feel myself giving in to him, utterly and completely.

The head of his cock suddenly slides between my labia, surprising me because I didn’t see him take it out. It’s only there for just a second before he plunges into me, all the way. I scream against the cushion, the pain immediately giving way to the delicious feeling of being filled by his hardness.

Without concern for my needs, Stark warps his fingers around my biceps and grips tightly, pulling my arms back and using them to hold my body still as he fucks me. My pussy eagerly accepts his cock and wants more, harder, faster. He proceeds at his own pace, his thrusts strong and forceful.

Stark’s aggressive manner is exactly how I always imagined he’d be sexually. Just like in business, he takes what he wants. And this is also exactly who I am; I crave a man who knows my body is his to use as he desires.

Stark grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling my face out of the cushion and backwards. I suck in a breath as he begins to pound me hard, his rigid cock repeatedly hammering into me with a rhythm I respond to instinctively. The harder he drives into me, the more I feel as if my body is merely an object of pleasure meant specifically for him.

“You’re a very dirty girl, Claire.”

I am. And with him, I want to be even more so.

“Such a little slut. I like it – it suits you.”

Every name he calls me make my pussy clench down on him.

Just when the rhythm of his pounding has me in a state of bliss, he pulls out of me without warning and spins my body back around without ever letting go of my hair. His hand roughly yanks my head downward before I can get repositioned on the couch. I feel his cock against my lips and open them wide to take him in. His other hand finds my head and he holds it as he fucks my mouth mercilessly. This is no blowjob, and requires no skill on my part other than relinquishing control to him. When he groans and explodes against the back of my throat, I’m more than a willing receptacle – I’m in total ecstasy.

As his orgasm subsides, I’m able to use my oral skills on him. While he finally pulls away from me, I kiss the head until it’s out of reach, then look up to see the man who has just done this to me. Stark has managed to remove his sweater, his lithe, taut upper body now on display for me. His jeans are lowered to mid-thigh, his slick cock pointing right at me.

He’s in a post-orgasm haze, looking down at me with abject lust. I confidently connect with his gaze, needing to let him know that nothing he just did was too much for me.

I recline on the couch as he gets a good look at my body. “Now what?” I say expectantly.

“Look into my eyes,” he says.

“I already am.”

“Don’t stop.” That was a command, and I obey.

In my peripheral vision I see him tuck his cock back into his pants and zip up. Then he climbs onto the couch, pushing my prone body toward the back to create room, his knees both nudging the same side of my waist.

Still looking into his eyes as told, I’m surprised when his finger touches me, rubbing my wet, swollen lips and searching between them for my clit.

“You’re gonna come for me,” Stark says, and I know I will. My body is a live wire, tingling all over from the fucking I was just subjected to, so when he starts gently stroking my clit, I sense that it won’t take long. Within seconds, though, his finger slides lower and slips inside me. As he stares intently into my eyes, he strokes my inner wall and confidently, assuredly locates my G-spot. This man obviously knows his way around a pussy. I can’t begin to imagine how many women he’s been with to become this skilled.

Never taking his eyes off mine, he works me into a frenzy. I moan softly when the index finger of his free hand gently touches me between my breasts. As that finger traces down my body, slowly traversing my belly, I feel the orgasm start to build. I stare as deeply into Stark’s eyes as I can, and I can unquestionably sense he’s feeling the same physical and emotional intensity.

With my G-spot being stroked like that and the anticipation of that index finger eventually finding its target, I almost start to come before he even reaches my clit. As soon as he touches it, that feeling of being at the apex of the roller coaster arrives and I’m about to let go.

“Not yet.”

It’s not a suggestion.

I hold back, frustrated at my orgasm being halted before it could even start.

“Relax,” Stark says, firmly but softly. “I’ll tell you when.”

What the hell? He expects me to restrain myself from coming until he gives the go-ahead? I’m not even sure I can physically do that, then his fingers simultaneously ease off ever so slightly. He’s still touching both spots, but lightly. My orgasm hovers there, unwilling to retreat, but not allowed to proceed. The tension builds and I moan, quietly at first.

“That’s a good girl,” he says. “Let me know how badly you want to come.” A loud, involuntarily moan escapes from my lips. Fuck, he knows exactly how to push my buttons.

I grip Stark’s wrist as he continues to circle my clit, and my other hand touches his chest, feeling the thrilling hardness of his muscles. Time is suspended and my entire body is ready, perched precariously at the edge of a waterfall, just waiting to fall.

“Now. Come for me.”

Although I was waiting for it, I’m surprised when my body explodes with the most intensely pleasurable shock waves I could possibly endure, cascading one after another. Nothing at all exists outside of my orgasm, as if my entire being is composed solely of contracting muscles. Still looking into Stark’s eyes, I hear myself moaning like a crazy person as he visually coaxes every last spasm out of me. Just at the instant I can no longer stand it, he eases up, still touching me but avoiding the most sensitive spots.

When he finally, slowly slides his finger out of me, I’m a puddle of pure bliss. We have one last moment of our long-locked gaze, and I’m the first to break our silence.

“That was amazing.”

I’m surprised to see a look of reluctance on his face. He was there with me just moments ago, I could feel it. Now I sense him rapidly pulling away.

“Good,” he says. “Now get dressed and get the fuck out of my house.”

The words hit me like a punch and I can feel them in my chest. He can’t be serious. Mere seconds ago I was his, physically and emotionally, and now he’s saying he doesn’t want me?

“You’re joking, right?” I ask. If he’s not, I’m in big trouble.

“No. It’s your turn this time. Put your clothes on and leave.”

He’s not only serious, he’s out for cold, hard revenge.

I’m strong, though, and will not give him the satisfaction of drawing tears. Without a word, I stand and put on my clothes under his watchful eye. I leave my shredded tank top on the couch and slip into my hoodie.

When I’m dressed, I walk to the foyer. I put on my shoes, then turn to him. He’s still rooted to his spot in the living room, his flawless half-naked body taunting me.

“You’re an asshole, Mason,” I say. Although I make it sound like I’m calm and collected, I’m unraveling on the inside.

“Maybe so, but at least I had the courtesy to get you off before dismissing you.”

I
watch
the door close and can’t help but feel a bit bad for her.

But not
too
bad.

Even if she hadn’t tried to go back on her word regarding our bet, Claire still deserved it. She’d done the same damn thing to me in her office less than a week ago. Revenge is sweet.

I tell myself that any feeling of remorse, slight as it is, comes from the fact that in both cases, the sex itself was outstanding. Lying on that desk as she did her thing was one of the hottest moments I can remember experiencing, and I’ve experienced a lot. And just now, she took the hardest fucking I could give her and was ready for more.

So kudos to Claire for being a great lay. I’m eagerly looking forward to her spending a week here with me soon.

A short time later I’m lying in bed, unable to fall asleep. This is par for the course when I’ve had either an exhausting or exhilarating day, and today was both. My dismay at the Variety article was offset by coming up with a devious scheme to both resolve the
Texas Flood
conflict and win my bet with Claire. I made a shitload of money for myself and two of my best friends, then to cap off a truly memorable day, I had amazing, intense sex and repaid my rival for that dirty trick in her office.

As I toss and turn, my mind keeps coming back to Claire. She was understandably irritated when she showed up demanding answers, but that was because in the course of a few hours I’d not only managed to undo a plot she’d pulled off, but I also benefited greatly from it. Then she got really pissed off when I explained that I’d actually won the bet and she still owed me my reward.

Even after all that, though, there was something going on between us. Claire is smitten with me, like she has a middle-school crush. The look in her bottomless blue eyes as she practically dared me to dominate her was no accident. I was hoping to make her think twice about the stunt in her office, but there was no regret whatsoever on her part. She was obviously into what I was doing to her and how I was doing it. Claire relished being dominated like that, and just thinking about it again gives me a raging boner.

I already respected her as a business rival, and there’s no doubt she’s an incredibly sexy woman. Now I’ve learned first-hand that she’s awesome in bed. As I struggle to get to sleep I imagine the things I’ve been thinking about doing to her when she finally owns up to her debt. Although I fantasize about performing the same debauched acts, they now feel different. I recall our interaction at Pastiche when we first made the bet, the poking and prodding each other. I had that same exact feeling that night in her office, then again tonight in my living room.

Since I ended my last committed relationship a decade ago while still in law school, I’ve had a long string of women. Some I dated for a while, and many I just dated once, fucked them, and moved on. Quite a few I even fucked without bothering to date them at all. Of course, the quality of those women has increased as I’ve accumulated more Hollywood wealth and power.

None of them, though, has had the combination of brains, beauty, and sheer raw ambition that Claire has. I recognize that I’ve always been a little taken with her, admiring her from a distance while she fearlessly built her agency at the same pace I was building mine. For a woman to do that in Hollywood is phenomenal. The more I think about her, the more I realize that Claire Jarrett is remarkable in nearly every way.

It happens gradually, but just before I finally fall asleep, I come to understand what it is that’s bugging me.

It’s simple: I no longer think of her as a rival. After the last few weeks, she’s much more.

Even worse, I actually
like
the thought that she’s into me because I feel the same about her.

I’m not sure what to think about that.

* * *

W
hen I open
my eyes it’s already ten in the morning. I call the office and let Bella know I’ll be in after lunch, then check my voicemail. Jackie confirmed that she’s already received Cheyenne Parris’s signed contract and that everything we discussed in her office yesterday is now carved in stone.

Fantastic. I didn’t want to tell Drake until I had every last duck in a row, but now I can give him the good news.

As I shower, the thoughts about how my relationship with Claire has changed keep coming back to me. I attempt to rid myself of the distraction by jerking off while remembering what I did to her on my couch last night, but it does little to get her off my mind.

I make sure Drake is home and tell him I’m dropping by. His mansion is only twenty minutes from mine, but those are an important twenty minutes during which the houses I pass get increasingly larger.

Allie is there and the three of us sit in the nearby breakfast nook. My best friend is still rightfully concerned about the Variety article, but that changes when I tell him the good news, he and Allie are both ecstatic about what I’ve managed to do. There are good vibes all around, and I can’t help but brag about the other part of the equation.

“The best part is that I won my bet with Claire Jarrett,” I say.

Drake looks at Allie, and neither of them seems as happy for me as I’d expected.

“What?” I ask.

Drake’s reply seems out of character. “You’re actually going to go through with that?”

I hold my ground. “Absolutely. It was a fair bet, and I won.”

Allie stares across the table and says, “So you won the bet. Don’t be a dick about it.”

Did Allie just call me a dick?

“It was a fair bet. Had I lost, I’d have paid her a million bucks and painted her damn toenails. She willingly accepted my terms.”

“Regardless, you don’t want to humiliate her,” she says.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

Allie looks over at Drake, who gives voice to her thought.

“Because you really like this woman,” he says bluntly.

I frown at my friend.

“You know it’s true,” Drake says, then breaks into a laugh. “Your fucking face lights up every time you talk about her. It’s embarrassing, dude.”

Before I can respond, my phone dings with a text from Bella, reminding me about a meeting scheduled later in the afternoon. I conveniently use the text as an excuse to make my exit.

“Um, I’ve got to run. I forgot I have a meeting in half an hour.”