The Stars Trilogy (2 page)

“Dare, hunny, aren’t you getting up yet? It’s Oscar night!”

He didn’t open his eyes or move from his prone position on the bed.

“I’m ready! Look! Thanks for this dress, hunny! I sooo lovet! I’m definitely going to be queen of the night!”

God, what he’d give for the little babe to shut up. The Academy Awards was as exciting to him as putting his socks on. He wasn’t up for any nomination, hadn’t been in years, thanks to the series of flicks he’d made that earned hundreds of millions of dollars each but required him not much acting prowess but good looks and firepower— and he was still invited every fucking year. The Oscar snobs just wanted him there for one reason, as a glittering piece of accessory to add star wattage to the event. He hated going up on the stage to present anything and crack scripted jokes to his co-presenter and watch his fellow actors deliver ecstatic speeches of gratitude after winning.

“Dare, please! We’ll be late! I don’t wanna miss the red carpet! I’ve been preparing for this night for a whole month!”

The red carpet won’t start REALLY rolling unless I’m there, silly head.

Stamping her foot on the plush, carpeted floor in frustration, she went out of the room, mumbling in frustration. “You are sooo unfair! You’re so gonna ruin this for me! So not fair!”

He flopped on his back and sighed. He opened his eyes and squinted around the opulent expanse of his Garden Villa suite at the Peninsula in Beverly Hills. The Rolex wall clock said he had exactly thirty minutes to get dressed.

The door opened again and Taylor Reeves, his mistress of three months and the most promising starlet in Hollywood at the moment came in again. Her eyes lit up like she’d seen Santa Claus. “Oh, thank God, you’re awake! Finally!”

“Come here.” He tapped his aching groin, the remnant of that blasted dream. “Hop in the saddle.”

Her eyes widened. “You can’t be serious! I’m already made up and dressed!”

Despite being irritated by her petulant protest, he gave her a horny look. “Yeah, you look really nice, sweetie. Come on, take care of this.” He removed the blanket covering his body to show her his erection.

Her eyes zeroed in hungrily on his cock but her red carpet excitement seemed to be the prime source of her high at the moment. “Dare, hunny, we’ll be late! Please, get dressed now. Please!”

Not until I get off.

“Come on, sweetstuff, gimme five minutes.”

“But...Dare!”

“I’m not going anywhere until you take care of this.”

That was a threat he’d gladly carry out, the Oscars be damned.

Taylor seemed to know his exact disposition. Sighing heavily, she hiked her long gown up her legs and removed her thong. She joined him on the bed and straddled him clumsily, struggling with her voluminous dress. He was tempted to rip the yards of cloth out of the way.

She grabbed his cock none too gently.

“Condom,” he reminded her.

Grumbling, she reached for the side table and took out a packet, tearing the edge off with her teeth. She sheathed him expertly within the rubber.

“That’s my girl. Now, ride me.”

He inhaled sharply as she guided him inside her, impaling herself on his stiff cock. She was unprepared but she started moving on top of him immediately.

Fine. If she didn’t want to take any pleasure out of this, he would take his. Not really pleasure but just to get rid of this freakin’ tension caused by that dream. It was always so vivid he could smell HER, feel her, taste her and he would get hard, hard, hard…

“Hurry up!” Taylor urged him, riding him in a mad gallop.

He touched her breasts.

“Don’t ruin my dress! It’s a Versace Couture!” she shrieked, laboring on top of him. “Come on, you’re making me sweat! My make-up!”

“Shut up!” He closed his eyes, grabbed her hips and rammed into her in rapid succession. The Light Fairy swam in his mind, soft and fragrant and hot. So fucking hot!

He came after a dozen thrusts, a kind of release that woke him up like a douse of ice cold water.

The moment he was done, Taylor jumped from the bed and ran to the vanity mirror to check her appearance.

“Dare, you gotta take a shower now! The guys from Jose Eber Atelier are already so anxious outside. They’ve been waiting for two hours! You need to get your hair styled and it would take an hour! We’re gonna be late!”

Her shrill, panicking voice irritated the shit out of him. Who freaked out because of a damn awards night? “I don’t need hair styling,” he said brusquely and rose from the bed. He strode to the
en suite
and hit the shower. Five minutes later, he walked back into the bedroom, drying his hair with a towel just as his PA barged into the room.

“Dare, you really need to…” Ken’s voice turned into a squeak, his face going red. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” He immediately turned around. “For God’s sake, put some clothes on, man!”

“Do you really want me to do that, Kenny?” Dare replied lazily, uncaring of his nudity.

“You mean I can look…?”

“You mean it wasn’t you who leaked my dimensions to the rags?”

“Not me! Her!” He pointed an accusing finger at Taylor.

Taylor gasped in indignation. “How dare you accuse me? It’s absolutely not me!”

“I just wish you got the diameter correctly. It’s two inches on full throttle, not one-point-five,” Dare nonchalantly told no one in particular.

“I’ve never seen it at that— ” Taylor blurted out and then bit her tongue.

Ken turned toward Taylor abruptly. “See?! It was her! I knew it was you, you gossip girl!” Ken’s eyes zeroed in on target, too. “Oh my God! Is that real?! That’s so going to make Ewan just a sad medium!”

Dare’s brows arched, slightly amused. He wasn’t shy about his extra-girth and length. It saved him from having to wear bulge padding during his designer underwear ad shoots.

“You’ve seen Ewan’s package?” he asked Ken with mild curiosity. Ewan Cassidy was a well-known cocksman in Hollywood. Name a starlet and Ewan had most likely boned her.

Ken couldn’t look away from his cock. “No, but I can say from his D & G ads that he’s quite hung and my friends say that he does carry a monster in his pants. But I’ve never seen anything like yours, not in my entire, promiscuous gay life! Oh my gawd, it’s not even erect! You’re gonna top the Hollywood Well-hung List if the gossip persists and it’s not even gossip, after all!” Ken was practically hyper-ventilating.

Shaking his head, Dare padded back to the
en suite
, leaving his gay PA and his now ex-mistress (though she didn’t know it yet) in a cat fight. Ken was always a dependable employee and he had no complaints with the guy so far despite his choice of lovers. Ken knew how to deliver and that was what mattered most to him in business, efficiency.

But his mistress had run her course. One thing he hated the most was lack of discretion. He was a very private person and he’d like to keep it that way. A mistress who’d kiss and tell didn’t belong in his entourage. Sure, she gave him great reviews in the sack, a subject that had been discussed by his past casual lovers in the rags
ad nauseam,
more for their five minutes of fame than its veracity, but he’d rather hear rave reviews on his acting or movie directing, the latter a recent endeavor of his. .

Taylor will get a generous gift, of course, a supporting role in his next movie perhaps, or a lip service paid by him so she can land a role in Michael Bay’s next robot-populated opus. She will walk on the red carpet in his arm tonight. And that would be her last public appearance with him.

Dare’s black Bentley limo joined the line of luxury vehicles purring their way toward the main entrance of the venue. He surveyed the Kodak Theater impassively, fighting the boredom and the urge to tell Cruz to transfer to the next lane and drive them back to the hotel.

God, he hated this. Oscar night. It had been ages since he’d won any O.

His soon-to-be-ex-mistress was practically bouncing on her ass in excitement. The blond Marilyn Monroe ersatz was chattering nonstop the entire ride he was tempted to duck-tape her bloody red trap. He was wondering now what in hell he’d liked about Taylor in the first place?

Her young, science-enhanced, Maxim cover body,
answered his perverted Id.

Really, he was getting tired of cover girls. He’d had them all in different shapes, sizes, ages and nationalities. What he’d give for a simple, classy babe who sported Mensa IQ but wouldn’t chew his ass off like a rabid feminist at every opportunity. Tough luck, but those qualities rarely came in one package. Besides, he wasn’t known for dating the type.

Dare Montgomery, Supermodel Serial Killer, as the rags had labeled him in recent years, was secretly jonesing for a smart, classy girl who had no plastic whatsoever in her body and character. Unfortunately, he lived in a place where people needed plastics like the air they breathed.

Hilarious. Pathetic even. If people heard his thoughts, he’d be called a walking irony, because he lived as a consummate plastic user from sun up to sun down.

His reputation in the general public was that of the ultimate chauvinist. This was a result of his most criticized interview with Esquire Magazine after his divorce from Naiomi, when he casually said that marriage to him was just an excuse to have temporary exclusive sex and to reduce taxes. He further stated that women only demanded for gender equality when it suited them, but when it came to finances, they would conveniently forget about it and go back to the Victorian era, expecting to be taken care of by their men. Luckily, he’d said, he was a man from that era who’d gladly pay for his woman’s every need for as long as they were together. In return, he wanted to be catered to like a king.

Did his fans hate him for that? On the contrary, his marriage proposals from around the world tripled and Kelsey had to put the overflowing fan mails in a storage van. Only the feminist-oriented magazines called him the bane of every independent, self-respecting woman’s life for his flippant disregard for the sanctity of marriage and his total disrespect to the spirit of women’s liberation.

Well, hell, so be it.

“Ohmigod, ohmigod! There’s Angie and Brad!” squealed his starlet ex. “Oh, there’s Jen with...who’s that guy with her?” She pointed to the couple who alighted from a limo in front of them. “You think Angie and Jen are gonna snub each other?”

He wanted to chew glass.
The fuck I care!
“You should only be concerned with you and me, tonight, sweetie,” he said gently, tucking a blond curl behind her ear.

Taylor nervously ran her palms from her eye-popping chest to her flat stomach. She was a walking cock tease in her flaming red number that showcased the mother of all cleavages and no doubt debited several thousand dollars from one of his mistress-petty-cash accounts.

“How do I look?” She preened in front of him, batting her dark, mile-long, fake lashes.

“You know how you look, sweetie.” She reminded him of a red, talking parrot he once saw in a friend’s garden. Very pretty and very annoying.

“But I want you to tell me again, please? I need more confidence. I’m so nervous!”

He wanted to roll his eyes. She’d asked him that twenty times tonight and he was tempted to say she looked like a blown up sex doll, but he kept that to himself. He couldn’t blame the poor girl for having loud but expensive taste in clothing. This was her first experience of the super A-list crowd, the ones who sat in the first three rows and occupied the special tables.

“You look beautiful.”

She leaned and air kissed him on the lips with a “mwah!”

“Sorry, hunny, I love kissing you but you know, my lipstick. I want to have a perfect smile for the cameras. Plus I’d smear some on you, too and it won’t look good in the pictures, right?”

Thank fuck for that and don’t you fucking touch ME. Your privilege has expired.

He sighed discreetly. He really had to stay off of the young bubble heads, but they won’t stay away from him. They were always lining up at his hotel rooms and movie sets. If his mansion wasn’t fortified with an almost 2-story, solid iron gate and concrete perimeter walls, they would have invaded it long ago.

“You think this dress will land on People’s Best-Dressed?”

Try the other group, sweetie.
He wished this little thing will meet some other guy tonight so she won’t be too heartbroken when he’d tell her later not to see him anymore. He’d gladly give her a great review in the sack so she’d snag her next benefactor.

“Well?” she persisted.

He had to remind himself that this was their last night together. He smiled at her indulgently. “You’re the queen of the night in my book, sweetie. You know why? You’re with the king.”

The smile she gave him was so radiant and adoring he already felt guilty he’d be putting a damper on her grandest night in a few hours. He almost extended their stay together for another day.

He was saved from committing a colossal stupidity and twenty-four hours of added boredom by his bodyguard.

Cruz opened the door and he stepped out of the limo.

Cameras went crazy. He plastered a practiced megastar smile on his face and waved at the frenzied crowd lining up the railings that bordered the wide and long stretch of red carpet leading to the venue’s entrance. The press occupied one side and the selected fans that were able to get bleacher tickets were on the other side.

“Dare! Over here! Dare!”

“Look here, Dare! One smile! You look awesome!”

“Dare! Talk to me! Over here!”

“Dare! I love you! Oh my God, Dare!”

He bent to assist Taylor out of the Bentley.

A minute later, they were posing for a hundred cameras.

He left Taylor to enjoy the spotlight.

He spotted George Clooney and walked up to him. They’d been friends for a few years now and they recently made a movie together that George directed, earning them both acclaim from the critics. George was also competing for the best actor category tonight in a movie that he also produced. George was the total package, the Renaissance man who can do anything in Hollywood.