Dirty Boy (9 page)

“I see.”

Enthused, disappointed, or disgusted, Max couldn’t tell. She kept her poker face, so he’d keep his. He’d push aside thoughts of the hell he’d gone through to focus on her. He wouldn’t show how much the idea of having her excited him. “Will you reconsider walking out the door? You
did
sign the contract. If Ryker said Richard Head would fuck you, that meant onscreen.”

“I need money to stay in school, Max. To survive. I’ll keep to the contract if you amend it. My issue is filming me having sex for the first time.”

Max wouldn’t waste his time coaxing her to fuck onscreen. He’d have to talk to her too long, feel that spark between them that shouldn’t have been there in the first place, considering her age. “I’ll feed you and send you back to Dallas if you fuck me.”

Her mouth formed an ‘o’, but those very expressive eyes gave her away. They flickered to Max’s mouth, then down his body, her curiosity heightening his awareness of her.

His cock started stiffening, so he upped the ante. “If you honor your three-month contract, you can stay with me. In my bed. Fuck buddies. No strings attached. We’ll both be fucking others in front of the camera. There’s no room for jealousy.” None at all. At the first sign, he bailed. Nor was their room for lies.

Her tongue darted out and licked her lips, tempting Max to the edge. “I’d still have to do the deflowering scene?”

Max nodded.

“With you?”

“With me,” he confirmed. Virgins had never been his thing. But, fuck it. Pussy was pussy, this was business, and he wanted to fuck. That was the easiest way to explain his eagerness. Harder to define was his odd combination of desire, nostalgia, a bit of protectiveness and the overwhelming possession that outweighed his anger toward her.

“Will you hurt me on purpose?”

Unappreciative of her quiet question, he narrowed his eyes. Despite his surfacing belligerence, she didn’t back down. She stared at him, trying to take his measure, her mistrust pissing him off. She didn’t get the right to be mistrustful.

“You’re either fucking me, or you aren’t,” he answered.

No woman had to the right to mistrust him. Ever again.

The implacability of Max’s voice told Story she’d made several mistakes. First in her belief of Max. He was so hard and cold. Very different from the man she remembered. This man was the porn star, interested only in sex. Second, she should’ve hooked up with Jimmy beforehand to solve the problem of her virginity. For the first time, she regretted not following her mother’s advice to ‘throw a little pussy around.' She’d considered herself responsible when, in actuality, she’d been the typical kid—doing the opposite of parental advice.

If it had been anyone else, Story would’ve figured Babs used reverse psychology on her. But, no, the month after Story’s sixteenth birthday her mother had started her on a birth control regimen, given her a few sex manuals, and told her to have fun.

So not the typical mother.

“What’ll it be, Story?” Resentment underscored Max’s words.

He was still the same larger-than-life presence that she remembered. The wealth of warmth he’d once had for her had dissolved into a cold charisma that added a darkness to his beauty. And beautiful he was, with eyes so blue, she swore they’d been cast upon him from a tropical ocean. His clean-shaven face boasted a full mouth and an elegant nose. When his shirt had been off, she’d seen thickly muscled shoulders, a tanned chest, and abs so defined, they qualified for their own category of perfection.

“Still waiting,” he reminded her. “We need to start if I’m sticking my dick in you.”

She shifted from foot to foot, hating how uninvolved he sounded. She wanted him as aware of her as she was of him. As aware as they’d been of each other on that long ago, special night. The entire plane ride over she’d psyched herself to fuck Richard Head…Max…and had convinced herself she could do worse. Had she answered a random ad she might’ve run into homicidal creeps. Of course, if she were to believe the rumors, Max
was
homicidal. She
didn’t
believe them, however. Max might’ve been a lot of things—sexy, egotistical, arrogant, gorgeous, entitled, the list was endless—but he wasn’t a murderer.

Ryker
, though, was a liar. He hadn’t mentioned he’d claim ignorance about her identity. He hadn’t told them about their text messages or how he’d helped her secure all she needed.

“Time’s wasting,” Max said in a cool voice.

“Can you fuck me?” she asked to buy time. “As much as you hate me, for whatever you think I’ve done, your dick might not get hard. Then you’re kinda old. Thirty-one, right?”

Ryker snickered while Max’s handsome face hardened. Reminding herself she’d been flown out to play the role of a daring vixen to survive, she lifted her chin.

Her back was against the wall. If she didn’t go through with it, they’d leave her on her own. She wouldn’t be in this position all the time. If she stayed, she’d make enough money to get out of debt and pay for a semester of school. Maybe, more if her popularity grew. The silver lining was she’d always wanted him.

Perhaps, this heralded her changing luck. He knew her, so that would make her first time better for her than being with some random guy.

“If you’re game, I am.” Max’s voice broke into her deliberations. Their gazes met and collided. For the briefest moment, she glimpsed concern and a small amount of tenderness. A hard mask fell back into place, and he scowled. “If you don’t choose in ten seconds, I’m making the decision for you.”

Judging by his tone, he’d throw her out without a second thought. “Fine,” she blurted before she lost her nerve. “Can I at least disguise my appearance? Have a wig?” She’d prefer heavy makeup and hair color, but they didn’t have time for that.

Max considered her before his jaw clenched. “No.”

“Undress, Story.” Eric nodded to the bed. “Then hop on.”

“Change of scene.” A predatory gleam in Max’s blue eyes left Story feeling naked and confused. “Capture her as she strips to music, then she lays on the bed and plays with her pussy until I come in and take over.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ryker agreed, grabbing Story’s elbow and positioning her near the bed.

Once everyone was in place, Eric said, “Action.”

Instead of moving, Story frowned and glanced at all the extra people standing around, their full attention on her.

“When’s everyone else leaving?” she asked.

“Cut!” A disgusted frown on his face, Eric focused on Max. “This isn’t going to work. Let’s call it a day and start fresh tomorrow. This is a lost cause.”

“No, wait,” Story protested.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Ryker insisted, ignoring her just as everyone else was. “Get her comfortable and let them fuck today. Tomorrow, Greta might return if Max talks to her tonight.”

“Who’s Greta?” Story asked.

“Not happening,” Max called, still acting as if she wasn’t speaking. “I’ll approach her when hell freezes over.” He glared at Eric. “Have some fucking patience.” He removed his shirt and stepped out of his shorts, his cock springing free.

Oh. My. Goodness. Gracious. The size of him both impressed and intimidated her. He walked to her, his advance predatory, the heat and desire in his eyes feeding her own. A silent, intense moment sizzled between them. He stroked her lips and drew her closer with a finger under her chin. Bending, he planted his lips on hers.

It hit her then. She was going to be with
Max
. They’d become lovers. Everything she’d ever fantasized about would come true. He’d make love to her with his hands, mouth, and cock. He’d teach her what to do with the same patience he’d guided her during their dance.

Standing on her tiptoes, she braced her hands on his chest. The heat of his skin scalded her, and his muscles rippled beneath her fingertips. Kissing him with everything in her, she moaned into his mouth. His cock rose and pushed against her belly, enticing her to wrap her fingers around the thick length of him. Despite all the reading she’d done in the sex manuals, she still wasn’t quite sure what to do, so she didn’t attempt to jerk him off.

He skimmed his hand over her belly. Goosebumps shot through her body, and her nipples hardened. Wanting to explore him from head to toe, she brought her hand to his nape and caressed the silky strands of his dark hair.

Cold air brushed over her as he removed her t-shirt, then unbuttoned her shorts and slid them to her ankles, leaving her in nothing but a bra and thong. He stepped back and assessed her, hot hunger darkening his features. He lifted her into his arms and, a moment later, guided her back onto the bed, kissing his way down her belly. At her navel, he swirled his tongue inside. As he inched down, he hooked his fingers into her panties and glided them to her ankles. She kicked them aside, and his masculine laughter satisfied her.

“Lift up on your elbows and watch me lick you.”

Following his orders, Story felt wetness rush between her legs. A moment later, his tongue wiggled along her seam, and she gasped. “Oh my God!”

“Delicious,” he said in a husky voice before pulling back the hood of her clit and licking her until only the two of them existed. She couldn’t think or see or hear anything but Max and his head between her legs. She shattered, a long slow moan falling from her lips, her back arching.

Not giving her a chance to recover, he spread her thighs and hovered above her, an inscrutable look blanketing his features.

“Do you want to fuck me?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Say it louder. Tell me you want to fuck me.”

“I want to fuck you,” she echoed.

His mouth slammed against hers again, and his fingers touched her clit.

“Fuck, you’re wet.”

Taking her lips again, he guided his cock to her entrance and remained in position for a moment.

“Okay, go,” she heard.

As she tensed at the sound of Ryker’s voice, Max buried himself inside of her.

“Fuck, yeah,” he growled. “Your little pussy is so fucking tight.”

Tears stung Story’s eyes, the fullness of his invasion stretching her to the point of pain. Awareness of her surroundings and why she was screwing Max seeped into her.

“Let’s hear you, Story,” Eric ordered.

Attempting to follow directions and look and sound as if she were enjoying herself, Story tried to moan, but it came out a strangled sob. Max stopped thrusting into her and leaned back. Seeing her tears brought on his glare.

“You’re fucking kidding me, aren’t you?” he growled. Disgusted, he pulled out of her and jumped to his feet, leaving her open and exposed.

“Cut!”

She wasn’t sure who yelled the word, too mortified to care or to look. Covering her face with her hands, she curled up and turned her back to everyone, waiting for the moment they left her alone.

“Greta will be on set bright and early tomorrow,” Ryker announced, two hours later, as they all sat at a downtown LA restaurant, having drinks and dinner, although it didn’t help Max’s mood.

Unless they shut down production to cast another female lead, they were in a bind.

“It would still be nice if she heard from you, Max,” Ryker pressed.

The thought chafed his nuts. “What the fuck for? She’s coming on set, so I don’t need to tell her a goddamn thing.”

Max ignored Eric’s look of disapproval.

“Drop this fucking subject,” he snapped, his head fucked up thanks to Story. He couldn’t get her taste or scent out of his head. The pure passion in her response to him made him crave her. She’d responded to him, not the camera or the money.
Him
. That was a lot more than he could say for some of the girls. To be fair, his costars didn’t fake it all of the time. Some of the time? Fuck yeah. He did it himself, coming as a bodily function, not out of visceral reaction.

She had kissed him as if they were in a great romance rather than a sexual scene. He’d really been into fucking her, then he’d heard the sound she’d made. Ice water drenched over his body couldn’t have killed his mood the way seeing her tears had.

Although the schemes she and her mother engaged in had gotten her to the point of fucking for money, Max never wanted a woman to associate sex with pain and crying. It was wrong on so many fucking levels.

His keen pity for her and his regret of how she’d lost her virginity had caught him off-guard. Both emotions were unacceptable. Fuck
his
reasons. One call to his father would remind him of why Story deserved whatever she got.

Fingers trailing along his thigh reminded him that Natalia, his fuck buddy, sat next to him. He glanced at her. Not a reddish brown hair was out of place. Her eyes gleamed, signaling her readiness to fuck his brains out.

“We got some good footage,” Ryker commented, grabbing a French fry and stuffing it into his mouth. “Until we asked for noises.”

“Not our problem, anymore.” Apathy clung to Eric. Leaving her behind didn’t faze him. “She’s gone.”

Max wasn’t as happy as he should’ve been at her departure. All the more reason she needed to stay gone. The last time he’d worried about a woman he’d been rewarded with devastation.

“Where did she go?” he asked casually. He’d left Story on the bed, grabbed his shorts and stalked to his office. By the time he returned, she’d been gone. He hadn’t asked anyone about her absence and they hadn’t offered an explanation.

“I dropped her off at the bus station,” Eric answered as Ryker’s phone rang.

Max frowned at his disappointment. With her gone, he couldn’t finish fucking her. She was a girl alone, and anything could happen to her. Those were the
only
reasons for his letdown. “It’s going to be a long ride back to Dallas.”

“Fuck off!” Ryker barked before disconnecting the call and tossing his cell phone on the table.

“Problem, little brother?” Max asked, glad for the diversion. Story leaving was best for all concerned. Especially
her
.

“Nothing I can’t handle, Max,” Ryker muttered, staring at the food still on his plate.

Eric settled an arm around Ryker’s shoulder. “Sure about that? You’ve been snorting a lot lately.”

“As if you assholes can talk.”

“Did you hear me say fuck all?” Max asked. “We’re not judging you. That would be hypocritical.” He hadn’t done a line in months. Pills and alcohol were his best friends. Ryker, however, flirted with substance abuse issues once again.

“Do you owe another dealer money?” Eric exchanged a glanced with Max. “We’ll fix it for you.”

“One last time,” Max reminded him. They were enabling his drug problem, but they didn’t want to see Ryker hurt. “How much money do you need?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Ryker promised. “I have it all under control.” He grabbed another French fry and changed the subject. “What time did Story’s bus leave?”

Max scowled. “I don’t want to talk about—”

“She said she didn’t have money for a ticket,” Eric interrupted. “But I called bullshit. Those two bitches aren’t getting another red cent from us, without working for it.”

Ryker gulped from his drink. “You could’ve at least made sure she got on safely, asshole. Did you at least feed her?”

“No.”

“Let’s blow this place, Max.” Natalia leaned her head on his shoulder, sliding her fingers along his thigh. “I’m ready for a good, hard fuck.”

He smiled at her, appreciating how she never minced words or hid her needs. “Did you pay Story for the day? Or get an address to forward a check to her when we cut it?”

“Fuck no!” Eric exploded. “The little cunt screwed up the scene, and she left. Breach of fucking contract. She gets no money.”

Max had been ready to throw her ass out more than once. But, fuck. She wouldn’t know how to fend for herself in Downtown LA.

In spite of how much Max hated her, he didn’t want anything to happen to her if it didn’t happen at
his
hands. He saw no harm in driving by the bus station. If she had money, either she’d be there waiting for her board time or she’d be already gone.

However, if she’d told Eric the truth, then Max would use it to his advantage.

He got to his feet, and Natalia beamed at him, rising to hers. He held a hand up. “Let’s meet up at your place in a couple of hours.”

She looked as if she wanted to argue, but he didn’t give her a chance. Instead, he left.

When he arrived at the bus station, he turned into the parking lot. A few people milled outside. Some guy had one arm around a woman and the other around a toddler, who wiggled between them.

Max gripped his steering wheel, familiar rage and resentment rising in him. The stupid fuckhead best enjoy his family while he could. One moment he’d have them and the next moment the woman he seemed so enamored of would walk away and destroy his life amidst death, lies, and heartache.

“Stupid fucking asshole.”

He should’ve sped the fuck away. Hunting Story down was a bad idea. Knowing he couldn’t leave without checking, he turned into a parking space and made his way inside. A quick scan of the place showed no sign of her. He slowed his second inspection, his patience escaping in a burst of memories and aggravation. As he turned toward the exit, a pair of pale legs caught his attention. He recognized those legs. A few hours ago, they’d been wrapped around his back.

She sat in a far corner, staring at the goings-on, devoid of awareness. He told himself to leave, that her problems were her own doing. They weren’t his.

But instead of turning around and walking away, he moved toward her. Once he reached her, he paused, waiting for her to notice him. A full minute went by before she focused on him and blinked.

“What time do you leave?”

Lowering her lashes, she shrugged. “Whenever I get on a bus.”

“So you’re waiting for the call to board?”

“As soon as my mom pays for my ticket,” she said with more than a little hopelessness as if she didn’t believe Barbra would come through for her. She lifted her cell phone. “I’m waiting for her to call me back.”

“Then you have it all covered?”

She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. Licked her lips, and then offered a hesitant nod. “Yeah. Sure. Mom will come through for me.”

Right, and she and her mother hadn’t stolen Sherwood money. “I don’t believe you.”

“That’s your choice.”

Her waspish tone spiked his simmering temper. Whether she meant to or not, she pushed his buttons.
All
of them. The desire he felt for her increased his anger. However, the tight T-shirt she wore drew his attention to her breasts, tempting him to an offer. “I’m willing to help you. Under two conditions. You tell me the truth, and you ask me to help you.”

“I have told you the truth, asshole. I have no money. I took the job to make money to stay in school. I have no way to get back home.” As if to drive home her predicament, her stomach growled again.

“Or nothing to eat,” he added.

“Right. Or nothing to eat.”

“Why? You stole enough money from us to pad your bank account.”

“I didn’t steal anything, Max. My mother wouldn’t, either. Why would she have to when he spoiled her?”

“You tell me.”

Her green eyes flashed in displeasure. “Look—”

“Cut the bullshit,” he interrupted, hating the fine little details he noticed about her. The flecks of blue in her irises. The fineness of her skin. The sadness on her face. “I’m willing to overlook your role in the stealing. My earlier offer stands. I’ll give you a room. Food. Whatever.”

“If I honor the contract, right?”

Fuck, the contract hadn’t crossed his mind, only getting her to where he wanted her—at his mercy. Instead of answering, he asked, “why were you crying earlier?”

She rubbed her temples. “There was so much passion between us at first. Suddenly, it became so…so cut-and-dry,” she whispered. “When you were kissing me, it felt special. Like it did when I was 16. No one kisses like you. Then, I heard Ryker’s voice, and I remembered it was all about the scene. Nothing but business. It ruined our chemistry and turned into just you pounding into me. Too late I realized I really didn’t want to lose my virginity like that. In front of a camera having to manufacture sounds of pleasure with a man who fucks for a living.”

She’d always been so open and forthcoming with him. That hadn’t changed in all the years he’d known her. It was one of the things about her that always lured him in.

Her description of what had happened between them shouldn’t bother him, but it did. Not that he could or would express his remorse. His life was perfect, without the complications of feelings involved. Pretending he’d checked out of the conversation minutes ago, he cocked his head to the side. “You lost me at cut-and-dry,” he lied.

Her face fell. “Right.”

“So what’ll it be? Asking me to help you and honoring your contract? Or me walking out the door and leaving you on your own?”

She popped to her feet, hope entering her eyes. “You can help me, Max. Lend me the money to get back home. I promise I’ll pay you back.”

He didn’t need her money. He could afford to charter a plane to get her home if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to play fair with her. He wanted
her
. Looking into her lovely face and her sad eyes explained why he’d chased her here. Not out of duty or kindness or obligation.

He wanted Story in his bed for a while. Using her dire straits was fucked up, but life was filled with motherfuckers out for their own gain.

Take his dead wife. She’d killed his kid and herself because he wouldn’t do what she’d wanted. Her wanting to control him led to their separation in the first place. He’d never,
ever,
fucking lied to her.

Shoving the painful memory aside, Max refocused on Story. “No deal. I’m not in the lending business, Story.”

“Am I guaranteed to earn—“

“Nothing’s guaranteed. You’ll need to build a following. Interact on Social Media. Attend events.”

“What would my pay be?”

“Didn’t Ryker tell you?” She wouldn’t get three grand for the aborted scene. No way in hell.

“Ryker said the final decision about me, including my pay, would be up to you.”

Yeah, because the asshole knew Max wouldn’t want Story there. Ryker worked the talent and the contracts.

“You’re just starting out. You’d have to build up to the type of money you’re accustomed to.”

“I need an exact figure,” she demanded, ignoring his jab. “We never settled on the terms.”

“I beg to differ. It’s all in black and white. Look over your contract. You got a copy.”

“Three hundred a scene.”

Ryker had changed their standard rate, shaving off several hundred dollars.

“I’ve been calculating in my head. Ten scenes would only net me three thousand dollars. I require at least six.” As if she continued to mentally tally, she counted on her fingers.