Dirty Boy (10 page)

“Don’t forget the IRS. Or the cost of photographs and marketing yourself.” He tugged on her hair, wanting her full attention. Counting like a second grader amused the fuck out of him and reminded him of her youth and naiveté. “Remember, too, there’s no guarantee you’ll be needed for twenty scenes.”

She paled. “Why would I need all that stuff? I’m not going to make a career out of it.”

“Then you won’t earn the money you claim to need.”

“It isn’t a claim. It’s a fact. I have too many bills to count.”

“Your irresponsibility isn’t my problem. I have the money that you need. You want a payday from me you do what I ask.”

“You think I’ll fuck you on screen to net three thousand dollars?”

Interesting choice of words. “That means you’d fuck me off-screen?”

“Go away, Max,” she hissed.

Running his finger along her cheek, he stroked her chin. Her gaze flew to his, and the barest shiver assailed her. She licked her lips, tempting Max to claim her mouth. Instead, he released her and forced himself to back away.

“One last chance, Story. If I walk out, I’m not coming back. You can stay here until you’re arrested for loitering. Pray Barbra gets back to you.
Whatever.
But you’ll be on your own.”

After thinking a moment, she lifted her chin. “The only way I’ll agree is if you pay a full year’s tuition for me. Books. Dorm. Everything.

He didn’t hesitate in his response. “Fuck no.”

“I’ve lost my scholarship,” she said in a rush. “I have so many bills, and I can’t afford to pay any of them. You told me to ask you for help, so I’m asking. I’ll do as many scenes as you want me to, with you, if you help me get through school next year.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked with a nasty chuckle, refusing to admit how much he’d admired her aspirations to be a fashion designer. Teaching was an admirable profession but so ordinary for a girl like Story. “Whores don’t become school teachers.”

A stricken look passed over her face as her stomach growled again.

“I’ll make it easy for you tonight,” he relented, seeing that she wouldn’t. “Come home with me.”

“In exchange for what?”

For now, he’d keep it simple for her and him. “A dick suck.” Blow jobs were more impersonal than fucking. Hopefully, she could appreciate that. The day his son died was the day Max detached from his entire life.

“Can I clean your house instead?” she bargained, as if she had other options.

“Take my offer or leave it,” he told her, his position of power one he’d never again give up. He didn’t need to revisit old hurts to justify his behavior toward Story. Without his tragedy, Story and her mom had committed enough sins to warrant any type of retribution he wanted. His momentary moral crisis was unnecessary. “You have no one to blame for any of this, including being stranded, except you.”

A range of emotions played over her face before she offered a faint smile.

“A blow job for a place to stay for the night and a meal?”

He nodded. “So we don’t have to go through this tomorrow, let me spell it out for you. At breakfast, if you want to stay, you’ll tell me. If you do stay, I expect it to be for the duration of your contract and for the amount stated in the contract
you
signed. We’ll fuck onscreen for your tuition. We fuck off-screen for me to feed and house you, and you won’t throw fucking fits when I have scenes with other women. Understood?”

She bit her lip, but finally said, “yes,” in a soft, miserable voice that Max determined to ignore.

Bypassing the floating staircase, Story followed Max into a cavernous room with an open floor plan and a sunken living area where a cream-colored sofa, love seat and two chairs were grouped. Trimmed in brown, the furniture went well with the gleaming hardwood floor. Used to such luxurious spaces, she kept her face blank at all the marble, crystal, and wood appointments in the place. Besides, she was too nervous about having to blow Max to concern herself with the décor.

After leaving the bus station, Max had taken her to a burger place. She’d stuffed herself with a greasy house special and a strawberry milkshake. All the food hurt her stomach, and she longed for a hot bath and a long nap. Except Max expected her to deliver if she didn’t want to be kicked out for the night.

Following him to the kitchen, she sat her filled-to-capacity backpack on the breakfast bar and got her phone, hoping her mom had received her four messages and called her back. But, nothing. Story sighed. She’d gotten herself into this. She’d get herself out.

Determination filled her, and she stuffed her phone back into her backpack, then glanced in Max’s direction. He stood next to a kitchen counter, legs braced apart, staring at her. Without being told, she knew he was waiting for her to suck him off. Without any buildup. No conversation. Nothing. Just a cold, clinical, detached exchange.

She seated herself on a stool covered in red fabric and nodded to the kitchen that had blue-green countertops and wood cabinetry. “How long have you lived here?” she asked, searching for a way to bring some emotion into this.

His expression didn’t change. “Long enough,” he answered, not giving an inch.

“Your place is beautiful.” She glanced at the second-floor hallway, visible from where she sat. “May I look around?”

“I’ll show you to your room when you suck me off.”

She peeped over his shoulder and saw the bottles of wine racked near the stainless steel refrigerator. “Can I have a glass of chardonnay first?”

“Our deal didn’t include alcohol.”

His air of authority called for instant obedience. The power radiating from him surrounded her, filling the space around them. Max was in control, arrogant and unapologetic.

By tomorrow, she hoped Babs would’ve called. Come the morning, Story couldn’t imagine what answer she’d give to Max. Why she wouldn’t, or shouldn’t, honor the contract escaped her. Her virginity was already gone, and she’d come to LA to do adult entertainment. It was useless to cry over what she couldn’t change.

“Story, I’m waiting.”

She swallowed. “All I do is put your cock in my mouth and suck?”

A wave of heat traveled through her at the image her words conjured.

Max’s eyes darkened, and he nodded, smirking at her.

“Okay. That should be easy.”

He crooked his finger. “Come here.”

When she reached him, he placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her down to her knees. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, tapping it against her cheek.

“Wrap you lips around my dick, Story.” Hesitant, she touched her tongue to the head, frowning at the salty fluid glistening from him. She glanced up at him and met his burning blue gaze. He touched her jaw and pulled her closer. “Keep your eyes focused on me if you can. Those looks make the best shots on camera.”

She wasn’t doing this for the camera. She was doing it to please him. And herself. For years, she’d fantasized about Max. Although she hated the circumstances in which she could give in to her desire, she welcomed finally having the ability to be intimate with him.

“No teeth,” he grunted, placing his hand on the back of her head and encouraging her by his touch.

Trying to figure out what to do so she wouldn’t scrape his sensitive skin, Story tongued his cock head.

“Slowly, lick my dick from the crown to the base,” Max said around a groan, thrusting his hips up.

Story followed Max’s orders, breathing in his scent, learning his taste.

“Lick your way back up, then suck the head.”

“Okay,” she murmured, caught in the moment, her pussy moistening as she followed his orders.

He sucked in a breath. “Teeth,” he complained. “Pull you lips over them before you damage me.”

She met his gaze again and let his dick spring from her mouth. “Do you want me to stop? I don’t know how to do this and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t stop.” He tangled his hand in her hair, caressing her scalp, before cupping the back of her neck. “You have to learn, sweetheart. I’m more than happy to teach you.”

“But I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered, ensnared by the heat in his eyes, the low rumble of his voice.

Using his free hand, he tapped his cock against her cheek. Wordlessly, she took him in her mouth again and began to bob her head up and down, careful with her teeth. He jerked against her tongue. Encouraged by the lust in Max’s eyes, Story wrapped her hands around the base of his dick and stroked, while she continued to suck him. She found a rhythm that he mirrored, thrusting in and out, synced with her up and down movements.

“I’m about to come,” he said in a strangled voice, his hand twisting her hair and his body stiffening.

He pulsed against her tongue, his cum hitting the back of her throat in a hot spurt. He drew in a deep breath, stepped back and shoved his dick away. Story groaned at her overflowing mouth.

“Let some cum drizzle down your chin,” he instructed, noticing her dilemma. As a high-pitched sound filled the air, he nodded in approval when she listened. “Swallow the rest.”

He answered his ringing phone. Story used the distraction to stand up and swipe her hand across her mouth, determined not to think about how she felt at that moment. Max’s earlier assessment had been right. She had no one to blame for being stranded but herself.

“Your room is upstairs, third door on the left,” he told her as he hung up. “I have an early day tomorrow, so I expect you to have an answer for me by six in the morning.” The sound of a buzzer interrupted him and he pressed on his phone screen, disengaging the door locks.

“Max—”

A woman’s voice halted, and Story glanced in her direction, unsure why her heart sank.

She had no claim on Max. He didn’t hold her in the smallest of regards, so comparing herself to the tall woman who wore a stark white jumpsuit on her thin frame made no sense.

It had nothing to do with the soreness between her legs or the lingering taste of him on her tongue. 

The woman took in Story’s jean shorts and T-shirt, then offered a cold smile and held out her hand.

“Natalia,” she introduced, as haughty as Max was arrogant. “You are?”

“Story,” Story answered.

“Quite the name,” she said, her brown eyes widening. “The girl from earlier today?” she asked Max. “Your stepsister?”

“One and the same,” Max answered in a bland tone, as if he didn’t give a shit what Natalia thought. It was clear they’d been talking about her.

“Well.” Natalia drew herself up. “Then it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

As if. Story sniffed at the blatant lie. “I wish I could say the same.”

Her words caught the other woman off-guard, giving Story a chance to compose herself and rush away. Max had become a mean, cold, unfeeling dick, paid to be a manwhore.

Watching Natalia glide to Max and give him an open-mouthed kiss shouldn’t have mattered to Story.

Unfortunately, it did.

“Leave, Natalia,” Max ordered, heading to the bar across the room, ending the kiss the moment Story’s door slammed. He’d agreed to meet with Natalia later, but he was spent after schooling Story on the proper way to suck his cock. More than that, he was satisfied. And confused.

And fucking scared.

Growling at the thought, he grabbed the first bottle he put his hand on, twisted the cap off, and drank deeply. Story hadn’t known what the fuck she was doing. He probably had one or two bite marks on his cock, but there was just something about knowing she’d had a virgin mouth that turned him on. It gave him a sense of possession that he’d never felt.

“We made plans,” Natalia pointed out, as if he’d forgotten.

He’d had every intention of sticking to their arrangements. Before Story had sucked him off. He had to be alone and remind himself of how perfect his life was as is. Natalia’s attentions would only distract him, and he had to steel himself against the sweetness of his new houseguest.

Slipping hair behind Natalia’s ear, he kissed her. “Some other time,” he crooned. “I have a big day tomorrow. I need my strength, minx. You’ll sap me.”

She blushed, preening under his words. “If you say so, love. As long as you aren’t giving what’s meant for me to Story.”

Alarm bells rang in his head, and he backed away. “What I do and with whom is none of your business. Don’t ever forget that.”

Sniffing, she folded her arms. “Stop being so goddamn unattainable and we’ll stop chasing behind you.”

Max glared at her. “That makes no fucking sense. Because I don’t do relationships, women want me more? What kind of fucking logic is that?”

“The kind that has existed for thousands of years,” she responded in annoyance. “Who doesn’t want what they can’t have?”

“Anyone with pride,” he pointed out.

Natalia scowled at him, marring the perfection of her face. She was a tall, willowy beauty, with a profile that had always reminded him of a cameo silhouette. “Call me later,” she directed, turning toward the door.

“Don’t count on it,” he returned.

In response, she slammed the door.

Sudden silence surrounded him. Max drank again, the sound of the sloshing liquid loud in the stillness. He glared up the stairs towards Story’s door. If not for her, he’d be in Natalia by now. Or somewhere, other than this lonely condo, where nightmares plagued him and memories mocked him.

It didn’t matter that he’d purchased the place after…after
their deaths
. After his entire existence crumbled.

Sometimes, he swore he heard his son calling to him. Other times, he heard Kayleigh’s laughter. That’s why he hated to be alone.

That was also why he’d always
be
alone.