Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 1: Drake (9 page)

Watching her go, I absolutely do not give a shit about her. I slam the door, then pick up a $12,000 crystal vase and throw it at the wall, screaming like a heavy metal singer as it shatters to pieces. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I pour myself another shot of tequila, then quickly down a second one as I try to stop thinking about Allie Winters. Seriously, I’ve known this woman for three days now and she flat-out refused to come home with me for sex. ME! Drake Manning, big-deal fucking movie star! I haven’t been rejected by a woman since my first movie came out. I could go out right now and easily find dozens, even hundreds of Vanessas who would love to fuck me. Why am I hung up on the one chick who
won’t
?

Confused and pissed off, I do the only thing I can think of: I call Cecil and tell him to bring Vanessa back.

Twenty minutes later she walks through my door and I greet her with a movie star smile and a huge kiss, apologizing for being such a jerk, then escort her to my bedroom. I tenderly undress her and watch as she again sucks me to a raging hard-on, then slip on a condom and sink my cock deep inside her very wet pussy. I pound this chick as hard as I can in several different positions, and bless her heart, she gives it everything she’s got. After fucking her for half an hour, I pull out and come on her, spraying Vanessa with a huge load until I’m spent. Looking down, I see cum all over her big tits. She slides a finger into the goo and circles her nipple with it, then brings the wet digit to her mouth and licks it off as I grin in smug satisfaction.

And all the time I’ve been purposely imagining that she’s Allie Winters.

Vanessa hasn’t had an orgasm yet, and I’m not really up to giving her one, so I tell her I’ve always wanted to watch a woman get herself off. Then I sit back and watch as she slides a finger down to her clit and slowly, sensuously starts masturbating. She eventually brings herself to a loud orgasm, never taking her eyes off of me the entire time. It’s actually really fucking hot, but only because in my mind I see Allie performing that act for me.

As for Vanessa herself, she’s ecstatic to give the big-shot movie star a thrill no woman has ever given him. That’s what she thinks, anyway, and I won’t tell her I’ve had dozens of women masturbate for me.

After she cleans up, I have Cecil take her home for real this time so I can try to get some sleep. Then I toss and turn all night, pissed off at myself – though I’m not sure whether it’s for letting Allie get into my brain or for fucking someone else while pretending it was her.

Even
I
realize how utterly fucked up that is.

I
awaken
the next morning with mixed emotions. After spending last night outlining the Manning interview, I’m confident that it’s going to be great. There’s some wonderful raw material to work with, so many details that nobody has ever gotten from him before. I trust the photos the Times’ photographer took last week will be awesome, and the whole thing will be big news in the entertainment industry. Someone
finally
got Drake Manning to open up.

And it was
me
.

Of course, he’d also somehow talked me into showing him my breasts, and he’d even taken my nipple into his mouth for a few blissful seconds until common sense kicked in and I realized I was letting him do that in public in broad daylight.

Do I really have feelings for him, though? I mean
actually
have real feelings for a man who’s slept with hundreds of women? I know I get that warm feeling in my chest whenever I think of him, and I find myself smiling for no other discernible reason than remembering something he said or did.

Perhaps I’m merely infatuated by Drake Manning and the idea of sleeping with him. If that makes me a starfucker, so what? I’ve met many celebrities and have thus far only slept with one, Johnny Flynn. And now I’ve flashed another one and would jump into his bed in a heartbeat.

Resuming work on the interview, I tell myself it doesn’t matter. When I turn the piece in, I’ll fly to Rome and spend some time with him, and yes, I’ll definitely have sex with him. Whatever happens after that happens.

Unable to concentrate, I decide instead to watch a few of Manning’s movies, looking for things I might be able to use in the piece. His first starring role was the paranormal romance movie
Dream Lover
with Sorcha Keenan, also in her first starring role. Their smoking hot sex scene in that movie kicked both of their careers into high gear. There’s a palpable chemistry between Manning and Keenan throughout the film and I recall rumors that they’d actually been lovers while they were filming. After Manning’s confession, though, I know none of that was true. They’re both talented actors and managed to fake that chemistry after his little stunt could have derailed it. That’s at least one name on the Drakecount site that shouldn’t be there.

When I get to the famous nude scene, I watch it repeatedly, at least a dozen times. Keenan was totally nude, as was Manning, though you only see his full body from behind. At the beginning, his co-star bravely stands in front of him, her near-perfect body completely exposed, while Manning has a towel wrapped around him. Then she sensuously removes the towel and her eyes fall to his crotch. I’m one of the few people who knows that she saw an erection there.

You can see the shock on her face for a second, but it works well for the scene; it actually seems like she’s surprised to see he’s larger than she expected. I admire the way Keenan continues, hugging him and pretending to be excited until the scene is over – especially knowing that she was unhappy that Manning had done something that idiotic. It’s obvious to me now that this is a real-life scene of sexual harassment instead of seduction. Keenan made the choice to continue filming the scene, so she wasn’t traumatized by it, but it’s no wonder Manning feels shame and remorse about the event.

Once a bad boy, always a bad boy. He really seamed remorseful about it, though, so maybe he learned his lesson.

I rewind again and pause the DVR at the moment Keenan removes the towel. Despite my attempt to focus on her reaction, it’s Manning’s body that has my full attention. His shoulders, his back, that glorious ass, all damn near perfect. I close my eyes and imagine that I’m her in that scene, not on a movie set but in private. I think about closing the gap between our naked bodies, wrapping my arms around his neck as I feel my breasts press against his hard chest and his erection on my belly.

Great. Now I have to masturbate. Only an orgasm will take my mind off of Drake Manning enough so that I can get back to work.

I slip a hand into my sweats and imagine I’m kneeling in front of Manning, who’s wearing only the briefs from that Calvin Klein underwear ad. Without bothering to lower them, I use my hand and mouth to give him an orgasm, right through the material. When I succeed in making him come in my little fantasy, I simultaneously explode in pure pleasure right there in my living room.

I
wake
up grumpy as hell. I love the idea of going to Italy, but not for three months of work, and
Entangled States
will be just that. I don’t care for romantic roles, even though this one isn’t drastically different from who I am in real life. Also, the two previous times I’ve worked with foreign actresses have been less than pleasant.

This is what I do, though, and I remind myself how fortunate I am to be in this position. The thirty million I’m being paid helps, too, though I already have more money than I could possibly spend.

As I’m showering, I have an idea. So Allie thinks I’m pushing too hard to convince her to have sex with me? I’ll take the opposite approach and show her how restrained I can be. At the least, that should ensure her coming to Rome after she writes up the interview. Once she’s in Italy, I know she’ll do whatever I ask her to. She’s already got that look in her eyes – she’s just fighting it more than the rest of them do.

I send her a text.

Her reply comes quickly.

I respond and leave her no wiggle room.

I wait to hear back, but no reply arrives, and I take that as meaning she’ll show up.

She wants restraint? I’ll show her restraint.

I
rush
like a mad woman to shower and get dressed. What the hell is Manning thinking, calling me at the last minute to ride to LAX with him? I can’t turn him down, though, because that hour-long ride (maybe two hours with LA traffic) will give me the chance to ask him a few final questions.

Yeah, that’s the reason. Or at least that’s what I tell myself, while the whole time I’m rushing around like a school girl with a huge crush. I throw on some jeans and a tight tank top and dash out the door, then drive breathlessly to his Hollywood Hills home.

Despite my best attempt, I arrive ten minutes late. Cecil greets me at the front gate guard house and lets me in. Manning is standing in the drive next to a sleek black limousine, wearing sweats and a T-shirt. When he smiles at me I feel my heart melt.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” he says.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“Not at all. The plane won’t leave without me.” The driver climbs out and opens the back door of the limo. “He’ll bring you back afterward so you can get your car,” Manning says. I climb in and he follows behind. Inside it’s all black leather, two bench seats facing one another. The windows are tinted very dark and the vibe in the car is sexy and mysterious.

As we pull out of the driveway, Manning says, “Thanks for coming. I wanted to see you again before I leave.”

“I figured I can ask a few more questions on the way to LAX.”

Manning laughs. “We’re not going to LAX – I avoid that madhouse. We’re going to Van Nuys Airport.”

Van Nuys Airport is a small private strip about twenty minutes away. Why did he drag me out here for such a short ride?

“Besides, I didn’t invite you here for work,” he says.

“Then why…?” He hits a switch and as a partition slide upward behind the driver, he moves his face inches from mine. I look into those gorgeous eyes of his and gulp.

“Like I said, I wanted to see you. And to make sure you come to Rome as soon as you can.”

Then he presses his lips to mine. I immediately forget all about work and throw my arms around him as I kiss back, sliding my tongue into his mouth and searching for his. The kiss is so intense, so sexually charged, that I quickly find myself growing excited. After a few minutes of our tongues playing, I have to stop, and Manning responds by kissing my neck and nuzzling my ear. His breath is hot against me and I suddenly want his hands on me. I pull him back for another kiss, this one even hotter. Everything between my legs is tingling and I wish he’d lay me down on the seat and slide his body between them. I want his hands on my breasts and want to feel his body on top of mine, pressing down on me.

Manning, though, seems content to simply make out. I take matters into my own hands, sliding my hand up under the front of his T-shirt. I move downward, past the top of his sweats, and his hardness is impossible to miss. I wrap my fingers around the sizeable bulge and sensuously squeeze, then something compels me to go back up and slide my hand down inside his sweats. I want to feel this man, to know what that part of him is like. When I take his thick erection into my hand, I’m stunned by how hard it is. I don’t know if I’ve ever touched a cock that rock-hard before and I’m absolutely thrilled by its rigidity and warmth as I feel it throb against my palm. Breaking the kiss to look into his eyes, I see a need there that surprises me in its intensity. I stroke his hard-on while staring at him, then he suddenly pulls back from me. His hand grabs my wrist and forcefully extracts it from his pants.

“No,” he says, sounding pained. “Not until you come to Italy.”

The gesture seems out of place, considering how hard this man has been pushing me over the last couple of days. I am so excited, as if he’d lit a match to me, and I start to protest when the driver’s voice suddenly comes over the intercom.

“Pulling into the airport now, Mr. Manning.”

Drake leans in for one final kiss, and that scorching kiss confirms to me that he wants me as badly as I want him.

“I’ll send the plane back,” he says. “It’ll be here when you’re ready. Just text me and I’ll have Cecil make all the arrangements.”

I look at him, now certain I’ll take him up on the offer.

“As soon as I finish the piece,” I say.

He plants a simple kiss on my lips that is somehow filled with the promise of amazing sex, then opens the door. As he climbs out of the car, I can’t help but notice he’s still obviously hard as a rock.

I watch Manning walk to his private jet and I no longer care why he’s interested in me. If I’m just another woman he has to conquer, I’m okay with that. This man who has been pushing me so hard the last few days now has me right where he wants me. Never in my life have I desired a man this desperately.

I’m definitely going to Rome, because I have unfinished business with Drake Manning.

I
grab
my leather valise from the trunk and hold it in front of me as I walk to my waiting jet, a Learjet 60XR I picked up barely used for just under four million bucks. It’s small, with room for six passengers and a range of nearly three thousand miles. It’ll be just me and Brian and Jerome, my pilots, and we’ll have stops in Montreal and Reykjavik to refuel.

I board the plane and greet the pilots, keeping my valise in front of me, then head straight to the restroom as my luggage is brought on board. Dropping my sweats, I grab my still-hard cock in my fist and pump furiously, and no less than twenty seconds later am spraying cum all over the sink.

Not fucking Allie Winters right there in the back seat was one of the most difficult things I’ve forced myself to do. Every molecule in my body wanted her naked and underneath me, with me balls-deep in her. I might have gotten away with it, too – she seemed ready to make that leap today. But I’ve decided I want more than a few minutes inside of her in the back of a car. My little play-hard-to-get routine will get her to Rome, where I can spend a week or so defiling that hot curvy body in as many ways as possible.

I pull my sweats back up over my slowly deflating boner and go about the business of cleaning up the mess I’ve made.