Hollywood Lies (8 page)

Damn, she has a dirty mouth
. My cock twitches. “Yeah, I did.”

She kneels with her legs apart so the still sex swollen lips of her pussy part. Cupping her breasts in both hands, she asks, “Do you like my tits?” Julie pinches her nipples.
 

I feel my dick grow. “Yeah, I do.”

She trails one hand down between her legs and uses two fingers to spread herself open. “And what about this pussy? Did you like eating it?”

I get up onto my knees now. Her eyes are fixed on my groin, so I make a show of grabbing my rapidly growing cock by the base and squeezing it. The blood gets trapped, and the veins stick out. She wets her lips as the fire in her eyes burns hotter.
 

“I loved the taste of you,” I say in a low rumble.
 

“How did it feel to be inside me?”

“Fucking great.”

Julie puts her hands on the bed and gets on all fours. She turns to face away from me. “How about my ass? Do you think I have a nice ass?”

This time, I don’t speak. I move up behind her and stick my face right in her sweet spot. My chin tickles her clitoris as my tongue enters her. My nose brushes against her tight puckered hole, and I wonder how good it would feel if I stuck my dick in there.

I get her wet again, but before I can get her off, she rises back onto her knees and twists around to look at me. “Now, now, Devon, I know what you’re thinking, and before I can let you in there, you’re going to have to show me how much you want it.”

I’m struck again by the fact that this is my life. I cannot wait to see what happens next.

Chapter 4

Cole

It’s day eight of filming and already I can’t wait until my next project. I’ve secured the rights to direct
Call Me Out
, an intense New York City family drama, but now I have to work on getting the actors I want. Some of the roles can wait to be filled, but I desperately want the role of Hayden, a mid-twenties character, to be filled by someone I know who can naturally portray all of the character’s elements.

The actor has to be intelligent. Someone who reads everything he can get his hands on. He has to be sweet, because the character of Hayden is, at his heart, an abandoned young man just looking for acceptance and love. And the actor has to be charming, because the character is known to charm everyone he meets, except for his father and the girl he sets his hopes upon.

In short, I want Devon Maddox, and all I have to do is convince the studio he’s perfect for the project. I’ve already set a precedent of lowering my standards and integrity by directing this low-budget, cheesy teen romance,
Tortured Desires,
in order to acquire the right to direct
Call Me Out
, so I’ll do what it takes to have my pick of actors.

There is just something about Devon that intrigues me. He isn’t like the others in this movie. He doesn’t whoop and holler in between takes or talk about the results of the last NFL game. Devon is quiet and reserved. Along with the script curled in his back pocket, he carries books around the set with him. I once overheard him trying to strike up a conversation with the gaffer about Taoism and the implications and limitations of daily practice in modern day society. The conversation didn’t go far. I should’ve jumped in, but one of the other actors distracted me. He reads, but every once in a while when I glance over at him, I see him observing everyone around him;
studying
them. It’s the smart thing to do as an actor, since the world is filled with inspiration.

Just as I’m about to round everyone up after the lunch break, Julie comes over with my cell. “Oliver wants to talk to you.”

I give her a look, and she shifts uncomfortably and glances away. I love having Julie around, but sometimes she makes decisions based on what
she
wants instead of what
I
want. Take my ex, Oliver, for example. Julie likes him, always has, so whenever he calls, his smooth, practiced voice convinces her to give the cell to me.

Julie holds the cell out, and I know she gets the message loud and clear.
 

Don’t do that again.
The way she averts her eyes is enough to tell me she knows I don’t approve of her deciding to take the call instead allowing me to decide. But just because she knows what I would say, doesn’t mean she won’t let it happen again.

With a sigh, I take the cell and hold it to my ear. “Hey, Oliver. How are you?”

“Cole, it’s good to hear your voice.”

God, I love his rich tones
. They wash over me like silk and satin. I say nothing back because he hasn’t answered my question, and I know his tricks.
 

“I’m in Boston, actually, and thought maybe we could meet.”

My heart thumps in my chest, and it takes a moment for me to wrestle the instant emotions forcing their way out of the deep, dank dungeons of my metaphorical heart. I’m keenly aware that I’m still in front of the entire cast.

With a glance around at the table, I can see that no one is looking directly at me, but I’m not stupid enough to think they’re not paying attention to everything. People always care about the most insignificant things when it comes to me.

Julie is between Devon and Anita now, and has an ear turned toward me as she pretends to care about her fingernails.
 

I get up and walk between crew members and equipment until I’m near my trailer.

“Cole?” Oliver asks when I don’t reply.

“I’m not sure what to say. I mean, it’s not like our meetings ever work out, and what is there to talk about?”

“A new film I’m producing. I need someone else to help me with it. I’ll tell you more at dinner, but you’re the only person I want producing it with me.”

“I’m not sure I have time to—”

“We’d star in it as well. It’s about Russia in the Boxer Rebellion.”

“Because I look like a Russian, right?”

“You know that doesn’t matter.”

“So you’ll be a Russian soldier and my bit role will be either your wife, or the mistress who sends you off to war? Or am I held captive, waiting for you to rescue—”

He laughs. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to be in a movie like that. I know how you despise the traditional female role. Frankly, I’m hurt you seem to think I’d even take on such a clichéd film.”

I let out a breath as I’m about to respond, but I’m too late.
 

“Just let me take you out for dinner. We can get more in depth, and I’ll give you the rough draft of the script I should be finished revising soon.”

“Jesus, you wrote it, too?” My resolve about not working with him again is crumbling because the words “more in depth” makes me think instantly of sex. Oliver, while older than a lot of the men I like being with, is incredible in bed. He’s attentive and makes sure he hits the spots he knows I like the most. Once, he spent an hour with his face between my thighs, and his fingers in my depths. There was no way to keep track of how much I came that day, because after that, his long, steady, slow strokes drove me to the brink, over and over again. Oliver is the one person who can make me want the slow, tender stuff.

“Cole, I’ll be a gentleman.”

This makes me smile. “When
aren’t
you a gentleman?”

“Will you have dinner with me?”

Before I can seal myself and become nothing more than an actor playing Collette Shroud, I say, “You can take me out for Thai.”

I wasn’t even fifteen minutes into dinner with Oliver when I surrendered. His honeyed voice and daring intellect charmed me back into his arms, which is what always happens. We will both enjoy the night, but I won’t fool myself into thinking it’s a
true
reconnection and a new beginning of an actual relationship. Our bodies together will make the night beautiful, but I can’t and won’t get swept away again.
 

Not with Oliver. Not with anyone.

Now as he presses me down into the rented bed of my hotel suite, I keep my body open, but my heart closely guarded. We’re still fully clothed, even though we’ve been pawing at each other for the past half hour. He has a way of making foreplay last forever.

The light scent of his cologne mixed with the heady pheromones we’re both sending out has me spun. I feel intoxicated, but had nothing to drink but water with dinner. Situations like these are dangerous, and I can’t allow myself to enjoy him too much. He’s temporary.
 

Oliver is
always
temporary.

Finally, he slips his hands underneath my ruffle sleeve camisole. He doesn’t go straight for my breasts like a young man would. He never goes straight for anything. Oliver prefers the scenic route.

When my shirt is off, he runs his hands over my shoulders, down my arms, across my belly, then, and only then, does he cup my breasts. Oliver lifts the left cup of my bra, and runs his palm over the mound of flesh. My nipple hardens under his touch, and I arch my back in hopes of gaining more of it. He repeats the action with my right breast, and I tighten my legs around his hips in response. I can feel his hard cock between my legs, and I want it.

I won’t beg though. At least not yet.

Oliver pulls back and flashes that sexy, devilish smile down at me. “Have you missed me like I’ve missed you?”

I don’t want to talk so I lean up and kiss his throat and run my hands up under his T-shirt. When it’s bunched up under his arms, he complies and raises them so I can remove it.

His chest is just as defined as the last time I saw it. It’s as if the past two years haven’t elapsed. He never seems to grow any older.

With one hand in the middle of my chest, he presses me carefully back down. I use my leverage to rub myself on him, then grab Oliver by the neck and bring him down to me. The sparse, soft hairs of his chest tickle my breasts and send chills up and down my flesh.

Oliver thrusts his hips while he sucks on my neck. He knows how much I love it, but he asks anyway. “Want more?”

I’m breathless, and while I don’t want to be needy, and I don’t want to beg, I’m ready to.

He doesn’t give me the chance. His mouth covers mine, and his tongue enters. I suck on it, giving him a preview of what I’ll do if he just takes off his pants.

We kiss until I grow frustrated. I push him away and start unbuckling his belt. He lets me slip it out of the loops, then unzip his pants and tug them halfway down his hips. Oliver hates underwear and avoids them most of the time. I’m thankful for this little quirk as I wrap my fingers around his thick cock and start to stroke it. His eyes are close as his lips part. When he starts bucking into my hand and lets out a solitary grunt, Oliver grabs my wrist and stills my hand.

Without a word, he stands up and pulls my jeans off. They go flying behind him and hit the wall with a smack. His hand is between my legs. “I like these panties.”

I start to move with his hand. The rhythm is perfect, and I’ll be able to come in another minute.

“They’re so wet though.” His smile is apparent in his voice. “Did I do that to you?”

“Of course you did.”

Oliver steps out of his pants and grabs his dick with his free hand. “I make you wet?”

I don’t answer, and he takes his hand away.

“Yes,” I say.

He rewards me by rubbing me again. “Do I make you hot?”

“Yes.”

His fingers curl around the thin fabric of my pink thong. “Do you think about me when you fuck other guys?”

“Sometimes.”

“When you’re alone and you think about me, about how we used to fuck, does it make you so hot and wet you have to get yourself off?”

I nod, but know Oliver wants me to say it when he gives my panties a tug, then brushes a knuckle over my clit. “Yes.” I breathe out.

With one quick motion, he rips my panties clean away. “Show me.”

My fingers are between the lips of my sex before my mind can even tell them to do it.

“God, you’re so sexy,” Oliver says. He slowly pulls on his cock.
 

I want it deep inside of me, hitting the spots that make my toes curl. The sooner I come, the sooner he’ll give it to me, so I manipulate my clitoris quickly and I feel the heat begin to rise up from my feet.