Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 3: Marcus Read online

It’s just a test, to push their limits and see if they’ll actually do it. The two women exchange a glance, then Deidre rises, leans into Carmen and pulls her in for a kiss. I have no idea where my cum is, except that I’m sure both women end up ingesting it by the time they pull away from each other.

  I’m spent at this point. Deidre is the only one of us who hasn’t come yet, so I look at my drooping cock and say, “I’m going to need some visual stimulation to get ready for round two. Carmen, it’s your turn to eat pussy. Deidre, sit on her face.”

  They’re past the point of resisting anything I tell them to do. As Carmen lies on her back and Deidre straddles her, lowering her pussy onto the brunette’s mouth, I marvel at how my celebrity status lets me get away with shit like this. Night after night, the hottest women in Los Angeles—or whatever town I happen to be in—volunteer to obey my every whim. Like the movie says, it’s a wonderful life.

  Minutes later, Deidre has her first orgasm, then I fuck Carmen for a while, then Deidre, then Carmen again. After I come a second time I’m thoroughly exhausted and want nothing more than a long soak in the suite’s Jacuzzi tub. Of course, when I tell the girls this, they both want to join me.

  “There’s barely room in that tub for me,” I say. “You two can stay here tonight if you want, or you can call Donnie at the front desk and he’ll arrange to Uber you wherever you need to go. Your call. I’m gonna chill in that tub for a little while, then probably go home when I’m done.”

  They look disappointed. I smile and kiss both, telling them how much fun I had and how I’d love to see them again sometime. I know full well I’ll never let either of them into my bed again now that I’ve already had them. I grab my iPhone and Beats and head to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I’ll soak for a while, and with any luck they’ll both be gone when I come back out.

  A loud crash from the bedroom jolts me awake.

  I’m not sure at what point I fell asleep, but I remember listening to Kendrick Lamar when I eased my body into the steamy water, and now Kanye’s playing and the water is tepid. I also remember hearing the two women arguing loudly at some point, and that I turned up the volume to drown them out.

  I pull off my Beats and hear a scuffle and shouting, so I climb out of the tub and fling open the door. The two women are still stark naked, and Carmen is kneeling on the bed with a fistful of Deidre’s long blonde hair. Deidre herself is standing next to the bed, her head pulled backwards, and as I enter the room I see a man in black slacks and jacket with a name tag, obviously a hotel employee, attempting to insert himself into the catfight without touching anything that could land him in trouble.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I shout. The hotel guy looks at me, then toward the door leading to the living area.

  That’s when I see her.

  It’s another hotel employee, also in a black jacket with a knee-length skirt instead of pants. She’s a sister, with beautiful chocolate skin and well-styled medium-length hair. Even dressed like that, I can tell she has a nice slim waist and a lovely rounded ass. Her face is stunning—perfect, actually—but before I can study it, I see her glance down my body, then quickly turn away. Only then do I remember that I’m naked and dripping wet, my dick hanging down on full display.

  “Shit!” I duck back into the bathroom to wrap a towel around my waist. When I re-enter the bedroom, the man has managed to separate Deidre’s hair from Carmen’s hand. He’s looking right at me, though, as is the woman employee. Deidre sinks down to the floor next to the bed, and Carmen slides back up against the headboard, looking anything but contrite.

  “Are you…” the woman in the jacket is still flustered. She looks at the clipboard in her hand and frowns. “Juan Doe?”

  “Yeah, that’s me. These are my guests.”

  “Holy shit, you’re Marcus Jennings,” says the guy, grinning.

  “Gerald, you know this man?” asks the woman.

  There’s not even a glimmer of recognition in the woman’s face.

  Gerald nods his head. “He plays for the Lakers.”

  I look at Gerald and grin, then return my gaze to the woman just in time to catch her looking at my shirtless torso—maybe my abs, or at the now-damp towel wrapped around me. When she realizes she’s been caught in the act, she’s noticeably flustered.

  “Okay... well…”

  I smile at her predicament. She’s even more beautiful in her embarrassed state. Her skin is flawless, and she has big, mesmerizing dark brown eyes.

  She gathers herself as best as she can. “Mr. Jennings, my name is Rashida Blanchard. I’m the assistant manager of the Sunset Grand.” Her tone is professional, but the voice itself is melodious. She hands me a business card, which I glance at briefly before sticking it down the front of my towel, where it sticks to my belly just above my cock. That act flusters this woman even more, but she continues regardless. “We received complaints about a commotion up here, then heard shouting through the door and had to let ourselves in when no one answered. The hotel needs to ask you to keep the noise down.”

  I’m not really embarrassed, since I wasn’t the one causing the trouble. “Or what?”

  She’s obviously surprised. “Or we’ll have to ask you to leave.” This woman looks like she means business.

  “I seriously doubt Mr. Weatherford would want you to do that.”

  My referencing the hotel’s owner gives her pause, and she sighs and softens her stance.

  “May I speak to you in private, Mr. Jennings?”

  Gerald remains in the bedroom with the two girls, who have settled down at this point, and Ms. Blanchard leads me into the adjoining living area. As she turns to face me, again I see her eyes start at my towel, then immediately move up to my face.

  “Look, I don’t want any trouble,” she says quietly. “You’ve paid for this nice suite, and you can use it in whatever way makes you happy. I just can’t let you disturb the hotel’s other guests, that’s all.”

  Now I feel a little bad that I’ve given her shit. After all, this is her job, and the two girls were out of line. I don’t want to cause any more trouble since I’m finished with these two chicks anyway. We stare at each other momentarily. Damn, she’s one fine-looking woman.

  “Yeah, sure. My bad. I’ll keep a lid on things.”

  “I appreciate it. I really don’t want to have to come back up here, Mr. Jennings.”

  I can’t let that line pass.

  “You should come back up. Just give me a few minutes to send those two troublemakers home. And you can call me Marcus.” I feel stupid as soon as the words leave my mouth, but I’m not going to back away from it, so instead I give her a sly smile.

  I can tell she doesn’t appreciate my invitation. Her eyes are blazing and she’s about to say something, then stops and takes a breath, managing to remain professional.

  “Just keep the noise down,” she says, “Mr. Jennings.”

  There’s an awkward pause.

  “Please tell Gerald to meet me in the hallway.” On that note, she turns and briskly leaves the suite.

  I return to the bedroom to find Deidre has draped the blanket over herself. Carmen, on the other hand, is still naked, sitting against the headboard with her hands on her knees and her legs apart, her bare pussy on display. She’s obviously trying to fuck with Gerald, who’s standing nearby forcing himself to look away. Or maybe she just doesn’t give a shit. Either way, it’s insanely hot.

  I relay Ms. Blanchard’s message, and Gerald looks relieved to get out of the room. He extends his hand to me.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Marcus. Ask for me if you need anything—anything at all.”

  When he’s gone, I immediately turn to address my guests.

  “What the hell is wrong with you two?” I demand. Neither of them says a word. “Seriously, what the fuck? That was embarrassing. I have a reputation to maintain.”

  Deidre hangs her head, but Carmen looks at me defiantly.

  “Get dressed,�
� I say. “I’ll call downstairs and get you an Uber home.”

  Both women stand and walk toward the living area to retrieve their clothes. I grab Carmen by the wrist as she passes.

  “Not you. I want another one of those blowjobs first.”

  Seeing her hot body totally exposed like that despite all those people in the room really turned me on. Deidre stops in the doorway and looks back. I gesture at her to go, and she makes a face at me then leaves the room. I stand there, still holding Carmen’s wrist. Neither of us moves until I hear the door slam, then I place my hands on her shoulders.

  “You’re a little badass, aren’t you? Anyone ever tell you that you look like Lexi Snow?”

  Carmen replies by sinking to her knees and yanking off my towel. She smiles when she sees my cock again, then wraps both hands around the shaft as she brings the head up to her mouth, licking it a few times.

  “Yeah, I get that a lot,” she says nonchalantly before parting her lips wide to take me in.

  2

  Rashida

  I feel humiliated.

  I know I shouldn’t, but I do anyway.

  After all, he was the one whose guests—if you could call them that—created such a ruckus that three calls came in to the front desk within minutes, including one from the floor below his. It’s not uncommon for guests to be loud and have to be asked to tone it down a bit, but three complaints that quickly necessitated a personal visit from a security guard. Since the room was on the suites level and was registered to “Juan Doe,” I felt the need to tag along with Gerald just to make sure nothing was terribly out of line.

  When we got off the elevator on thirteen, I heard shouting. As we approached the door, I realized it was two women. Nobody answered our repeated knocking, so we eventually let ourselves in, then proceeded to the bedroom where we found two naked women standing on the bed. One had the other’s hair in her fist and was kicking her in the thighs from behind as they both screamed at each other.

  I stood there while Gerald attempted to separate the two while doing his best not to touch their bodies with his hands. A second later, a man stepped in from the bathroom—very tall, very black, and very naked. Temporarily stunned, I didn’t know what to say. He seemed as surprised to see the two women fighting as we were, which made no sense because he was right there in the next room.

  Luckily, the second he saw me he got a towel to cover himself with. It was bad enough having two naked women to deal with, I didn’t need a big black penis swinging around, too. The man looked vaguely familiar, and from his height and his ripped body, I assumed he was an athlete. Gerald recognized him right away as a player from the Lakers, and only then did I remember seeing him on billboards and the sides of buses around town.

  As he was telling the women to settle down, I made the big mistake of getting distracted by his muscled chest, his tight, flat belly and more. Of course, he busted me on it, turning to me right as I was looking right at the big bulge straining against his wet towel. Then when he slipped my business card into the front of that same towel, I was forced to look at it a second time.

  Back in my office now, I replay the entire series of events in my mind. I don’t know that I’ve ever been near a man that tall; he had to be somewhere between six-and-a-half and seven feet. The man was arrogant, one of those entitled jocks who always gets away with everything. Part of me wishes I’d kicked his ass out of the hotel, while another part is glad I kept my cool and didn’t do anything that would get back to Mr. Weatherford, the owner of both the Sunset Grand and the Lakers.

  On top of everything, I’m furious that I can’t stop thinking about Marcus Jennings’s height, his handsome face, and his gloriously naked, dark brown body.

  I rarely work evenings nowadays, but the hotel’s night manager is on vacation and I took her shifts while a manager trainee took mine during the day. At the moment, I really wish I hadn’t agreed to that arrangement. I distract myself by focusing on various tasks, but my mind keeps returning to that asshole with the perfect body. Did that jerk really think I would come back up to his room just minutes after he sent those two skanks on their way?

  Was he hoping I’d agree to have sex with him?

  Seriously?

  No thank you.

  First, I don’t interact with hotel guests in that way. Secondly, I don’t interact with jocks in that way. And lastly, I don’t like men who presume that I’ll sleep with them just because they’re handsome or rich or well-hung. Or even all the above.

  When my shift finally ends at seven a.m., I drive home and find Jayden’s babysitter, RaeJean, with her arms wrapped around him, both asleep on the couch. They look so adorable that I hate separating them. After I’ve paid RaeJean and she leaves, I scoop Jayden up in my arms and gently deposit him on his bed. He’s six now and already getting so big that I can’t carry him as easily as I once did. He squirms and mumbles something when I kiss him on the forehead, but doesn’t wake up.

  After slipping into a nightshirt, I try to get a little sleep, aware that Jayden will wake up in an hour or two. Instead, I end up googling “Marcus Jennings” on my cell and looking at pictures of that arrogant, handsome asshole until Jayden stumbles into my bedroom and asks for pancakes.

  3

  Marcus

  We play the New Orleans Pelicans on the road tomorrow night, and the team plane is flying out this evening. That means a night on Bourbon Street for most of the guys, but I’m tired after being up with Carmen until nearly dawn. That little chick fucked me every way possible, rarely even wanting to take a break. It was impressive, especially when she gave up her ass—something few women agree to with me, considering the potential for pain. Carmen loved it, though. She was amazing and I kept her number for possible future hookups. I almost never do that, but in her case I made an exception because she’d earned it.

  On the plane, I recline my seat and slip on my Beats to avoid having to talk to my teammates. Most of them are idiots anyway—guys who got through high school and a year of college because they were freakishly talented basketball players. In the NBA, everyone is freakishly talented and the thing that stands out about them now is how dumb they are.

  I close my eyes and instantly see Deidre’s face between Carmen’s legs, licking away at a pussy for her first time. Before I can finish replaying the events of the night in my head, my brain jumps ahead to that woman, the Sunset Grand employee who came up to see what the noise was. She was just doing her job, and I feel a little guilty about hitting on her like I did. I couldn’t help it, though, because she was so fine. I’d have kicked both Deidre and Carmen out to be with her.

  As I try to remember her beautiful features, I realize I want to see her again. That’ll be tough, since I obviously pissed her off and made her life miserable for a while. Still, I have the resources and the charm to make this happen. Besides, I’m famous, man. I do a Google search on my phone for a West Hollywood florist. After looking at various floral arrangements, I place an online order for a dozen red roses, then change it to two dozen, then three. What the hell—go big or go home, right? Then I change it again and again, lilies, irises, tulips, etc. Nothing seems right to me.

  Finally, I just use the special-order form and say, “Send the simplest, most elegant arrangement $1000 will buy.”

  For the text of the card, I go with something brief.

  No hard feelings. —MJ

  Then I wonder if she’ll think I’m making a dick joke, so I change it.

  Sorry I gave you a hard time. —MJ

  Dammit. One final attempt gets it right.

  Sorry about last night. I’m not always a jerk. —Marcus

  Short and sweet. That should do it. Then I realize I just wasted half an hour deciding what flowers to send a total stranger who probably hates me anyway.

  I spend the rest of the flight posting to my Instagram account and ignoring my teammates.

  After the team checks into the Hotel Savoie near the French Quarter, I fall asleep in my be
d immediately, even though it’s mid-afternoon. When I wake around seven, there are no messages. I’m starving hungry, so I go down to the bar and ask the bartender to have the restaurant send a steak over.

  I sit at the bar in the darkened room and eat my steak and drink my bourbon in peace until I’m almost done with both.

  “Marcus?”

  I turn to see a very short, beautiful young woman with reddish-blonde hair. Medium-size breasts peek out at me from the cleavage of her little black dress. She’s got a slender waist and slightly curvy hips, with nice legs. She can’t be more than five feet tall, and is definitely under twenty-five years old. But she’s too attractive to be here alone unless she’s a hooker, so my guard is up instantly.

  “Depends who’s asking,” I say reluctantly.

  She offers me her hand. “I’m Denise.” She seems sweet and a little shy, which would be odd for a hooker.

  I finish my bourbon. “How do you know me, Denise? Are you a basketball fan?”

  “Not really, but my husband is.” She gestures toward a booth and I see a man sitting there in the darkness. He waves when he sees us looking his way.

  Okay, so she’s not a hooker, she’s here to get an autograph for her man. He was smart to send her over, because I wouldn’t have given a dude the time of day.

  “You don’t watch the games?” I ask.

  “Not really, but I’ve seen you play in person twice. I’ve also seen your pictures online.”

  I nod.

  “Especially the Body Issue one.”

  The picture in question was taken for ESPN’s Body Issue, in which athletes pose nude. The photos are all tastefully done, with all the possibly offensive body parts covered by props or obscured by camera angles. I caught some flak for my pic because it was a straight-on front shot of me holding a basketball very, very low over my groin, making it apparent I wax my entire body.