Hollywood Bad Boys Club, Book 4: Link Read online

  “Twenty-one thousand square feet, not counting the guest house, which is another three thousand. Six bedrooms, eight baths, pool, huge kitchen, media room… you know, a typical Bel Air home.”

  Even by Bel Air standards, this is far from typical.

  “I hope you like bourbon,” she says, handing me a half-full tumbler. Her own drink is equally generous, basically a double plus.

  I down half the glass in one gulp, then say, “Bourbon is fine.”

  Jackie responds by matching my gesture. At this point, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find an actual pair of balls on this chick.

  “You were magnificent today, Link. That freak might have killed Haley, and maybe Logan, too, if you hadn’t come to the rescue.”

  “Yeah, things were definitely headed in the wrong direction. Somebody had to do something.”

  She looks at me with a dreamy look in her eyes. “You were the only somebody brave enough.”

  “I got lucky, too.”

  “Maybe, but I saw how quickly you disarmed him and had him helpless. It was impressive. I want to talk to you later about a full-time job working for me. I promise the pay and perks are better than you’ll get anywhere else.” She takes another sip of bourbon. “Later, though. Right now, I want you inside of me.”

  Hanging on to her drink, she moves in front of me and reaches up to slide her other hand behind my neck, pulling me toward her. I go along with it, and the second our lips meet, her tongue slips into my mouth. After all that’s happened today I’m suddenly insanely horny. I can feel Jackie pressing her body to mine, her big tits pushing against my ribcage.

  The kiss isn’t great, but that’s not an issue because they never are. One of my mom’s many boyfriends, and the only one of the bunch I could tolerate, was a guy named Zachary. Pretty cool guy, Zachary. Used to buy me toys and take me to the zoo. Anyway, when I was about eight years old, Zachary told me something that’s always stuck with me. He said, “Lincoln, you’ll know when you’ve met the right girl because when you kiss her, it’ll feel like the Fourth of July and Christmas, all wrapped up together. If you have to ask yourself if she’s the right one, then she’s not.”

  Jackie’s definitely not the right girl. Then again, I already knew she wouldn’t be. And since I’m not looking for the right girl, the wrong one will do just fine.

  She wraps up the kiss, then pulls back and drinks me in with her eyes. I do likewise. She’s still dressed to the nines and that cleavage is right in front me, only now I don’t have to pretend like I’m not staring. Without breaking eye contact, she brings her tumbler to her lips and polishes off the rest of her drink in two gulps. Impressive, but I know she’ll be feeling that liquor in her veins in just a few minutes.

  She places a finger beneath my tumbler and pushes upward, moving it up to my face.

  “Finish your drink. I want to repay you for your bravery today.”

  I finish my bourbon.

  “You’re paying me already, Jackie. You don’t have to fuck me.”

  She looks at me like I’m stupid, or at least that’s how it makes me feel. “You don’t get it, Link. I know I don’t have to, I want to. I’ve considered doing it for a while now, ever since that day you stepped into my office with Mason. And you do deserve it for what you did earlier. Call it a bonus.”

  Jackie takes the tumbler from my hand and sets it aside, then again intertwines her fingers with mine as she leads me through the huge house. I follow behind, already feeling the rush of warm blood to my cock. We arrive at a bedroom that’s bigger than most apartments I’ve lived in.

  She slides off her heels, then turns toward me. When she does, I feel a sudden overwhelming urge to rip that expensive gown off her. It wells up inside of me, some remnant of my childhood. When you grow up with absolutely nothing, it’s hard not to resent people who have everything. I even feel that about the other Hollywood Bad Boys at times. I reach out and put one of my fat fingers against Jackie’s lips. She kisses it, then I slowly move it down, over that fucking diamond necklace, until the finger rests right between her tits. While my sexual excitement grows, the diamonds and gown continue to taunt me.

  “How much did this cost you?” I ask, lifting the necklace off her skin.

  “It cost me nothing. Michael Deschamps loaned it to me for the night. It’s worth about a hundred grand, but tomorrow it goes back to his store on Rodeo Drive.”

  I lower the necklace back and slide a finger under the gown, feeling her breast give only slightly at my touch. It’s impressively firm. Then again, it’s almost certainly fake.

  “And the gown?”

  “The gown was made for me by Jean-Luc Gauthier. It cost me fifteen thousand dollars, which is a lot for something I’ll only wear once.”

  I look at her face, noticing the lips I just kissed. “Why only once?”

  She smiles at my naivety. “Just because. That’s the way it works for designer clothing made for special events. It would look cheap of me to be seen in the same gown again.”

  I don’t know whether it’s the smile or the idea that she can throw away a sum of money like that on an outfit meant for a single evening, but something brings the beast in me out from his hiding place. I hope this woman likes it rough, because I’m not sure there’s another option at this point.

  My fingers slide further under the fabric of the gown. I feel Jackie’s nipple against the knuckle of my middle finger, and it quickly stiffens to a peak.

  I can’t afford to damage the necklace, but this gown is toast.

  With one motion, I grab a handful of material and jerk my hand back, as hard as I can. I hear a loud rip as the fabric tears and pulls away from her torso. Jackie screams in surprise, then my hand stops and I let go. In front of me I see this beautiful vixen, her black hair perfectly styled and her makeup exquisite, a ludicrous diamond necklace descending to just above two completely exposed, definitely fake, tits. The front of the gown now dangles off one shoulder to the side, and the tear goes all the way down to her panties, which I see are sheer matching silver lace.

  Well, fuck. That might have been spectacularly stupid. Not that I could help it. Once the beast is out, it’s impossible to get him back in. Now I wait for Jackie to yell at me and tell me to leave before she calls the cops, or at least to tell me what an idiot I am and demand that I reimburse her for the gown. Instead, she stands there, exposed, her breathing suddenly heavy. My eyes move from her big tits, with their now-hard nipples, up to her eyes. She’s staring at me fiercely.

  “Don’t stop,” she says breathlessly.

  That’s all I need to hear.

  I grab the gown again and yank hard, and this time my effort is rewarded by the entire shredded dress hanging from my hand while Jackie is left only in panties. She sucks in a breath as I slide my fingers into those panties with the back of my hand against her. One quick jerk and I have the head of Trident Studios, arguably the most powerful woman in Hollywood, naked in front of me with a look of wanton lust on her face.

  “You’re the boss,” I say. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I’m not the boss now.”

  I move forward, her naked body touching me, and look into her eyes.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  I clamp both hands hard around her arms and walk her to the wall, then push her against it. Taking a step back, I strip methodically: shoes and socks, tux jacket, cummerbund, bow tie, then shirt. Jackie’s in a trance by the time I toss the shirt aside. I get the feeling she’s never seen a man quite this massive taking his clothes off, live and in person. I slide off my pants and she can see I’m already mostly hard.

  “Those tattoos are amazing.”

  “Don’t talk,” I say, “unless I ask you a question.”

  I can see in Jackie’s eyes that she likes this. All day long she wields power over everyone who crosses her path. It’s not surprising that in her down time she wants to relinquish that, to feel totally powerless.

  And yea
h, I have a shitload of tattoos. Chest, back, both arms, a few on my thighs and calves, too. Quite the collection.

  I lower my underwear and my cock springs free, relieved of its constraints and sticking straight out toward Jackie. She stares at it, her tits rising and falling with each deep breath. I move against her, pushing her to the wall as my cock pokes the black hair at the top of her pussy. Her hand finds my chest and slides across the hard surface. I grab her wrist and pull it away, holding it tightly so she can’t put it back.

  “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” I say. “You’re gonna turn around…”

  She stares into my eyes eagerly, involuntarily licking her lips.

  “…and I’m going to fuck you really hard.”

  It feels strange giving orders to someone that much older than me. But when I take a single step back, she immediately spins around, leaning forward against the wall and pushing her ass back toward me. This woman must have a trainer, because most women Jackie’s age don’t have an ass like this. I didn’t bring any condoms and don’t feel like asking if she has one. Spitting into my palm, I stroke my cock, slickening it. I push the head between her lips, searching until I feel her unmistakably warm opening, then plunge all the way into her.

  Jackie gasps momentarily, but she takes all of it. A low moan tells me she’s not afraid. Holding her waist tightly, I move my hips back and forth, driving my cock in and out at a deliberate pace. Jackie’s not a small woman; she’s around five nine or five ten, and that trainer has her in great shape. It hardly matters, though, because I absolute dwarf her.

  When I tire of fucking her in this position, I pull out, then grab her bicep and drag her to the bed. The diamond necklace dances between her tits, which barely move. It almost dares me to yank it off, but even I’m not that stupid. Instead, I bend Jackie over the bed and re-enter her, grabbing her hips and fucking her harder this time. She’s moaning louder as I roughly slam into her ass with each stroke. After a while, I pull out and roll her over, taking her ankles in my hands and holding them near my shoulders as I once again slide into that wet pussy. This time we can see each other’s face, and I know what I’m doing is affecting her. Jackie’s in a trance, just staring into my eyes with lust as I pound away. It’s time to make her come.

  I haven’t been with as many women as Drake or Marcus, but I’ve had enough to know that fucking a chick while playing with her clit the right way will get them off every time. I release her ankle and place my thumb between her legs, getting it wet by rubbing it against my hard shaft as it slides out of her. Continuing to build the ferocity of my thrusts, I run my thumb up and down over her lips. She’s so wet it glides easily over her folds. The intensity of her moaning increases as I slowly slide my finger back and forth over her slit. By the time I finally slip into the crease and touch her clit, she’s ready to explode. Still holding one ankle, I rest it against my shoulder and thrust my cock in, slamming her as hard as I can.

  The combination is more than she can stand and she grabs my forearm, squeezing tightly as a guttural sound escapes her lips. Just a little faster on her clit, and a little harder in her cunt, and she’ll be there. Right on cue, her back arches off the bed as she pushes her pussy onto me and starts to spasm around my cock.

  “Oh, fuck!” she screams as I continue.

  I give her a few seconds, then while she’s still in mid-orgasm I move forward, pushing her back into the middle of the bed without ever taking my cock out of her. Jackie moans loudly, and when I lower myself over her, she wraps her arms around my wide shoulders and holds on tight while I fuck her as hard as I can. She’s in a state where she probably can’t tell whether or not she’s still coming. I slide my hands under her waist and lift her off the bed a little so I can hold her body in the exact position I want while I’m fucking her. It’s my turn now and I want to pound her as hard as I possible can before I come.

  Jackie’s mouth is open in ecstasy as her hands grab my biceps and squeeze. When I remember the pussy I’m hammering away at belongs to a studio head, it’s all I can stand. I feel my orgasm well up from deep within me and I know it’s going to be huge. I don’t want to come inside of her, so I wait until the last second and pull out. I quickly move up the bed, ready to defile this rich, powerful, important woman by spraying my jizz all over her face. As I grab my fat, hard cock, I have a sudden flash of inspiration and aim lower, pumping as fast as I can. A second later, I grunt loudly and a huge stream of hot cum finds its intended target, that ludicrously expensive necklace. The whole idea of what I’m doing has me nearly insane as I continue to groan and pump out one rope after another, until I’m spent and that exquisite piece of jewelry is coated with my thick liquid.

  The weird thing is, Jackie doesn’t even care. She’s really tranced out, breathing hard and staring at my hand on my cock. She reaches out to hold it herself, finding that spot just under the head and stroking it with her thumb as her other fingers squeeze my shaft. Her insistent touch keeps me from going limp and before long I’m on my back and she’s riding me with everything she’s got, cum dripping down her tits. It’s a pretty amazing sight, considering who she is and all.

  And especially considering who I am: a security guard, not particularly handsome, and with about as fucked up a background as you could possible imagine. I look up at Jackie’s intense expression as she enthusiastically gets her fuck on, then at those jizz-coated diamonds. I have to suppress a laugh because it’s all so surreal, so absurd.

  Not only is it amazing that I’m in the position I am right now, it’s amazing I’m in any woman’s bed.

  I should have been dead or in prison years ago.

  As she continues sliding up and down over my hard cock, I take a fake Hollywood tit in each hand and squeeze her nipples, and the head of Trident Studios begins to moan all over again.

  2

  Raven

  It’s a gorgeous Southern California morning, especially for late February. The sunshine warms me as I pull my VW Bug into the parking lot in front of Hollywood Graveyard Donuts. The car is a ‘74, but she was restored just before I bought her and I’ve kept her in great shape. She’s jet black, and today happens to match my hair, fingernails, shirt, jeans, and Doc Martens. Most days we match pretty well, actually.

  I peer into the display case and order the usual dozen, all named after celebs who died before their time: three Robin Williams, three Anna Nicoles, three Heath Ledgers, and three River Phoenixes. For my freebie, I decide to try a James Gandolfini. I’m not yet ready to give the purple-glazed Prince a shot, because that wound is still too fresh.

  I place the box of donuts in the back seat for the five-block drive to my shop. As I start to pull out onto Melrose, I see something out of my peripheral vision and slam on the brakes. It’s a guy walking down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street who looks eerily like my ex. Tall and skinny, ripped jeans and leather jacket, same stringy hair and odd lope. It takes me a couple of seconds to determine it’s not Ricky after all, just a remarkable facsimile. Then again, probably a tenth of the guys walking around this part of Hollywood at any given time fit that same basic description.

  As I drive along, memories of that previous relationship come flooding back to me, not caring at all how unwelcome they are. Parting with Ricky had been strange. There wasn’t really one thing I could single out as a deciding factor when I told him I was ready to move on. He was sweet, had an engaging personality, got along with everyone, made a decent living as a boom operator, and was above average in bed. There was no way I could explain to him that it was all those things that made him so wrong for me. The flip side of all that was that he was too nice, too afraid of the slightest conflict, and way too boring. Even when it came to sex, he politely made sure I always came, and went about everything in the gentlest way possible. The few times when we were drunk or high and I practically begged him to pound me, he always did so tenderly, like a gentleman. And while gentlemen are nice, I want a man who excites me, who makes me fucking
crazy.

  Sounds fucked up, I know, but that’s me.

  I arrive at my shop and park in the back. Entering via the back door, I enthusiastically announce, “Graveyard Donuts delivery!”

  To my surprise, the entire place is empty. Four stations, zero tattoo artists. The neon “open” sign is on, but there’s not a soul in sight.

  “What the fuck?” I shout.

  A head pops out of the black curtains separating the small break room from the rest of the place.

  “Get in here, Rave. You gotta see this shit.”

  It’s Theo, one of the two staff members who are supposed to be here on weekdays. There have been some Mondays where I arrived half an hour late to find the doors locked and nobody around, so I’m relieved to see his long red hair, tattooed neck and forearms, and braided goatee. He never uses my full name, I’m just Rave to him.

  I part the curtains and walk in to see Theo and Renee at the little table, looking at a laptop screen.

  “I brought Graveyard,” I say to my obviously distracted employees.

  “Have you seen this from the Oscars yet?” Renee says excitedly. I didn’t watch the Oscars last night, and in fact I’d forgotten they were on until I heard this morning on the radio that “Terminal” had won Best Picture. People have been telling me to see the cancer drama since it came out months ago, but I never got around to it.

  I set the donuts on the table and look at the screen, expecting to see an actress trip going up the steps, or maybe an overly daring plunging neckline. Instead I see a paused video showing a chick entertainment reporter, whose face I recognize but whose name I’ve forgotten, conducting an interview with a guy I think I remember to be a director.

  “Ready?” Theo asks. “This is some sick shit.”

  He presses a key and the video starts.

  The reporter and the director are mid-interview, with well-dressed Oscars attendees passing behind them on the red carpet. Within seconds the scene erupts into chaos, with people screaming and the camera bouncing around like crazy. When the image finally settles again, I see Logan Kenner, the big movie star, talking to some guy who’s holding a little girl, his gun pointed squarely at her head.